Bjorn Ironside's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Bjorn Ironside stood on the black shore and cursed the sea that kept him from his glory. Beyond the water, in the northern fjords, the great beast fed on Deadfall's fishermen. Bjorn meant to kill it. A death like that would earn him a seat in the hall of the gods. But he had no ship. Every hull in the town had rotted or sunk, and the fjords lay two hard days north through storm-water no fisherman would cross. He walked back to the town's timber halls and asked for a boat. The old shipwright laughed at him. "North? In what? The sea eats good ships. It would swallow you before noon." Bjorn had traded his silver, his sword, and his father's ring for the promise of passage. He had nothing left but the axe on his back and one thing he had never shown a soul. He climbed the ridge above the thatched roofs and knelt in the wet grass. From under his shirt he pulled a pendant shaped like a hammer. Runes marked the worn metal. It had come to him from a dying skald, who swore the gods still listened through it. Bjorn had kept it hidden, afraid to test the claim and find it false. He held the pendant up toward the clouds. "I have no ship. Give me one, and I will bring you the beast's head. Take this in trade." He offered the only sacred thing he owned. The hammer grew hot in his fist. Thunder cracked across the fjords. Lightning struck the water below, and the sea boiled white where it hit. Bjorn shielded his eyes. When the light faded, a longship rode the waves where none had been. It was no fisherman's boat. A golden beast's head snarled from the prow. Carved knots ran along the hull, and painted shields lined its sides. The sail hung full though no wind blew. The ship waited, oars out, as if a crew of ghosts sat ready. Bjorn ran down to the shore. He waded into the cold surf and gripped the gunwale. The wood hummed under his hand, warm as a living thing. The pendant on his chest pulled him forward, tied now to the ship and the gods who sent it. He pulled himself aboard. The oars dipped on their own and turned the prow north. Bjorn gripped the rail and faced the storm-water that had beaten every man before him. The beast was no longer beyond his reach. But the sea between him and the fjords was long and cruel. Two days of black water lay ahead, and the gods who gave the ship would watch how he sailed it.