as the ships sailed on.
With carefully laid direction, Bergen guided the ship through the narrow waters hidden between shallow shoals and cays, until they came to a wide delta where countless strips of bare rock and islets surrounded them on either side.
The current pushed against them, forcing them to lower sail and use the combined strength of the oars and tiller to guide their ships safely through the delta. Their work was relentless and they rowed without pause as the sea vanished slowly behind them, leaving behind the Kattegat.
Within the hour, the land formations dwindled and they welcomed the calm waters. With the strength of sixty men, they pulled the ship upstream against the current. Rarely did they meet a strong wind that allowed them to raise sail. The ships curved around the land, making their way up and around the occasional island until they entered the Gautelfr where the current doubled.
The strakes creaked beneath the pressure until the boards buckled and the ships took on water. In massive groups that left no one immobile, they took up buckets and set to work prying up floorboards and bailing the excess water from within the hull. Only then did Kallan move.
Gathering up her skirts, she assisted the Ljosalfar as they bailed the water over the gunwale. Desperate to escape the flood, a pair of ship cats clambered, mewing, onto the mast fish, where blankets and chests and been hastily heaped as the deckhands proceeded to clear out water. The sudden clatter startled the ravens within their cage, adding a series of splintering squawks to the bustle and noise.
Steering closer to land where the current was milder, Bergen pulled the tiller against the bank until he ran the risk of running aground. The waters bombarded the ships, increasing their flow the farther upstream they rowed. There, the white waters of the ruthless rapids forced their course to end.
After ordering the ships to land, Bergen and Rune led their men to shore. A new energy encompassed the warriors as they moved to drop their oars and took up the collection of roller logs that had laid stationary for most of the voyage home.
Before Kallan could ask, two Ljosalfar hoisted a log from the trestles and passed it overhead to the next pair, who passed it along to those waiting on land. There, they positioned one log in place for the next log. With rehearsed precision, they laid the logs in rows before the ships while a handful of others lowered the yardarm then the masts and secured the rigging around the fore stern. Awed, Kallan watched as they synchronized their steps in time to Bergen, who barked his orders to haul as he took up a rope himself.
The logs rolled freely beneath the boat as they pulled their ships from the water to land. Water drained from the hull and the rigging clanked and clamored in time to the occasional cat mew while ship rats scurried freely. As soon as the last log rolled out from beneath the ship’s stern, a pair of men took up the log and raced it to the front of the ship, laying it down in position with barely enough time to run back to the stern where the next log lay waiting.
The next ship followed suit, and the next, until all six ships had been brought ashore, pulled by the rigging as they pushed their way along the river’s bank where a makeshift path had been worn with use.
“You do this often?” Kallan asked, unnaturally rigid as another pair of warriors ran to the fore stern with a log.
Rune walked along beside her as the caravan of beached ships creaked and complained beneath the weight of their waterless passage.
“Often enough,” he answered simply, batting a low hanging branch from his path. “The ships were built on land. When they are finished we roll them to the river. This is the first of seven trails between here and Gunir.”
Kallan shifted her attention just enough to catch Rune’s eye as he walked several steps behind their ship.
“Surely you can sail the rapids,” Kallan said, urging
With carefully laid direction, Bergen guided the ship through the narrow waters hidden between shallow shoals and cays, until they came to a wide delta where countless strips of bare rock and islets surrounded them on either side.
The current pushed against them, forcing them to lower sail and use the combined strength of the oars and tiller to guide their ships safely through the delta. Their work was relentless and they rowed without pause as the sea vanished slowly behind them, leaving behind the Kattegat.
Within the hour, the land formations dwindled and they welcomed the calm waters. With the strength of sixty men, they pulled the ship upstream against the current. Rarely did they meet a strong wind that allowed them to raise sail. The ships curved around the land, making their way up and around the occasional island until they entered the Gautelfr where the current doubled.
The strakes creaked beneath the pressure until the boards buckled and the ships took on water. In massive groups that left no one immobile, they took up buckets and set to work prying up floorboards and bailing the excess water from within the hull. Only then did Kallan move.
Gathering up her skirts, she assisted the Ljosalfar as they bailed the water over the gunwale. Desperate to escape the flood, a pair of ship cats clambered, mewing, onto the mast fish, where blankets and chests and been hastily heaped as the deckhands proceeded to clear out water. The sudden clatter startled the ravens within their cage, adding a series of splintering squawks to the bustle and noise.
Steering closer to land where the current was milder, Bergen pulled the tiller against the bank until he ran the risk of running aground. The waters bombarded the ships, increasing their flow the farther upstream they rowed. There, the white waters of the ruthless rapids forced their course to end.
After ordering the ships to land, Bergen and Rune led their men to shore. A new energy encompassed the warriors as they moved to drop their oars and took up the collection of roller logs that had laid stationary for most of the voyage home.
Before Kallan could ask, two Ljosalfar hoisted a log from the trestles and passed it overhead to the next pair, who passed it along to those waiting on land. There, they positioned one log in place for the next log. With rehearsed precision, they laid the logs in rows before the ships while a handful of others lowered the yardarm then the masts and secured the rigging around the fore stern. Awed, Kallan watched as they synchronized their steps in time to Bergen, who barked his orders to haul as he took up a rope himself.
The logs rolled freely beneath the boat as they pulled their ships from the water to land. Water drained from the hull and the rigging clanked and clamored in time to the occasional cat mew while ship rats scurried freely. As soon as the last log rolled out from beneath the ship’s stern, a pair of men took up the log and raced it to the front of the ship, laying it down in position with barely enough time to run back to the stern where the next log lay waiting.
The next ship followed suit, and the next, until all six ships had been brought ashore, pulled by the rigging as they pushed their way along the river’s bank where a makeshift path had been worn with use.
“You do this often?” Kallan asked, unnaturally rigid as another pair of warriors ran to the fore stern with a log.
Rune walked along beside her as the caravan of beached ships creaked and complained beneath the weight of their waterless passage.
“Often enough,” he answered simply, batting a low hanging branch from his path. “The ships were built on land. When they are finished we roll them to the river. This is the first of seven trails between here and Gunir.”
Kallan shifted her attention just enough to catch Rune’s eye as he walked several steps behind their ship.
“Surely you can sail the rapids,” Kallan said, urging
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