The sun was slowly setting, casting a golden glow across the sea. The ship was drifting further and further away from the island’s shores, from the safe harbour, from home. It was setting out on its final voyage, and the pillar of smoke rising from it reached up into the darkening sky.
‘Today they are setting sail for the realm of the dead, but do not be sad. We shall meet them again when the time comes, and together we shall sit at the table of our ancestors.’ The elder druid raised his hands towards the sky and began to chant in one of the forgotten languages. His song carried far across the water, catching up with the burning ship.
Those gathered on the quay slowly began to disperse, heading for the farewell feast held in honour of the departed. By the time the druid had finished singing, the ship was no longer in sight, and the plume of smoke was dissipating on the horizon. He turned and looked around. In the prevailing darkness, he saw no one except a burly man leaning against some crates lying on the quay.
‘You look troubled, jarl.’ The druid slowly approached Olaf, leaning heavily on his wooden staff. ‘What’s troubling you?’
‘Oh, you know full well, Heres.’ The jarl instinctively gripped the handle of his axe and shook his head. ‘It’s about their son. I don’t know what to do with him. He has no relatives, no one close to him…’
‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. I know exactly what you mean. Biorn and Kristin were your friends, so you want to look after their son. Am I right?’
‘As always…’ Olaf sighed and ran his enormous hand through his thick, copper-coloured beard.
‘All you need is my consent and my blessing.’ Heres gazed towards the horizon, to the spot where he’d last seen smoke. ‘They’d both have wanted this, I know it. I also know that you’ll raise him as your own son.’
The jarl nodded several times; he didn’t need to reply.
‘Did Biorn manage to name
