The Viking king is killed and his widow is called to suggest to the council a worthy successor, able to win the raging war.
Torn between her feelings and her duty to choose the best for her people, she decides to seek the divine guidance and goes to...
At night, Hrafn couldn't sleep at all. The coming war trip occupied his thoughts, making him restless with expectation and anxiety.
To his relief, Olaf couldn't sleep either. Together they crept out of the house, trying not to wake their mother, and sat in the yard until the dawn, discussing again and again their plans and different turns the war might take. Hrafn had not left yet, but they were already missing each other, and somehow going through all the details together for a thousand and third time made them feel better.
Turid woke before the dawn and insisted they eat together. But they ate in silence, each of them lost in thoughts of the upcoming events.
Before they left the house, Turid spoke, "Olaf, Hrafn, there is something I want to tell you before you go."
The twins both feared a long, sentimental farewell ceremony that would make them feel uncomfortable. Yet they could not dare deny their mother such a small thing.
Turid said in a calm and even voice, "First, I want you to know that I completely trust all your plans, whatever they might be. I am sure, both of you know how to do it the best way possible. However, I am a woman, and most importantly, your mother. I want to give you something for gods' protection, just to keep myself from too much worry." She removed from around her neck two leather thongs with small stones hanging on them. Each stone had a different runic sign engraved on it.
She knelt before Hrafn and slipped one thong around his neck. Then she kissed his forehead and both cheeks. She repeated the same procedure with Olaf.
"Please, keep them with you all the time, and may gods protect both of you!" she said quietly and her voice quavered. "I love both of you very much."
~~~
All the farewells over, the two ships left the docks and glided proudly toward the rising sun, under the admiring gaze of the crowd.
The morning was beautiful and fresh, and back in the sea, the Vikings felt cheerful, rowing energetically and talking.
As they left the bay, the strong fair wind caught the ships; the sailors piled their oars and put up their yellow and red sails.
Hrafn savored every moment; it was his first big sailing and everything was exciting and new. He wanted to try and row a little, but with the strong wind propelling them, there was no need.
Some Vikings slept; others talked, played with tiny wooden figures that they moved across a checked wooden board, or honed their weapons.
Hrafn sat by the rudder, watching the sea and the quickly retreating land. It all still seemed unbelievable; only a week ago he played with Olaf on their tiny boat, unaware that soon he would be sailing a warship as a konungr.
Orm came and sat down next to him. "You seem thoughtful, Konungr," he said.
Hrafn met his gaze and shrugged. "I still can't believe it all," he confessed. "I'm living a dream."
The old Viking chuckled. "The war is not exactly a dream, but rather a nightmare. Killing for the sake of killing is not good at all."
His gaze lost somewhere in the waves, the boy nodded. "I know. But shouldn't we just enjoy the present moment as it is, instead of imagining all sorts of bad stuff?"
"Sounds so much like your father!"
The boy grinned. He liked being compared to his father. Then he looked eagerly at Orm. "Can you please tell me some legends?" he asked.
Orm's gray mustache went up and wrinkles around his eyes got deeper as he smiled. "Why not? Let me tell you about the so called Star Gate..."
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