Eyvind narrowed his eyes; he could scarcely see a ship-length beyond the knarr’s prow. If Ulf had been right in his calculations, they must surely even now be passing their intended safe harbor, swept beyond it by the elements’ fury. It was as if day had become night; the storm had turned the world to darkness. He closed his eyes. Thor! He spoke in silence, in the depths of the heart. Thor, I am your loyal son. I have served you with all my strength. Help us now, best of sailors. Show us the way.

“Land!” someone shouted. “I see land! Look, there to the south!”

“And there to the north!” yelled another man.

Eyvind’s eyes snapped open. It was true. Now, dimly showing between the curtains of rain, a low, dark mass could be discerned. It was not so very far off, and yet it might have been at the other end of the world, so little chance there seemed of changing course to reach it. The ship followed her own will now. Another shape loomed farther away, and more again, small islands, bigger islands, like a pod of whales rising in stately convoy from the ocean depths.

The crew shouted to Ulf, “Land! Land!,” but the gale snatched away their voices. They hauled on the oars anew; they wrestled with the sail. The angry waters were full of white spray, and the knarr pitched and tossed, timbers groaning in protest. The Golden Dragon was a distant shadow in the gray ocean.

Eyvind gripped his oar, knuckles white. He looked up into the storm-split sky, and the rain fell hard and punishing onto his face. I did not want to come here, Thor. Surely the god must hear his warrior, even in this desolate corner of the world. You know how it is for a fighting man. I obeyed my chieftain; I went where I was bid to go. But I am loyal. Guide us safely to shore, Warfather! Let us not come to grief on these skerries, nor be wrecked against these rocks. Bring us whole to landfall. We are your Wolfskins, and will serve you while we have breath in our bodies. Save us for a noble death in battle, not a futile end, adrift without purpose. Thor, aid your sons!

He waited. If Thor did not help, he thought, then no god would. Odin was a trickster, clever and unpredictable; he was difficult to please and his games were only for men who thrived on risks. Freyr had a temper. If one offended him, cataclysmic events might ensue: tempest, flood, drought, sudden maladies striking crops or men. With his power over the elements and seasons, Freyr could bestow plenty or famine. He appreciated a sacrifice, but even a fine bull might not be enough to calm his rage. Thor was different. Thor thought in terms any man could understand: life and death, friend and foe, courage and cowardice. He rewarded loyalty and despised treachery. Thor understood a warrior’s heart.