Atlantis: Bermuda Triangle

Chapter 6

Ragnarok turned the rudder over to Bjarni, and sat down on the rearmost bench. He peeled back his tunic to check the wound on his shoulder.

“You must clean it out,” Tam Nok said. “The wounds of these creatures can be poisonous.”

Her comment irritated Ragnarok, as if he had never been wounded before. Every weapon could cause poison to grow in the body. The skin had been sliced smoothly. Ragnarok squeezed around the edges, forcing more blood to flow out. He called out for Askell the Healer. The old man, bent from years behind an oar, made his way down the ship and peered at the wound with sad gray eyes.

He checked Ragnorak’s chest. “A burn. It is already clean. It will heal,” was the brief summation. “I will work on your shoulder.”

He reached into the large pouch hanging out his side and brought out what he would need. As Askell pressed a poultice onto the opening, Ragnarok considered his situation. They were holding course away from land. Bjarni-the-Farsighted was excellent at being able to keep the ship moving in a straight line without benefit of landmarks. Ragnarok wasn’t quite sure how he did it, but the skill had been proven over and over again during the years they had sailed together that he had an implicit faith in the helmsman. Fog still surrounded them, although the wind had died somewhat. Nothing was visible in any direction except dark gray. Most men dared not sail out of sight of land, for fear of becoming lost on the open sea, but Ragnarok knew once the sun rose, they could always reverse course and sail in the direction the sun came from to find land once more. He had sailed up and down the coast of Norway many times, although never this far north.

He had come along the coast looking for arable land, a valuable commodity in this part of the world. All he had found were steeper hills, worse weather, the burning mountain and fog and subsequently the encounter the previous evening.

There were rumors going around the Viking world of strange things happening. Traders from the south talked of earthquakes that killed many. The religion of the Christians had taken over much of the world south of the Vikings and even now was claiming many a Norseman converted. And there were many Christian monks who were warning of the coming of the millennium since the birth of one they called God. That there was to be a second coming after much devastation.

Ragnarok didn’t believe in the Christian god. They claimed they had only one, yet they spoke of three, which he didn’t understand. And while some of the priests of this religion claimed pending doom, others said nothing of it. He had participated in raids on several monasteries in England and Eire Land and while he didn’t accept their religion, he did respect the fortitude of the monks he encountered who wavered not the slightest in their steadfast belief in their god, even as they died on the sword.

Ragnarok believed in the Norse gods of his mother, but they were not the most important thing in his life. The ship that swayed under his feet was the center of his life and had been for years.

The longship was over eighty feet long and fifteen feet wide at the center beam, a large but not overly big longship. Ragnarok had heard that King Olaf Tryggvason in Norway had had a ship built the previous year over 160 feet long, twice the size of his ship. Ragnarok wished he could see such a massive ship, but he also knew that if he ever came across the King’s ship on the water, it would be the last thing he would ever see unless he could outrun it.

The keel of Ragnarok’s boat was hewn from a single large oak tree and curved using the strength of many men. The keel beam was carved in a T-shape, the thinner end of which extended into the water. Long experience at sea had taught the Vikings that this shape aided in steering a true course.

The ship’s ribs were also of solid oak to give strength and stability. The outside of the ship was constructed using inch thick sections of overlapping oak planking called strakes. The strakes were nailed to the ribs and also tied with spruce-root bindings. The total effect was a very strong, yet flexible ship, able to take on the batterings of an open ocean sailing yet drawing such little water that it could easily be pulled up on a beach and then pushed back into the water.

The mast was actually not very tall for such a long ship, only twenty-five feet high, hewn from a single tree. What the sail lacked in height it made up for in width, being over forty feet wide. That unique design allowed it to be raised or lowered quickly. It was made of a double layer of coarse wool, a dusky gray color except where a large blood red hand silhouette had been painstakingly dyed into the cloth.

Supplies were carried under floorboards that gave access to the low lying space beneath them and the keel. Just behind the mast, an iron pot was hung over a large hearth stone where, when the sea was totally calm and conditions favorable, a fire could be used to cook meals. Those conditions were few and far between and the crew usually subsisted on dried meat and stale bread while they were at sea. Caskets and barrels where lashed here and there, containing other supplies and, most importantly, drinking water.

The crew was totally exposed to the sea at all times, the only shelter coming when they slept under the nominal cover of the rowing seats, three feet wide, that stretched across the width of the ship. There were fifteen seats, accommodating thirty rowers. Over each row station shields hung on hooks. At the prow of the boat, a dragon head had been carved, the beast’s eyes searching the sea ahead.

The rudder was also a uniquely Viking invention, fixed to a large block on the right side of the rear of the boat. Bjarni steered the boat using a tiller bar. On the opposite side of the tiller, two vertical wood poles were set into the top of the hull, which the men held onto, rears sticking over the sea, in order to void their bowels.

The ship was all Ragnarok had and he had helped build it over the course of three years as a young man. He had sailed it for the past ten years and it had been his only home for the past four.

A voice came from the front of the boat. “We’re clear of the fog!”

Ragnarok looked up and the front of the boat was bathed in the early morning light. They slid out of the fog. Ragnarok looked back. The fog was like a wall behind them, the gray surface covering the horrors they had experienced.

“We’re safe now,” Tam Nok said.

Of more interest to Ragnarok than his wound was his passenger. The one who called herself a Disir, an emissary of the Gods, sent to Earth to help man. At least that was the role of Disir in the stories his mother had told him. Other than deflecting the golden beam from the Valkyrie, she had done little to show her powers. That there were Gods and that those Gods sent their minions to Earth to interfere in the affairs of men, Ragnarok had no doubt. There were too many unexplained things, too many wonders and horrors for it all simply to be a matter of chance. The Norse believed the Gods had made man, and thus they could play with him as they willed. Man could fight the Gods to the best of his abilities and sometimes even win if one was brave and true enough.

And if one lost fighting the Gods, the gate to Valhalla would certainly open. For a Viking there was no greater honor than dying bravely in battle, weapon in hand. A man who lived to an old age and died in his bed was viewed with disdain, a drain on the resources of his village. A coward who had simply not sought out that last fight that brought honorable death.

Valhalla was the hall of chosen slain where men dined and drank deeply at the table of the Gods. Every evening the warriors fought each other to the death and then their wounds and bodies were healed so they could repeat the same the following day. It was the kind of after-life existence that every Viking warrior dreamed of.

Ragnarok’s mother had been a story-teller, one who knew all the tales and on the long winter days and nights, the entire village used to gather around her to hear her voice. Thus Ragnarok knew of the Disir and the Valkyries- unnatural women who meddled in the affairs of men. Even the monsters he had caught glimpses of in the fjord had not shocked him. He had seen strange things on and in the ocean during his journeys and heard tales from men he believed of even stranger creatures. Now he had his own tale to tell, although he knew he never would- because he had left the enemy standing on the battlefield.

Like many in this part of the world, Ragnarok knew the world was a much larger place than what he saw and experienced. There was always more water and lands beyond over the horizon and he had a burning desire to see as much of it as he could before his end came in battle.

Despite all that, he had never had someone who claimed to come from the Gods on his boat. The Disir who called herself Tam Nok- a strange name indeed- was seated on the same bench, on the other side of the longship, five feet away.

“Where are you from?” Ragnarok asked.

Tam Nok pointed in the direction of the rising sun. “A long way, a very long way in that direction.”

“Rome?” Ragnarok had met a man in Denmark once who claimed to be from that land of legend. Where it was supposed to be warm almost all the year and the sun was always high at noon. An ancient kingdom which had once conquered all of Gaul and Germany and most of England. The man had had several gold coins that he claimed were Roman and Ragnarok had never seen the like before.

“Beyond Rome. Beyond Persia. Beyond India.”

Ragnarok could only stare at the woman. Other than the white hair she looked much too young to be speaking of traversing lands he knew of only in legend. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a long tube of a wood he had never seen.

“Bamboo,” Tam Nok said, catching his questioning look.

“Bamboo?” Ragnarok repeated.

She tapped the wood. “This is bamboo. It grows where I came from. Tall. As tall as your tallest trees. It is hollow but very strong.”

Ragnarok glanced across the woman at Hrolf, who shrugged. They had heard many tall tales, some true, some made up by braggarts- except she had the wood in her hand and he saw no reason why she would lie about such a thing.

She removed a plug in the end and carefully pulled out a piece of parchment out of the wood. She unrolled it on the bench between her and Ragnarok.

“What is this?” Ragnarok was staring at the lines drawn on the paper.

“A map.”

“Of?” Ragnarok was trying to locate some place he knew but the scale was strange.

“The world. Most of the world.” She tapped the map with a long, thin finger. “We are here.”

Ragnarok focused on that point, then expanded his view. He recognized the coast of Norway, the inlets, but if that small part was Norway, this map covered so much more. He felt excitement such as he had never known before, different than a battle rage, a yearning to know what lands and seas those lines represented.

“This is Denmark!” Ragnarok pointed. “And England where the Saxons are. I have been there on raids. Iceland. I have been there also and beyond- here to the land called Greenland by Eric the Red. I traveled there two summers ago.”

The map ended on the left with Greenland. Ragnarok had heard of lands beyond but he had never seen a map that detailed. What amazed him were the lands that extended across the map to the right.

Tam Nok nodded. Her finger slid way across the map to the east. “I am from here.”

Ragnarok was astounded. Her finger had gone across Norway, past Kiev, across the lands of the steppe horsemen, fierce fighters of whom Ragnarok had heard amazing stories, and many times further than that to a land that abutted a sea he had never heard of.

“My kingdom is called Khmer. My city, Angkor Thom. I am a priestess of the temple of Angkor Wat.”

“I have never heard of these places,” Ragnarok whispered. “You told me you were a Disir, a maiden of the Gods of Asgaard.”

“The Gods-” Tam Nok swept her hand around her head taking in the world- “have different names in different places, but they are the same Gods. You would call me a Disir; in my own land I am a priestess.

“I have traveled for over a year to get here and I have much further to go.” Her finger slid back across the map to where it ended in the west. “I must travel beyond the edge of this map.”

“To where?” Ragnarok asked.

“I do not know exactly where yet.”

“Why are the Valkyries after you?” Ragnarok asked.

Tam Nok didn’t even raise her head, her voice coming from inside the folds of her hood. “They want to stop me.”

“Why?”

“I have knowledge they want no one to have. Knowledge that can help man defeat them and the Dark Ones of the Shadow who send them.”

The sound of the water against the hull helped erase the last of the battle-rage and Ragnarok turned, putting his back against the hull, his feet stretched out. He was trying to work all this new information into his mind.

Askell shifted around and continued his work, having cleaned out the wound, he now was preparing to close the gash. Numerous scars criss-crossed Ragnarok’s body and he was used to the pain of wounds.

“How did you know my name?” Ragnarok asked.

Tam Nok’s head came up and she pushed back the hood. Those dark eyes peered at Ragnarok. “Like the knowledge the Valkyries wish to destroy, I know many things without having to be told.” She looked about. “Where were you going before you met me?”

Ragnarok laughed, even as Askell pierced his shoulder with a bone needle. “You just said you knew many things without being told.”

“I am tired,” Tam Nok said. “I do not have the energy for word games.”

The smile left Ragnarok’s face. “I do not like running, woman.”

“It was not a battle you could have won,” Tam Nok said.

“That is not the important thing,” Ragnarok said. “It is more important to fight bravely.”

“I will tell you what is important,” Tam Nok said.

“Be still!” Askell hissed as Ragnarok’s boots slammed into the bottom of the boat. The rage had returned, but he bit back his hasty retort. He forced himself to remain still as Askell finished the last stitch.

Askell used his teeth to cut the animal gut string he had used to sew up Ragnarok’s shoulder. He put the needle back in his bag and went back to his place. The other men close by all tried to appear as if they were not listening, but Ragnarok knew they were. There was no such thing as privacy on a longship. He pulled the tunic up over his shoulder and tried the arm. Some blood seeped through the stitches, and there was pain, but he could use it that was all that was important. The burn on his chest was an ache he had already gotten used to.

Then he returned his attention to the woman, keeping his voice low. “You do not scare me, priestess. This is my ship. One of my crew was killed back there by your demons. He did not receive a proper burial but at least he died with his sword in his hand, a good death. Another of my crew was taken away. They were both good men. Brave warriors. You say you are a Disir, but that is only your word. You will have to do much more to convince me that you are what you say you are.”

“Where are-” Tam Nok paused and rephrased her question and changed her tone. “Captain of this fine ship, where were you headed?”

“The Faroes, and from there Iceland,” Ragnarok said. He pointed on the map to the two locations.

She also referred to the map. “I must get to this place.”

“England,” Ragnarok said. “That is south of here and dangerous. We have spilled much Saxon blood over the years. They fear us, but if they catch one ship alone, they will be on us like dogs. And it has been well plundered. There is no longer much treasure close to the shore that can be easily taken. It is not in the direction we-”

“I will pay for the transit.”

Ragnarok could sense the interest from those of his crew who could hear. “How?”

Tam Nok reached inside her cloak and pulled out a small leather bag. She slid it across the bench toward Ragnarok. He picked it up and loosened the tie, peering inside. Not quite sure what he was seeing, he spilled the contents out on his palm. Stones and ingots glittered in his palm. Gold and jewels. He had seen such before, during raids on the English and French coasts, but he had never had such a large share.

“I could throw you overboard and just take these and continue on my way,” Ragnarok noted.

“You won’t,” Tam Nok said. “It is not your nature.”

Ragnarok frowned at that and put the stones back in the bag. “Why England?”

“As I said I am looking for something beyond the edge of the map. But in England I will get more information. That is the first place I must look.”

“What are you looking for?”

“A Shield.”

“It can stop the Valkyries and their creatures?”

“It can do much more than that.”

“How do you know this Shield exists?” Ragnarok asked, intrigued by the concept of such a powerful weapon. His ax- Skullcrusher- had been most formidable and never been broken in battle, until now. A weapon even more powerful than that would be worth more than any gold or jewels. He had seen how Thorlak’s shield had not even slowed the creature in the slightest, even though he had seen such blows in battle split a man’s head wide open. The white armor the Valkyries wore was something he had never seen before, as was the golden beam that had burned him.

Tam Nok pulled another piece of parchment out of the tube and tapped it against Ragnarok’s chest just above his burn. “The runes on the writing inside this tell me that. They tell me the Shield to stop the Valkyries and the Ones who will come after the Valkyries exists.”

“Let me see,” Ragnarok said. His mother had taught him the runes, something his father had reluctantly allowed.

Tam Nok unrolled the scroll.

“These are not runes,” Ragnarok squinted at the lines drawn on the paper.

“Not the runes you know,” Tam Nok agreed, “nevertheless, they are runes of another people. An older people. They tell how they defeated the Dark Ones of the Shadow. And how they- the ancient ones- had a weapon. But I do not know where the Shield is. I do not have the map for that. For that I need to go to England and find someone who can give me the rest of the map- the piece that is missing. The piece that shows the lands beyond Greenland, over the sea.”

Ragnarok had heard stories of land beyond Greenland. Vikings who had been caught in a storm while trying to reach Iceland or Greenland and come upon a strange land, where trees came down to the shore. Where there were strange people, Skraelings, who were unlike any people in Europe. As was Tam Nok, Ragnarok thought.

“You are sure there is someone there who has that?” Ragnarok asked.

“I have been told to go to England to find out,” Tam Nok said.

“You trust whoever told you this?” Ragnarok asked.

Tam Nok pointed up. “I was told by the Gods. I hear their voices. They have always led me in the right direction.”

“Why can’t the Gods tell you where the Shield is, then?” Ragnarok felt pleased with himself for having thought of that, “and skip having to go to this other person?”

“You would not understand,” Tam Nok said. “It is the way things are.”

Ragnarok leaned back once more on the seat considering what she requested. With favorable winds the northern part of England was two days sailing away to the southeast. The Faroes were a day and half, to the north and east. He looked at the map. To think there might be another map showing the lands that Eric the Red had sailed to a generation ago!

“Bjarni,” Ragnarok called to the helmsman. “South, by southeast.”