Free Raven of the Waves by Michael Cadnum Page A

than before, but Lidsmod guessed that of all his shipmates Opir was the one who knew sorrow and anxiety best.
    At a word from Njord, Opir looked away, fussing with a knot. To show support for the young man’s effort, each shipmate pretended to ignore Lidsmod, every man a study in preoccupation. Lidsmod hung on in wind that was cold and strong and swept his hair back and filled his eyes with tears. He couldn’t see if he looked into the wind, and he couldn’t see if he looked away from it. The mast tossed.
    Water stretched to the horizon, its surface gleaming copper and silver with the sunlight. There was Crane , skimming the waves, spearing them.
    No sign of Landwaster .

12
    It was a long night.
    Crane stayed so close to Raven that Lidsmod could hear the voices of men across the water. They did not speak often, though—words were powerless. What could Odin give them in exchange for the loss of these men, and this famous ship?
    Eirik told the song of the Last Battle, when the gods themselves would bleed. Nothing escaped. Even the immortals suffered.
    Njord would not let Gunnar take the helm, nor Ulf, who was an able steersman. It would not be right for him to abandon his place at a time like this. Every man should do exactly what he did best. That, Njord explained to Lidsmod, was one good way to help the Regin, the deciding powers of the universe, spare lives. If each man did what was proper, and followed his skill, it was possible that all would be well.
    All night the ship creaked and the water rolled under the keel. The Norns could not be beaten. But sometimes—almost never, but sometimes—they grew inattentive.
    In first light Gunnar had the sail lowered and told Lidsmod to climb the mast again.
    Men paid no notice. What Gunnar did, and what Lidsmod did in turn, could not be acknowledged. Eirik mended a rope. Trygg honed a knife with a black stone. Opir worked a new leather thong through the seam in his shoe.
    It was easier now. Lidsmod’s arms and legs were sore from the first climb, but he knew he could do it, and the sea was calm. It rose and it fell easily, like a horse’s breathing. When he reached the mast top, the weather vane was slack. It twitched, fell, and lifted restlessly.
    The sea was like a vast glacier, wrinkled, dead. Crane parted the water, leaving a slick wake. A gull, hungry for fish scraps, gazed at Lidsmod from just out of reach. Its yellow beak was bright, and its black eye was tiny and knew exactly what it was doing, studying this ship full of men.
    Gray water. Nothing more.
    Lidsmod clung to the mast, searching the horizon. He should climb down soon, he knew, before the cold worked into his sinews.
    Then: something.
    At the very end of the sea, as far away as Lidsmod could perceive, a shape like a sheep fly. It was there for half a breath, and then it was gone.
    â€œWhat do you see?” said Gunnar. His voice was far away, from another world.
    Lidsmod held tight and looked down. He gave a doubtful look: he didn’t know.
    Trygg slapped the mast with his big hand, and Lidsmod could feel his strength all the way to the top. Trygg couldn’t bear it—what did Lidsmod see?
    The fly lifted and fell. Lidsmod blinked, trying to clear his eyes.
    Nothing. And then there was something again, a fleck, a dark shape. The ship—because it was a ship—had a white sail with red stripes. The sun caught the sail.
    â€œI see them!” cried Lidsmod. “I see Landwaster !”
    It was important to use the right speech, the right tone of voice. Gunnar called upward. “Are you sure?”
    Was Lidsmod sure? He strained. Red stripes. A black ship, winking in and out of the distant sea.
    He spoke clearly, sounding, he hoped, like a seasoned seafarer. “To the north, in a line off the helm. Landwaster !”
    Men slapped him on the back when he was down from the mast, and Opir called him Lidsmod the ship spier, the man with eyes nearly as keen as