Cold sea spray splashed over the bow of Herleif's longship, the Salt Boar, white foam splashing outward into the air like the wings of a great eagle as the ship cut through the waves. The ship's figurehead curved upward on the prow, decorated with a mighty boar's skull with long curved tusks that stretched outward in a challenge against the open sea, ready to strike fear into the hearts of all who looked upon its approach. Fixed within the skull was a metal cage where flames could be lit, giving the prow beast a more ferocious look of breathing fire and smoke. For now, though, that kind of fear was not necessary while the ship sailed on, as these choppy waters were still well within the territory of Valkenheim.
Herleif looked out across the ocean as it stretched on before him, the vast blue sky and water coming together to create a vast nothingness to sail into while his hall and family lay far behind him.
Yesterday he had set sail with his raiding ships from Brosmegaurd's port and just this morning had sailed out of the strait that cut through Valkenheim and into the wider ocean north of Ashfeld. His destination was the southern half of the Hel island, which sat between Valkenheim and Ashfeld and was where Erik had bid them to meet to stage this great raid.
There were fifty ships to his fleet of large drakkar, smaller skeid, and snekkja. Long and sleek vessels that cut quickly through the water, each holding twenty to thirty rowing benches plus supplies. It was a sizable army for any raid he might carry out on his own, but once added to the number of warriors and ships that Erik and Ivar would provide, it would become a fleet worthy of sagas.
As the leader of this raid, Erik boasted the most significant numbers of ships, warriors, and war gear, so he would undoubtedly take much of that glory for himself. It was a fact that Herleif couldn't ignore, one that had been weighing on him for days. As much as he wanted to be part of this endeavor, something about this invitation was more complex than it seemed. Turning his back on the approaching horizon, he walked down the deck past the rowing benches in search of his brother.
"Gunnar," he called, finding his brother at the stern of the longship, handling the rudder and keeping them on a steady course. They had caught a good wind that filled their sails and sent the fleet speeding on its way without the need for ores. He stepped up to the ship's railing and leaned against it as he spoke. "Tell me again about what Jarl Erik shared with you of his plans. Was there anything you left out in what he said to you?"
Gunnar frowned, stroking the braid of his beard with one hand and keeping the other on the tiller arm of the rudder. "I think not. I told you exactly as he told me. 'Take this invitation from me to your elder brother and my respect,' he said to me. He wants you and Ivar to meet him at the Hallowed Bastion so that we can come to terms before raiding down river through northern Ashfeld. Winter is ending, and the spring winds will make for fast sailing. We'll be in and out so quick those tin bastards won't know what hit them."
"Will we now? With our three forces combined and Erik's golden shield glaring bright in the sun, we will be the very meaning of stealth, is that it?" Herleif grinned. Gunnar didn't seem to have an answer for that, so he went ahead and made his point. "Erik has had plenty of success raiding on his own. I am not saying it is unusual for one Jarl to seek help from another, but why split the rewards when he can take it all? Erik has the ships and the men, and the villages along Ashfeld's rivers are easy enough to hit before any legions are brought to arms. So why does he need more? Did he say anything about what territories he plans to hit? What strong positions the Knight legions might hold against us?"
Gunnar squirmed uncomfortably under his brother's gaze. "There were rumors of fighting within the legion ranks while I wintered at Tua Peak. Whispers of confusion and distrust between the Knight commanders. Erik thinks they are weak, so he means to strike them before they can organize. He has plans, Herleif, great plans. But I do not know the details. I was not so far in his council to be told everything," he said, though he looked a bit sheepish not to have a better answer.
Herleif nodded, though he thought that his brother was probably just too busy drinking and wenching the winter away to even be aware that Erik had a council at all. He couldn't fault Gunnar, though, for he knew he meant well by bringing this message from such a powerful Jarl. His was the heart of a proud Viking eager to raid, and there was no way he could have refused Erik even if he had shared Herleif's reservations.
"Well, I suppose we will just have to wait and hear what he says once we meet him," he said, softly thumping a fist on the Salt Boar's railing.
Sensing a lull in Herleif's questions, Gunnar took the opportunity to put them to an end entirely and change the subject. He looked up the ship's length and nodded with his chin at the tall Valkyrie standing with spear in hand and looking out across the waves. "She here for Ander then? I saw that she has his old seax upon her belt."
Herleif glanced solemnly over at Skuld, finding her presence on his ship both a strange comfort and unsettling distraction. Most other warriors kept their distance and whispered things about her when they thought she couldn't hear. Her purpose on this raid was a source of mystery and wonder among them, but it was considered best to leave her alone for fear of angering the gods.
For Skuld's part, she seemed perfectly content with this arrangement and ignored them all right back. As if her ancient order needed to be more mysterious, Herleif was sure that he hadn't heard her speak a single word since she had accepted Ander's seax, and he had yet to see her ever without her golden helmet upon her head.
"Aye. She is fighting for him so that he may enter Valhǫll," he replied.
Gunnar stroked his beard again. "You know that is no guarantee, right? She must slay an opponent worthy of Ander's warrior spirit and battle fame, one that she must choose herself. Among these Ashfeld dogs, she may find none who are. And there is always the chance that she might fall in battle before she gets the chance. That seax might stay in its sheath through the whole campaign and never taste a drop of blood."
"I am aware," Herleif said grimly, "but Audhilda arranged for all this herself. This is important to her, as it is to me."
Gunnar fidgeted a bit against the tiller. "Just making sure you're aware. They're an uncanny lot, the Valkyries, wandering the wilderness seeking the spirits of dead men. Strange thing for a woman to spend her time doing if you ask me."
Herleif let out a snort of laughter. "As opposed to the Raiders such as yourself, who wander the land seeking to make dead men? All while refusing to put on a damn shirt? Yes, compared to the rest of us, they are uncanny with their unyielding devotion and respect for the gods. Very uncanny, indeed. I wonder what it is exactly that makes the gods love them so much?" He laughed again, and after a moment, Gunnar joined in but was shortly interrupted by a loud call coming from further up the ship.
"Man on the rocks! Lost at sea! Man on the rocks!"
The call caught everyone's attention. Across all the ships that formed up the head of the fleet, warriors scrambled to look. Some grabbed ropes to cast a line for whoever might need pulling in, while others stared out across the waves to catch sight of the unlucky soul. These waters were icy cold, and no one could survive long after going in for any length of time.
"Who is it? Did someone fall overboard?" Herleif called out as he hurried his way up the ship to help.
The warrior who sounded the call shrugged his shoulders as Herleif approached, then looked off toward a small island of dark wet rock that jutted out of the sea among the crashing waves.
"No, my Jarl. It's just... just a man on the rocks," he pointed.
Herleif came to the railing and looked out across the water. At his sides came Ragnar, Ragna, and Helge, all casting their gazes out towards the island as well. Squinting his eyes, Herleif could make out a lone figure standing against the open sky and heard the faint noise of yelling on the wind as they sailed closer.
At first, he thought the figure was calling for help, but as the sound became clearer, he realized that the person was just senselessly yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs as if caught in the midst of a great battle. As the Salt Boar sailed closer, the figure could be seen beating his chest and stomping his bare feet at all the warriors staring at him. His head was shaved except for a long braid running down his back, and his face and chest were painted white but splattered with red splotches like blood. He held a sturdy hammer in his hand, which he beat against his chest as powerfully as his fists.
"Is that..." Ragnar began, surprise heavy in his voice.
"A Jormungandr," Ragna finished as she leaned over her brother's shoulder, unimpressed.
Ragnar squinted and flicked his hand up over his eyes. "No... can't be. One of those snake cultists from up in Storr Stronghold? Think they defeated Thor and stole his hammer, the mad fucks."
Herleif couldn't help but stand there and stare, jaw slack as the strange warrior continued to scream uninterrupted. "Looks like it. What in Hel's name is he doing all the way down here?"
He looked around for any sign of a boat or wrecked ship but saw none. There was always the possibility that the man had swam to the island after his boat sank beneath the waves, but that still didn't explain why he was all alone. No other bodies and no debris were floating in the water.
Ragnar scratched his beard, almost unsure if what he looked at was real or just a strange Loki trick plaguing their minds. "Just listen to him go. He's cracked. Probably doesn't even know where he is."
Helge leaned against the ship railing and laughed. "Crazy fool. He thinks that the World Serpent will be his salvation. He listens to the wrong voices," she grinned. Herleif frowned and gave her a curious glance, not convinced she had any right to call someone else crazy.
"So, are we gonna help him?" Ragna asked though she could have sounded more enthusiastic about the idea.
A few heads turned towards Herleif, waiting to see his decision, ropes ready to throw at the command. Herleif paused and thought for a moment as the ship sailed on by the stranger. For a brief moment, their eyes connected, and Herleif saw clear the burning insanity raging inside the Jormungandr's mind.
"No," he said at last as if still mulling the idea over in his head but giving the answer on gut instinct. "No, I think not. I have no need for whatever... that is on any of my ships." Ragnar, Ragna, and Helge all nodded together.
"It's probably for the best," Ragna said, patting Herleif on the shoulder before turning and forgetting about the screaming man on the rocks. Those holding ropes dropped them, and everyone returned to whatever they were doing before the strange disturbance.
Herleif remained for a bit longer, watching the Jormungandr beat his chest and scream with as much might as his hoarse voice could muster. It was shrill and high pitched, that scream, very hard on the ears. As the sound slowly faded away and the Jormungandr shrank on the horizon behind them, there was the faint distant call of 'Ragnarök!', and Herleif was content with his decision made to sail on.