“He has a sun crystal,” replied Gunnar. “Even on the cloudiest of days, he will know where the sun is.”
But the next day, even Egil seemed unsure.
“By Hel’s frozen tits!” the captain cursed. “I’ve never seen such thick clouds without a break.” Throughout the day, he held his crystal up to the sky, trying to find the brightest light that would reveal the location of the sun to him. Egil fussed and made small course corrections throughout the day.
That night, the occupants of the longship saw the orange glow on the horizon for the first time.
“What do you reckon that is?” said Hakon softly.
“Cursed if I know,” reply Gunnar. “Fire, maybe? It’s not Bifrost; that’s more green and purple, and higher in the sky. That orange is right on the horizon line, due north if I’m any judge.”
“Due north,” repeated Hakon, glancing at Sif. “I wonder if there’s a connection to Freyja’s warning.” Sif said nothing but looked nervously at the glow tingeing the horizon.
The next morning, a relieved sailor standing high on the mast cried out that he had spotted land. Within the hour, the coast of the isle of Gotland was visible from the deck. Egil seemed visibly relieved.
“Praise to Ran’s nine daughters,” said Egil. He added quietly, “That last day was as much luck as craft, when it came to navigation.”
“By hook or by crook, we’re here,” said Hakon, clapping the captain on the shoulder. “How long until we reach Visby?”
“Gods willing, we’ll be docking as the sun sets,” replied Egil. “Whether we can see the bloody sun or not.”
“If the sun hasn’t been swallowed,” said a member of the crew nervously.
“You’re not that lucky, Jesper!” roared Egil. “You’ve sworn an oath to row to Visby and back, and not even Ragnarok is going to excuse you from a week of honest work.”
The crew laughed, and only the passengers at the bow of the ship saw the relief that passed across Egil’s face.
Later, Hakon drew Sif aside, as much as he could aboard a crowded ship. “We’ll be making landfall at Visby soon,” he said.
“I know,” said Sif curiously, “what of it?”
“No matter how many times you may have been, Visby is dangerous. There are certain rules I would like to establish.”
Sif said nothing but folded her arms.
Not a good sign.
“One, once we make landfall, you are not to leave my sight. Two, you do not speak to strangers without my permission.”
“Oh, comeon, Hakon!” Sif burst out.
“I’m serious, Sif. We know nothing about the nature of the threat we face. The strange skies make me wary enough. We must exercise caution.”
Sif looked at him in silence.
“These are my rules, Sif. Tell me you understand them. And let me be clear; disobey them, and there will be consequences.”
Hakon held her gaze, and it was Sif who looked down first.
“Yes, my Lord,” she murmured, finally.
Hakon cupped her cheek. “That’s my good girl,” he said.
***
Just as Egil had predicted, sundown was turning the clouded sky a deep red as their longship slid against the dock, and members of the crew leapt out to secure the ship’s lines to wooden cleats that studded the dock. Hakon and Gunnar shook hands with Egil, and Hakon handed the ship’s captain a pouch of coin.
“Thank you, Captain. Safe travels home to you and your crew.”
