Page 54 of Alien Viking's Passion

Craxon went to the aft of the ship and waved with his whole arm. “Farewell!” he yelled, but then his voice failed.

“Bright weather and fair winds!” the warriors thundered from the pier.

Still no round, hornless woman was staring at him from afar.

He couldn’t blame her for that. Perhaps it was for the best.

His vision went blurry and he quickly walked to the bow, where nobody could see his face.

- - -

The clouds gathered the moment the thin line that was the Hjalmarheim coast vanished over the horizon. And they gathered fast as the wind picked up.

“This is unusual,” Tyra said as they secured the oars and tied down all the loose objects. “I’ve never seen a storm gather this quickly.”

“Njord wants us to have a journey to remember,” Craxon said, forcing himself to grin as a wave sprayed them with salt water. “It’s been a while since we’ve sailed on the seas! This is his way to say ‘welcome back’!”

“This has nothing to do with Njord,” Signe said quietly. “This is something else. And it’s only starting.”

“Lower the sails!” Craxon ordered, then spotted a small shape slink by his foot along the side of the ship. It was a small iglsnutr with one broken spike.

Craxon frowned. It couldn’t be Sonic, could it? He followed the creature with his eyes until it jumped up on the chest Valtyrr had carried aboard and lay down on top of it.

“Must like to eat rotten fish,” he muttered, then looked up. The clouds were looking ominous.

The storm blew stronger and stronger. It seemed to come from no particular direction. Waves crashed into the ship from ahead and from the sides, sometimes from the aft. The sky was a dark patchwork of churning gray clouds. There was no rain, just huge waves and strong gusts of wind that howled past the mast and the rigging. Cold, salty waves sprayed over everyone, and the ship was creaking loudly from all its joints. The water stood six fingers above the bottom, splashing back and forth around the cargo.

“We should turn about!” a warrior yelled to be heard over the insane noise. “Back to Hjalmarheim!”

“The wind is blowing us in every direction!” Craxon countered. “We would founder on the coastal cliffs!”

“We’ll founder anyway!” the warrior pointed out, the storm grabbing his long hair and pulling at it so it stood away from his head. “If we were closer to shore, we might be able to swim for it!”

“Nobody can swim in these waves!” Craxon said. “We’ll trust the skills of the Hjalmarheim shipwrights!”

He distantly realized that he wasn’t afraid. Going down in a storm was just as honorable as dying in battle, and they would all be welcomed to Valhalla. He was still a prince and ruler.

“Look!” Tyra yelled and pointed. “Kraken!”

She was right. There was clearly a big kraken in the sea, right next to the ship. Its giant eyes glowed, and its tentacles writhed over and through the crashing waves.

“There!” another warrior called. “Kraken!”

Craxon spun around. Indeed there was another. And another.

“The sea is full of krakens!” he yelled to nobody in particular.

Dozens of long tentacles as thick as his thigh were reaching out of the waves, searching for something.

Signe pointed up. “Ghost ships!”

Indeed the sky was full of gray ships, old and rotting, their sails translucent shreds, their masts broken, their crews hanging from their tangled rigging, waving swords and axes, long dead but still moving, still dangerous. The ships whirled around them in a crazy circle, both there and not there at the same time.

The krakens reached for the ghost ships, but their tentacles went through them and they couldn’t get a grip. Curved kraken beaks the size of shortships snapped at the air.

“Sweet Zhor,” Craxon gasped. It was the most horrendous thing he’d ever seen. “Valtyrr! Draw your sword!”

His warrior was at the bow with his back to the ship, standing tall and looking ahead. It was as if he was unaware of the danger.

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