“But I am here, as you see, and so is Knut, and so, for a brief time, was Freyja with the sorry remnant of her crew. At some point in our breakneck voyage we spotted land: an island like a spear, a tall, narrow rock standing alone in the wild ocean. The sight of that inhospitable isle filled me with joy. Anything, anything but this wretched boat, this storm, this empty sea . . . The men were sick, frightened, exhausted. None among them had the heart to take charge. Paul did what the crew could not: he took hold of the steering oar and began to shout orders, urging the men to help save themselves. There was no time to rig the sail. But we could row.” Felix glanced at Knut. “This man, too, showed presence of mind. He kept his wits about him and helped calm the others, some of whom were near-crazed from fear. We rowed, crew and passengers alike, Paul’s voice ringing in our ears, a battle cry, a call to arms. ‘Pull! Pull!’

“All the way to the lonely isle we fought wind and waves. We left the stricken Matha alone in the hold. Every able man rowed. We came closer, and it seemed the island was bordered on every side by high cliffs, and there was no landing place. Then Paul saw a narrow opening, a slit between looming headlands, through which a passage might perhaps be threaded. Beyond the gap I glimpsed a calm inlet, a strip of level shore.”

Goose bumps rose all over my flesh. I had wondered if it would be the same tale. I had almost expected it. But to hear him say it, to recognize Svala’s vision in Felix’s account, was like watching the message of the runes become reality.

“We pulled hard toward that crack in the rocks. Paul kept up his steady guidance, easing Freyja one way or the other, correcting the stroke, steering a hair’s breadth from the high walls of stone. We passed through, Freyja surging out into the waters of the bay as if borne on a freakish wave.

“Safe. Safe at last. Full of joy, forgetting for the moment that we were in a wild place and far from home, I relaxed my grip on the oar. Smiles illuminated the pallid faces of the crew. ‘Pull for shore, men,’ Paul said, and I heard the same gladness in his voice.

“And then . . . and then, oh gods . . . ” Felix put his hands up to cover his face. I held my breath. “Then it came, out of the water right by the prow, a fearsome, long-toothed head, wild eyes, a neck like an oak trunk. It towered over us, a creature of gigantic proportions, a nightmare made manifest . . . ‘Pull!’ shouted my brother. Frozen in terror, none of us could obey. Besides, the thing was blocking our path. It whipped at the water with its tail, and waves splashed across Freyja, drenching us anew. It reared up, pawing the air above us with its long limbs. Each toe was tipped with a vicious claw the length of a man’s forearm. Paul was yelling at us, bidding us summon our courage, not stand about waiting for the creature to sink the ship and us with it.