Valhalla Denied

"Oars up," The oars launched upward from bow to stern.

All were silent as the great dragon slid across smooth glass. The plan, as usual, was to go ashore as the dense morning fog cloaked their approach. The lack of steam gave testimony that no man dared breath. Most of those assembled had experienced many such mornings, but this morning was different. As tension snaked its way through the great ship, each man's face betrayed the inner calm he tried to portray.

This was no English fishing village. This was the land of the enchanted. Two weeks ago, no one believed in such foolishness. Now - this morning - amongst the ice and fog - doubt was no longer certain.

No Viking moved. Who could have imagined such silence - so many men - such a large ship and not a sound?

Bjarke knew something was wrong. He pulled the small metal ram horn from his pocket and unraveled the string. It spun and twisted for a moment as he dangled it from his finger. It came to rest with the end facing starboard, just as it had for the previous 4 days.

"Bring forth the falcon," He whispered. The order was passed to the rear and the cage brought forward. Bjarke removed the cover. He knew the meaning of a dead bird and so did every man on board. A murmur passed amongst the crew.

"Remain silent," Bjarke summoned as much command as he could with a whisper. The crew became hushed again. But there was no denying that fear had gripped them.

An unseen bell rang but only once. Then silence.

Each man was looking toward the sound as if seeing the bell would ease their collective fear.

No one noticed the first ashen hand as it reached over the rail.