“Won’t he want to avoid being seen?” Ragnvald asked. “Wouldn’t he keep to open ocean?”
“No,” said Grim with surety. “It is far too early in the year to trust the weather in the open ocean, and there are many more beaches to camp on. We will brave the open ocean and catch him here”—he pointed to a spot among his scratchings where Solvi’s ships would have to emerge—“and follow him to Vestfold from there.”
Ragnvald gave his approval, and Oddi and Heming seconded it. But on the next day, when the wind whipped spray around them, and none could hear them if they spoke quietly, Ragnvald questioned Grim further.
“I trust you and your knowledge of the sea,” he began, “but I want to understand your thinking better.”
Grim gave him a sardonic look. “You credit Solvi Hunthiofsson with supernatural powers as a pilot and a commander, but I know him and his father too. He is more cautious than you think. The reason his men trust him to lead them into danger is because he rarely does it when he’s not sure of victory.”
Ragnvald thought back on his time with Solvi, and it struck him as a true assessment. He gave Grim a measuring look. Hakon had a treasure here in Grim. Ragnvald wondered if he knew it. He glanced back at Oddi’s ship, a gray apparition in the thin sea mist to the north. The other ships behind them could as easily be wisps of cloud, not formed of solid planks, full of armed men. Ragnvald shook his head to dispel the vision. It was nearing time to give Oddi another signal and look for a response, to make sure that they stayed within sight of one another.
“If the rumors from the winter are true, he may have gathered enough allies to him defeat Harald three times over,” Ragnvald said.
“And if sea witches enchant our ships, we could fly there,” said Grim, with his old sarcasm. “Hear this: if he departed Tafjord when you said, we should sail through the night once, to catch up with him. You must prepare them for night sailing.”
The gods were with them, Ragnvald reminded himself. Otherwise he would never trust the weather this early in the year, in an open ship, overnight. At least the moon was bright, but it set quickly this time of year, and then there would be hours upon the ocean with only the stars and the dark, dark water for company.
“If this works, you will be richly rewarded,” said Ragnvald to Grim.
“I imagine we all will be,” said Grim. “Especially you, Ragnvald Half-Drowned.”
Ragnvald shuddered at the ill-starred byname. He had been trying not to think of the spoils, the honors that might accrue to him, for fear of tempting the gods to punish him. “Thank you for your counsel,” he said. “I value it greatly.”
“I know you do, my lord.” Grim peered ahead and made a slight adjustment to the steering board. They did have a good wind, filling the sail, pushing them almost straight ahead. Ragnvald went to the stern of the ship to light the signal for Oddi. After a few minutes, Oddi signaled back, and Ragnvald breathed a sigh of relief. If they lost one another out on the open ocean, they might never find each other again.
*
He thought the men would rest better without the worry, so he waited until the next morning, before they set out, to give the news of the overnight sail. He let the steadiest men nap during the day, for they would be needed at night. Ragnvald could not sleep, and he knew he was keeping others from sleep, so he stationed himself at the stern until sunset.
Then, as planned, the ships drew closer, to keep view of each other during the night. A mild breeze continued, bringing in clouds overhead. They needed it not to fall off, for this to work. Ragnvald went to the bow to keep watch through the night. Men shared small portions of dried meat and fish with one another and drank cups of ale for their nighttime meal. None spoke above a whisper.
The hours passed slowly. A dim light came from all around, the shining of moon through the clouds, perhaps, though it seemed to come up from the sea itself. Ragnvald took up the task he had set himself to pass the time: working fat into the ship’s seal-hide ropes, a task that was never finished, for sun and salt stole their suppleness daily. It was too easy to see outlines of his fears and fancies in the murky shapes of wave and cloud: the golden wolf, Ran’s dark hall.
Ragnvald grew more and more tense as the night wore on. Over the trackless sea to the west, clouds gathered, denser. A storm. He looked at the surface of the water, to see how it shivered with the wind. The breeze that carried them along grew stronger. He remembered falling from Solvi’s ship. The cold pulled at the scar on his face. Fear, his own and his men’s, made him tug his cloak tighter around his shoulders.
If any sorceress had sent this storm, it was the sea goddess, trying to call Ragnvald back to her. He had almost been hers; she might not let her claim go so willingly. She wanted something, a price for seeing them through this night alive, not scattered, to bring them up on Solvi’s flank without him noticing.
Ragnvald kept his favorite treasures at his belt, including the golden arm ring that he had gotten from Solvi as his insult price. He weighed the pieces of gold in his hands, one heavier than the other. One had been meant to pay for insulting Olaf, but Olaf had rendered that moot, and now he was dead, his ashes fertilizing Ardal’s land better than he ever had as an indifferent farmer. Ragnvald stood up. He would rather have this be a private moment between him and the goddess who had half claimed him, half drowned him, but he knew that the men would like to see it.
He did not have to say anything to draw the men’s attention. All who remained awake quivered with watchfulness, attentive to any movement. They turned to look at him. Even Grim’s deep-set eyes settled on Ragnvald, stealing only occasional glances at the dark line of the horizon.
“We are in Ran’s hands tonight,” Ragnvald said, not above his usual speaking voice. The still-calm sea, the heavy air, would carry his words well enough. “I know her of old.” His lip curled in what he wanted to be a self-deprecating smile, but he knew it was something much less comforting. “She wants a sacrifice to keep us safe, and so I offer this.” He held up the two halves of the ring.
“I won this gold from you, in a way,” he said to Ran. “And to you should it return. And I promise much more gold to you for a safe passage through your dark ocean.” He lifted the pieces high overhead and then flung them out, into the water. They only glinted for a moment in the air before disappearing.
An hour later the storm was upon them.
35