Knut dared not look back over the icy hills to the place he once called home. He was committed to the journey ahead, knowing his destiny lay in distant places, across rough seas.
Like many fourth and fifth sons of the Norse people, Knut understood that the land of his parents would not be divided and shared. It would be given to Leif, the oldest. He had no desire to be a servant to his brother. Knut was stronger, than all of them put together. His white blonde hair and deep resonant voice gave him a princely and commanding air but nothing could secure a piece of land for him to work, find a wife and raise a family.
As a child growing up, he heard numerous tales of the sea from his mother's similarily displaced uncles. Many eventually died at sea and yet their stories filled his head with visions of a life beyond fire and ice in the melted snow. Seafaring was a dangerous life. Sudden storms could topple the long boats in an instant. However, when treasures from other lands were captured and realized they could bring untold luxury and wealth.
Knut wasn't sure what he would do if he were independent. Untold wealth held no fascination for him. He had grown up with every luxury and yet he was deeply unsettled within himself. It was the pull of a full moon, the salty sea air, and unfettered comraderie which awakened his sense of adventure.
Knut spent some time in a Norse seaport learning the craft before securing a place on a long boat, headed out to sea. In early summer, with lots of raids underway, it was not hard to find Captains looking for young men. His firm muscular body promised hard work, strength on the oars, on the mast and in his heart. Facing the North Sea winds and waves could try the faith of any man. Knut felt up to the task. His boat would be making its way west and south, into the land of the Celts.
The perceived glamour of life at sea was outweighed by the reality. It was not many hours away from port, before the rolling sickness over took the blonde giant. His sickly green facial colour stood out in stark contrast to the fair hair. No one laughed at the unprepared novice. It was his maiden voyage. Not too much further out, a change in wind brought waves crashing over the side. Even the seasoned sailors fought the effects of the elements, glad that at least the rookie continued to tow the oar between bouts of retching.
The land of his parents which Knut had left behind weeks before seemed like a paradise compared to the watery hell of the long boat. The sails, virtually indestructible were whipped by the winds into frenzy. The few remaining hardy souls strapped themselves to the planks praying to their god for a release.
As quickly as it blew up, the storm moved on. The crew righted themselves checking for damage, any lost souls then set sail again under sunny skies over clear waters. The contrast was astounding. Where Knut had prayed for death just hours before, his renewal and commitment to the journey improved as quickly as the weather. He hoped his susceptibility to the rolling sickness would improve with each day.
Weeks into the journey, the weather warmed beautifully. The sail expanded under the force of a guiding wind. Pockets of land jutted out from the steel blue water. Knut learned there was no treasure to be had on those small islands. For the most part they were uninhabited. The winds kept the boat moving steadily forward. With little to do he was itching to set foot on land again. He could smell land, so different from his own. The lushness of its vegetation stood out in stark contrast to the salty sea air. Knut fell in love. The scent intoxicated his body. He hoped they would land soon. Almost, in his mind's eye he could see the green. There were many things to wonder about as the vision of the fabled green island came into view.
The captain, knowing they had slipped from the true course of their original journey elected to wait before making landfall. Discovering new lands, with the possibility of some warfare was not a daunting prospect for the crew, but they had been at sea, weathered an horrific storm and needed some time to rest before landing. If some combat with locals was necessary, they would need renewed energy. The decision set Knut on a course to fulfill his true destiny.
As the men ate and planned a strategy for landing, they felt hopeful. Many settled to sleep with few final words. The summer seas, ever unpredictable, set to churning in the night. The rumble of wind and wave so fierce could be heard long before it was felt. The skies seemed to spin in contrast to the moving water. There was no time for sickness. There was barely time to strap on the leathers that would hold the men to the planks. The long boat, already weakened by the previous storm, could hold together no longer. Wave and wind caught the boat within a hairs breadth of each other. Some parts of the boat went crashing down with the snap of the wave. Some parts were caught by the rising wind. As Knut took flight, his last thought was Valhalla or Hel. Renewal never entered his exploding brain.
Cathy turned over on her side. The dream was vivid. Some part of her subconscious registered the disturbing knowledge that this could not be an ancestor if his death was imminent. Flying through the air, hoping for a ride to heaven on a piece of a wooden craft support by the Valkyries was an admirable death but then, how could he have fostered a lineage to last several centuries?
Cathy allowed her body to relax before opening her inner vision to the fate of Knut. He must be an important player in her ancestry, if his journey occupied this first and most important dream of her new found consciousness. She gently drew his energy back to her.
Knut thought that death was a lovely thing. The sense of free-floating through the air was reassuring. All he wanted was a soft landing in the Halls of Valhalla. His shortened sea faring adventure was coming to an abrupt but eventful end. The scent of the lush green land was enough to satisfy the disappointment of the unkind elements which rendered his maiden voyage forever lost to the raging seas. Knut felt the upward climb, the swirling, the battering of the sea air and water. His blond hair flew in all directions. Muscles ached with the pull of gravity calling him down even while the wind pushed him up. The energy required to keep alert faded. Losing consciousness finally, Knut gave himself up to the fates.
Paradise was indeed warm. Behind his eyelids, there was a sense of light and shadow. Maybe the fates of Hel awaited him. Surely there was no pain in Valhalla. Knut felt every inch of his body. His final bed seemed hard and unyielding. Still the scent of green lingered in his nostrils. He dared not look up fearing the wrath of the Gods. His grunt sounded strange even to his own ears. Its deep vibration echoed much like it always had. A soft breeze played over his face. One by one his limbs ceased feeling numb. Knut realized with a start that he was alive in the real world, but where?
He was less tempted to open his eyes than to move. Gradually each body part fell into place. His back was battered and bruised. Hands tentatively felt around. The straps which held him to the boat were still in place. His arm could not reach beyond the wood. The annoying light-dark sense was happening often. He thought he heard a rustle. One eye opened. Its startled pupil contracted quickly. The light was intense and painful. It took several attempts. Knut could not see clearly. Everything was blurry. His tongue felt around the corner of his mouth. Sand covered his face. The grit was annoying. Several minutes passed before he could open his eyes and discern even a little of his surroundings.
There was a dark shadow before him, blocking out the sunlight. It had human form, dressed in dark clothes. A woman! Arms stretched out above her head. A large rock stood poised to land on his body, if not the face. He was helpless with a wild humanlike animal ready to attack. The sudden shock sent his body reeling again. Thankfully the deep dark place of his subconscious called. His eyes closed to the light and his body went limp.
Knut was never sure of how many times he opened his eyes to the dark apparition. She appeared in many forms. Sometimes she threw water on his face starling him into being. At other times she whisked around with her long fur, daring him to attack. The rock did not appear again. Hours, days passed. Knut lost track. Soon he was able to open his eyes and remain steadfast and focused. He wasn't sure if the beast had chewed away at his bindings but his hands were free to roam his body and immediate surroundings. Vision also cleared and he could now see the face of a woman, open honest questioning and trusting.
'Speak to me woman. Who are you?' he queried softly, hoping she was human enough to communicate.
Knut could see her head turn from side to side as she knelt close by. She reminded him of the dogs who would look curiously while he spoke then jump the minute he barked orders. This creature would not follow the same rules he suspected. He kept his voice low, inviting. 'Can you not speak woman, if you are a woman.'
Her sounds rolled off him. They meant nothing. She was human it seemed. Her hair was dark. The eyes were a startling blue. The skin was bronzed. Did these dark looking creatures live here? How many others were there? In moments of clarity, Knut realized that he had no idea where he was, if he was safe and how he would reunite with his people. He was glad to be alive but what use was life if he had no means of living it. Was he saved from the sea, only to die at the hands of a wild looking creature? He wasn't even sure she was human. Knut tried to close his eyes one more time. Now he really wanted to weep. Tears for things lost, formed and fell. He turned his head to hide the weakness as sobs tore through his body.
Knut was surprised to find that the creature had moved closer. Cold fingers traced the line of his tears. He opened his eyes seeing at last the humanity of the woman. Many acts of kindness were universal. Her smile showed two rows of teeth, slightly out of alignment, giving her an endearing warmth. There was no malice in her eyes for his obvious weakness. She stroked his hair, lingering gently in the caked strands. Her impossible words, softened into a tone he recognized as comfort. Giving in, he shed his tears and said his goodbyes to the life he knew. He was not dead. Uncertainty about life percolated beneath the surface. Sooner or later he would have to take stock of his surroundings, his resources and his dream but for now, grief held the upper hand.