(A/N: I owe a debt to the New Zealand Maritime Museum. Hui Te Ananui A Tangora. This is for some of the naval superstitions mentioned.)

It turns out that everyone has their favourite ghost stories on the decks of a ship.

Nor is it as uncommon as I thought it would be to find mysterious floating ships on the high seas, just gently going about their business at the whim and pull of whatever tide or current they are at the mercy of. That is, if they're not also under sail.

Everyone has one of these stories. Kerrass told me that it was pointless to try and collect them on the grounds that, well, there was too many of them. If Ragnvald's theory was correct, that what the Skeleton Ship was was the place where dead men go when they die at sea if they turn into ghosts, then the job was much larger than we had previously thought.

He didn't think it was of course. He pointed out the pattern of journeying of the ship itself. He told me that if it was the men that were haunted then the ship would be more likely to travel towards the more occupied parts of the Skelligan islands. But this was provably not the case. It just seemed to roam around before ending up travelling through the harbour at Kaer Trolde.

But I was curious anyway and I asked the other members of the Wave-Serpent, what they thought might be going on.

A lot of them, a LOT of them didn't really care which I thought was surprising. A significant supernatural entity that brought the entirety of Skellige to it's knees and these men didn't seem to care. They were just indifferent to it all. As though the Skeleton Ship was a similar kind of thing to the sun coming up in the morning. Or that rain is accompanied by clouds. That women can be cruel and men can be stupid. It was just one of those things that they accepted and got on with their lives. It was... strange to me.

Ciri reminded me that a thing, although magical, terrifying and strange to outsiders, can eventually become routine to those people that have to live with it on a day to day basis, it can become mundane and boring.

Of those that remained. Most told me that they thought that it was just another ghost ship. More powerful, older and stranger to be sure but they kept reminding me that ghost ships were not as strange as we might think that they are. That they regularly see ships on the high seas that should not exist. That do not exist and disobey all laws and rules of ship-building.

But there they are, floating off in the distance. Often wavering and shimmering in the air in the same way that a heat haze can form on the horizon or above a candle flame. The tell-tale green glow of an angry spirit billowing up into the sky.

As I say, to the Skelligan sailors, it was just one of those things that you have to deal with. They dealt with it practically. They protected themselves from the cold, they did all the things that you do to protect yourselves from the spirits. The Wave-Serpent had an iron rim around the rail. They were already surrounded by the salt sea so putting more salt down seemed a little redundant. So what else was there to do?

They were worried about the cold. That was a practical concern and they were worried that we were out on the ocean with the Skeleton Ship so close to us. But other than that, they shrugged their shoulders, told me that their time on this world was already ordained.

“The tale of your life has already been written.” Ivar told me one night. “You can run from your destiny if you like but that will not stop it from finding you. It is better, by far, to face it with a laugh on your lips, a weapon in your hand and a song in your heart. But there is nothing you can do to change it. Even if you hid in a hole or behind castle walls, your assigned fate will still befall you. So why be afraid of it.”

He was laughing as he said it.

So I asked them about these ghost ships that they had all seen. Again, as with other situations. If I really wanted to then I could write a whole series of books on the subjects of what they told me. The ghost ships, the sunken ships and the superstitions that these things form.

I would like to say that I was hunting down clues as to things that might help us in dealing with the Skeleton Ship. I would like to say that but I would be lying. Secretly, I agreed with Kerrass. We weren't going to find our answers by pursuing Ragnvald's thinking. Kerrass was the expert and his instincts are usually correct in these matters.

In fact, just saying that, I am being unfair to him. Kerrass' instincts are always correct when it comes to matters of haunted things, ghosts and monsters. Even when I have thought it was something else, even when he was descending into madness, he was still right and snatched victory from the jaws of defeat by exercising his knowledge and his instincts.

So Kerrass was right. We were not going to solve this question by dealing with the ghosts of the men on the deck. The problem was the ship, so we needed to deal with the problem of the ship.

Therefore, asking questions about other ships was largely pointless.

But I did it anyway.

Why?

Because it was fun. It really was. Everyone had a story about Ghost ships, sunken ships, cursed ships and the like. It was fascinating and I watched and listened with mouth open and Skelligans being Skelligans, they filled the air with stories. Funny stories, scary stories, unbelievable stories and stories that kept me up at night with the terror that they gave me.

“One of the things that you have to remember about Sailors.” Torvald told me. “Is that we're a superstitious bunch.”

This statement was met by a lot of laughter. Torvald had turned out to be a priest which had astonished me. At the beginning of the journey, if you had lined up the men of the Wave-Serpent in front of me and told me that one of them was a priest, I couldn't have picked him out. He was as heavily bearded as any of them, as heavily armoured as any of them and as foul and uncouth as the worst of them. He drank, swore, fought and loved with equal abandon and when he fought, he would sing his battle hymns as his hammer rose and fell from the skulls of his enemies. He was dark haired and dark bearded and wore an eye-patch. The other men teased him and called him pirate on the grounds that only pirates sailed while losing their eyes.

He swore at them for that, told them that losing his eye had gifted him with a level of wisdom that they could not comprehend and that they could all suck his raging purple dick.

Svein told him that if he continued like that then Torvald's leg could easily be removed so that he could have a peg leg as well and thus maintain the image. Torvald had chased him round camp swinging his hammer round his head to laughter by all and a smile from Helfdan.

Torvald was another who strongly disapproved of my self-imposed chastity. “You are not married to the lady yet.” He informed me. “Nor will you be for a while yet. So why not have some fun?”

I told him my now standard line about being held by the oath even if the oath had not been said aloud.

“My friend.” He told me, pulling the girl who was bending over in order to show me her cleavage onto his lap, “On the day that you die, you will look back at your life. You will think of all the things that you have said and all the things that you have done. You will regret every life that you have taken. You will regret every lie that you ever told and every deceit that you perpetrated against your fellow man. You will regret every time that you turned and walked away when you should have stepped forward stood firm. You will regret all of those times when you whispered instead of shouted.

“All of the little evils that you allowed to pass you by. All of the little sins that you could have done something about, all of the little injustices, even if you can argue each point to the one that stands in final judgement over us all.”

Then his voice went serious.

“But the only thing that you will regret about love, is all those women that you might have loved, but did not. Or men if that's what you prefer, Hemdall does not judge after all.” He laughed again. He was another Skelligan that enjoyed the sound of his own voice, especially when that voice was lifted in laughter.

I carried on the argument, pointing out the love and affection that I had for Ariadne and how I did not want to jeopardise that. It went backwards and forwards for a while as such arguments always do before he realised that I was not going to admit that he was right, nor was I going to allow myself to get drunk enough for my self-discipline to become eroded.

But then he lost interest. The girl was now directing her attentions towards Kerrass who was far more receptive to her attentions.

One thing that I do applaud the Skelligans for is their sexual politics. The requirement for virginity on the wedding night that we on the continent hold so sacred is non-existent in the islands. But there is another thing as well. It is just as acceptable for a woman to proposition a man as it is the other way round. And a person's promiscuity is their own affair.

I find that I approve, even if I am a little too much of a prude to properly enjoy such things. Or too much in love. Or too whipped if you prefer to think that kind of thing.

All of these things were insults that had been levelled at me in the time that I was with the Skelligans but there was no rancour there. No hate or venom.

We were in a tavern. A small, fishing village that Helfdan knew that would keep the Wave-Serpent away from prying eyes and that would happily restock some of our supplies in advance of further journeys. Helfdan had gone off to speak with the lord of the place and talk as men do, ably supported by the presence of the brothers Svein and Ursa. In the meantime, the crew had been offered hospitality and had absconded to the local tavern. It seemed that the crew were well known enough here that they could take certainl liberties and a good time was being had by all. We ate we drank and as was becoming my habit, I asked about Ghost ships.

Torvald had laughed before sitting in silence and staring at the table for a while, playing with his medallion which depicted an upside down hammer of iron.

One of the things that you have to remember about sailors is that we're a superstitious bunch. But just because we're superstitious doesn't mean that we aren't right about some of the things that we are superstitious about.

There's also a thing about the fact that the reason for some of the things that we are superstitious about have been lost to time.

For example. It's incredible bad luck to set sail on a Friday. I have no idea why.

It's also bad luck to sail with a woman as part of the crew. Certainly not in command. I'm not saying that they're not capable or that they can't fight or anything. Fuck me, but try and stop a woman from fighting if she gets the desire for it in her blood. But they can never be in the crew. You can carry them aboard but they mustn't help crew the ship.

No sailor must ever cut their hair, shave their beards or trim their fingernails while sailing aboard ship.

Although, I would point out that cleaning onesself in sea water is important, if not necessary to the lives of your fellow ship mates.

He glared at a couple of the people in the crowd to much hilarity.

A boat must never be renamed. If that becomes necessary for honour or other purposes then there must be a denaming ceremony and then the ship must be named a new.

It is unlucky to set off at the beginning of a season without shedding some blood in some kind of ruckus. A bar fight for instance. Not a ritual blood-letting. But a good old-fashioned punch up.

Never tell a sailor “Goodbye” or “Good luck” while aboard ship. Instead say “Farewell”, “Good travels” or “Good Fortune.”

The list goes on and on.

A man should say tender farewells to his wife and children in the home before walking down to the dock by himself. He must never say his farewells on the dock itself or in sight of the sea.

Drinks should never be stirred with a knife or a fork, only a spoon or a finger. Salt cannot be passed from one hand to another but must be placed in the same place for the next person to pick up.

Never whistle, except in calm waters and then only until the first gust of breeze is felt.

Any flowers brought aboard must quickly be thrown overboard and when embarking, a sailor must place their right foot on the deck before his left.

It sounds ridiculous doesn't it. And it is. It is ridiculous. All the little things that we have to do when we are aboard ship in order to preserve ourselves and our comrades from the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing. We know it's ridiculous as well. How can we fail to know that it's ridiculous?

We have to touch a piece of iron for luck if we see anyone breaking any of these superstitions. Even if they've done it by accident. Even if we don't believe it. Especially if we don't believe it.

Excess salt must be thrown over the shoulder in case a ghost is sneaking up behind you. We all know that and even land dwellers follow that superstition. But do they have to then spit, or urinate over the side in order to make a sacrifice of water back into the sea so that they will protect us.

We are also absolutely aware of the contradictions in our own superstitions and stupid practices. Would you like an example?

It is well known that the presence of a woman in the crew is bad luck. If we really put our minds to it, we can even explain this superstition away by admitting to the fact that the reason for this superstition is fairly obvious. Which is because the close and confined quarters mean that physical contact and intimacy is inevitable and that if the woman does bestow her affections on a man in the middle of a long voyage then there is a risk of jealousy and heart break amongst the crew.

And sometimes it is easier to tell everyone that the presence of a woman on board is unlucky rather than to try and explain to everyone that “We're married and therefore nothing is going to happen. And if you try I'll knock your fucking teeth in.”

But did you know that the presence of a naked woman is actually known to calm a stormy sea? It is. That's why even the Nilfgaardians have carved figureheads of naked and beautiful women on the prow of their ships. Even the Nilfgaardians, as uneducated and stupid to the world that they are, even they know that these kinds of things can save your lives.

So we know how stupid it all is. We know that a red-haired man must not be spoken to aboard ship unless someone else does so first. Then the red-headed man's bad luck is transferred onto the speaker who must then disembark for obvious reasons.

We know how ridiculous it is that grown men will not say the words “Storm” or “Home” or “Love” when they are aboard ship. We know all of these things. We know that if any man does say these things then he must immediately slap himself in the face.

We know how ridiculous it is that a fishing ships first voyage of the season must also be accompanied by the ceremony of a naked man being thrown over the side of the ship. He must stay there for a period of a minute until a rope is thrown for him. If he manages to recover then the ship will have a good season. If not, then the ship might as well turn for home and be used for other purposes.

We know how ridiculous it is that, as well as naked women being carved into the front of the ship in order to calm the stormy seas. We also carve monsters into our figureheads in order to scare off the spirits of the dead.

We know how stupid it is. We do.

But here's the thing. Every single one of us knows of an occasion when one of these superstitions has been ignored and as a result, a ship has been lost with massive loss of life.

Every man knows of the ship “Knife of the storm.” Where a sailor whistled a tune as he was sailing through as gentle a sea as a man could wish for. Then a wind blew up, caught hold of the sail and tore the mast itself out of the ship, killing many of the crew with the shattering wood and leaving the ship itself to limp to shore.

Every man knows the tale of the “Thunderchild”. Who travelled to a foreign port and caught an infestation of lice. The Captain was so angry that he ordered his men to be shaved in order to help get rid of the biting insects. Only for pirates to turn up and steal all of his cargo and his ship, marooning the remaining crew on an island without food and water.

The funniest story of this type.... Well, I say funniest, the loss of life that this involved was anything but entirely funny. But at the same time, the Lord and Captain involved deserved everything they got. I understand that the Lord was a Nilfgaardian...

(As a note, although relations between the Skelligan isles and the Nilfgaardian empire are improving every day. Especially as, technically, the Isles are part of the empire now. But still, if ever there is a need for a foreigner to be the butt of a joke or if the story needs a villain of some kind. Then inevitably that person is a Nilfgaardian. You know the kind of thing, where a Princess needs rescuing then inevitably it will be a Nilfgaardian pirate that she needs rescuing from. When a crusade of bloody vengeance is called in order to take restitution at the bloody edge of an axe, then invariably it is the Nilfgaardians that are at the wrong end of that axe. Truth be told, it is a little surprising to me that Birna Bran thought that she could engineer an alliance between herself, her son and the Nilfgaardian Empire.

The only reason that it works now is because the islanders remember Ciri from when she would come and visit the islands and stay with King Bran as a guest, or with Jarl Crach An Craite. So in many ways, the islanders see it as being their empire.

And who is to say that they are wrong.)

… Who commanded a vast stretch of the Black one's coast. His fleet was large and he was a wealthy man, making vast sums from his equally vast fishing fleet, trading vessels and mighty warships. As is the way with such men, his wealth attracted a young and flighty lady who was more naïve in the ways of the sea than she should have been, but the Lord was unable to deny her a single thing. So one day she declared in a loud voice that the small and petty superstitions of the sea folk was cutting into her husbands profits. Why did they refuse to sail on a Friday? surely women were just as strong as the men were and why would they be prevented from crewing a ship. Why were red-heads unlucky? Surely there were plenty of strong, able-bodied red haired men who were being kept from serving their proper duties to their proper Lord.

Being a man, and therefore stupid, he was helpless before the feminine onslaught of his young and beautiful wife and ordered a new ship to be built.

Not only would the ship be called “Friday” but it would be launched on a Friday. He couldn't find a Captain who was willing to sail on it until his wife provided a female one. But then the ship was crewed with any red-head that was willing to sign on and there were also a number of women that were drafted into the crew to make up the numbers. In a ceremony before launching, the Captain searched the ship and confiscated every spoon that she could find and threw it over the side.

When the ship was launched there was a big ceremony on board where every man present shaved their beards and the women trimmed their fingernails. Then a pot of salt was passed around and each member of the crew had to ask the next sailor for the pot of salt to be passed over to them.

The Lord was getting excited. Finally the silly superstitions of his sailors would be put to rest. The ship came back to dock and was loaded up with cargo. This due to the fact that the Lord wasn't quite brave enough to risk this enterprise on a more expensive warship.

So the “Friday” took it's maiden voyage out to sea, on a sunny Friday afternoon on the thirteenth of the month, accompanied by the whistling of it's crew members. And to no-one's surprise she promptly sunk just outside the harbour with the loss of all hands and the entire cargo. There was absolutely no warning. No storm winds and strange tides. The Lord then had to spend a small fortune having the ship salvaged so the rest of his fleet could make it out of the harbour without incident.

So while we can mourn the men, and the women, that were lost. Sailors all over the world heard that story and were forced to admit that the Lord, and every sailor who climbed aboard that ship, deserved what they got at the hands of that most fickle mistress of every sailor. The sea.

But that is not the only story that we can tell.

We can also tell the tale of the ship that was renamed after it was captured without a naming ceremony. Before that, it had been named something to do with the royal family that it had been part of. “The Princess Rowan” or something. But the new Captains wanted to rename it as they didn't want to honour a foreign princess. The Lord wanted the ship to sail immediately as there was a need for warships of the like during the naval actions of the time, and so the ship was renamed “Godhammer” and set sail to join the fighting.

I was part of the crew that found that ship. I will never forget it.

We were sailing off the eastern coast or An Skellig at the time. On the way back from a raid, laden down with loot we were laughing and joking with each other. Looking forward to blowing off some steam and getting an ale down our throats.

Out of nowhere, the clouds rolled in. Not the kind of grey overcast that would be normal for that time of year and that kind of place. This was the kind of towering thunderclouds that conspire to make you feel small before the power of the Gods. The wind picked up slowly. Just slowly and despite the best efforts of our helmsman we were powerless before things as we headed into the tempest.

Every sailor knows these kinds of moments. Every single one of us knows that moment when the sea just decides that we are going one way and not the other. Where the wind turns and the waves swell and all that we can do is to trim sails and just hold on. Just hold on and enjoy the ride.

So that's what we did. We just held on.

Surprisingly though, we were treated quite gently, all things considered. The swells were huge, the rain was falling and things but I remember never feeling as though I was in any danger. The wind felt like the fingers of a lover ruffling through my hair. The rain was like a warm bath and the movement of the ship was like the movement of a mother rocking an infant to sleep. It was... surprisingly peaceful. Restful almost as we moved through the storm of the sea's anger.

Of course we all know what was happening. We have all known the anger of the person that we love and we have all felt that relief when it was clear that the anger was not directed at us. This time was no different. We were not the people that the sea was angry with. We were not the ship that had incurred the wrath of the mistress that we all serve. We had been brought here to be sure, but we had been brought here to bear witness to the results of pride and arrogance.

It had the feel of a rescue mission almost. When the lookouts have seen a ship foundering in the waves off the shores of a rocky outcropping. But there was no urgency to it. There was no... fear. The sea had taken us in her arms and was taking us somewhere. We posted look outs in order to see what it was that we were looking for.

We heard it before we saw it. The creaking of the deck and the groaning of the ropes. The cracking of the sail and the shrieking of the tiller as it groaned against the brackets set out on the deck.

We all huddled together then. It sounds funny to say it aloud, thirty Grown Skelligan warriors. Veterans of wars and battles. Raids and reprisals. I myself have seen no less than four blood feuds ended over the bodies of the men who insulted their Lords. I have seen sacrifices to the Gods that would curdle the blood of the foreigners that walk here among us.

Old men, proud men who walk tall and stand strong but now we huddled together in fear, deep in the bowels of the Longship in the vain hope that our ship would keep us safe from the awful things that lurked in the stormy night.

We needn't have worried though. We were there as witnesses rather than as those being punished. The sea had brought us here so that we could see the folly of man, when we try and stand before our great mistresses and go against her wishes.

Eventually, our then Helmsman, this was before I sailed with the Wave-Serpent, poked his head over the rail and looked over the side to see what could be seen. We could already hear the ship, but now we needed to see it. It might even be worse if we had come here to see the results of the seas wrath but then we refused to see it. Then the sea might have been even more angry.

So he looked and then I joined him. Remembering that I am a servant of Hemdall so that if the sea should take me then my seat in the halls of Hemdall would be guaranteed, even if I was unworthy of being taken to the halls of Freya.

But the seas were angry and the waves were tall and flecked with foam that it spat into our eyes and we almost didn't see the ship until we were on top of her. Then there she was.

I will call her the name which the sea still knew her as. The Princess Rowan. I do not know why anyone, even the most devout of priests would call such a beautiful ship “Godhammer.” The original name was much better suited to so beautiful a vessel. We call the ships that we sail on “she” because, like women, they must be cared for, loved and cherished. If you love your ship then you will not have a more staunch defender in the face of the oceans wrath. She will keep you warm on cold nights and lull you to sleep at night. She will withstand the wrath of enemies and laugh at the anger of the skies. But the moment that you turn from her, the moment you neglect her then she will shatter you on the rocks of hatred without warning. Casting you adrift into the cold and nightmarish landscape that hates you.

The Longships of the Islands are beautiful craft but we are the sharks of the sea. Our ships are hard, warrior ships. Some would call us the Wolves of the sea and I do not feel as though that description is too insulting.

We are small, sleek and gorgeous to look at but we also elicit a fear that is hard to define.

This ship was not one of those. She was not a warrior woman that hurled herself into the enemies ranks, laughing and hissing like a cat as her blades flashed in firelight, trailing blood and gore behind them. This ship was the beauty of the woman waiting for you at home. Gentle, loving and caring. This was a ship of the mother, a woman who keeps the home warm and nurtures her children but whose wrath remains terrible should those children desert her, or worse if they should be threatened.

But such women still have that capacity for rage in them and this ship knew that all too well. But she was still beautiful to see and any sailor who called that ship home would be proud to do so.

But they hadn't had they.

This was a ship who deserved to be looked after. Kept safe and secure. A cargo ship, not a war-ship. As I say, we call ships “She” but it's vary rare that a ship actually looks feminine. Or so it seemed to me that day as I looked out over the side of our longship and saw the Princess Rowan at the mercy of the elements. She was a ship of curves and gentle lines. There was a hint of hardness there but there was also a softness that was bewitching. If I had been granted a berth aboard that ship I would have never left her. I would have gone down into the depths with her and cherished her as she so richly deserved. I saw her only that one time and I loved her for it.

I was not alone. When other sailors started to overcome their weakness and join the Helmsman and I at the rail there were cries of pain and anguish at the fate that had befallen so beautiful a craft. Even the ocean wasn't immune to the ship's charms. I could almost hear the sea as it threw the ship around. “Do not worry my dear. I am angry. I am furious. But not with you. Never with you. You have done your duty as best as you are able and now I must punish those who have done you wrong.”

The Captain wept as he gave the orders to bring us alongside the Princess Rowan. The Helmsman steered and our Grapples were thrown. We daren't use the oars for fear that the waves would snap them and laugh as they did so. We heaved on the ropes and our souls were rent in two as we contemplated what we would find. The most common theory was that someone had mutinied, that worst of sins that a sailor can commit, and that the ensuing combat had resulted in a slaughter of both sides of the mutiny until the ship was left with not enough crew to look after her.

Or pirate attack. But that seemed wrong somehow. There wasn't enough damage to the ship and a pirate attack would not have made the sea so angry. The same for a monster attack or vodyanoi swarming up out of the depths. It just didn't make any sense.

We brought ourselves up to the side of the ship as gently as we could. It was not easy. Not easy it all. As though our ship wanted to be as close to the derelict as it could. As though even our own Longship was mourning this ship who was lost.

The Helmsman ordered us to tie on loosely with only a couple of lines. Stout men with axes were positioned near the ropes in case the waves reared up and carried both ships away from each other. Such things can cause untold damage to both craft and it could happen at a moments notice so we needed to be prepared in case we had to leave suddenly.

There were six of us that climbed aboard. All volunteers. I volunteered on the grounds that if there were any dead that might be there, I would be able to commit them to their God's arms, or Goddesses if they preferred that kind of thing. The Captain came because he shared a belief with Lord Helfdan that no man should ask another to do something that he would not do for himself and there were another four warriors with us. We took weapons with us but it was more of an automatic thing rather than because we were afraid of coming across enemies, and we took some torches. The hull was dark and it was already tricky to see.

We climbed up, not knowing what we were going to find. We were cautious because a lifetime of travel and war at sea breeds caution into even the most reckless of men and we stood on the heaving deck, weapons out and ready.

To find that there was nothing there. But it would be a lie to say that the deck was clear. Off to one side, I could see buckets of water with scrubbing brushes to hand. Further over I could see a sail near a bench with thick thread and large needles where someone had been repairing the cloth.

One of my fellows found a pot of tea and a firepot, still with hot coals within.

We split up, travelling in pairs as, even though we would cover more ground if we went alone, it seemed foolish to split up to the extent. One pair resolved to search the deck. Another pair went below to check the holds while My Captain and I were going to check the crew quarters and the Captain's Cabin.

Quite sensibly, we were ordered to leave everything where it was. Even if we had found jewelled crowns and the vast wealth of the Golden Emperor himself, then we were to leave those things and those gems where we found them. There was an instinct that was crawling along our flesh. That soul deep foreboding that told us that we were in that place between worlds where all is not as it seems. You learn to listen to that instinct when you spend all your time on the open sea. It's the instinct that tells you when you're being drawn into a trap. The instinct that you go to that island or that you leave that town alone.

The Captain led me to the back of the ship.

The Captain's cabin was as neat and tidy as any Northern Cabin that I have ever had the fortune to loot. The equipment was squared away properly, the map was on the table, the rutters and things were tidied away carefully and they were up to date too as my Captain took down the last copy and read me the last entry about how the ship had been renamed.

(It would seem that the ability to read is not as limited or as taboo as some would have us believe.)

Which was how we knew what had happened.

There was a meal out on the table. A baked haddock with tubers and green beans. It was still warm enough that I could feel the heat when I held my hand above the food.

No, I didn't touch it. I am not that foolish.

We found his chest with the valuables in it. Carefully contained sacks of money underneath a false bottom so we knew that the ship hadn't been looted. It was only trivially hidden after all. The kind of hidden that you do when you are absolutely safe and secure but at the same time, you feel as though some kind of effort is mandatory.

There were changes of clothing there and a small bundle of letters that smelt of a woman's perfume. The same was true in the First Mate's cabin. There was no meal there but it would not have been unexpected if the man had walked through the door at any moment.

The galley was full. A pot of what must have been some kind of broth was still bubbling away on the top of a firebox and there was a sack of loaves next to the door along with a stack of wooden bowls and a ladle. As though the meal was about to be taken out to the crew.

The food smelt really good as well if, by now, boiling dry and burning.

We didn't stay long. Our fellows had found that they were a transport ship of some kind. The hold was full of hammocks, three or even four deep, floor to ceiling. Trunks of personal effects everywhere. They were transporting soldiers from one place to another. A nice and easy transport job so that a Captain can get used to a new and captured ship. All of the belongings were still intact. My friends told me about one place where a man had set his sword aside with bottle of blade oil and whetstone still set out. He told me that the sight had left him feeling oddly sad.

The deck was the same. The strangeness was not in what was there. But rather what was not there. There was no left over wetness that might be suggested if a freak wave had caught the ship and washed a large number of people overboard. Nor was there a flogging rack of any of the other things that might have sparked a mutiny. There was no blood, no signs of injury. The surgeons room was clean with all of his tools in their proper locations. But above all, fights cause chaos. Here, it was as though everyone had just put down what they were doing and had jumped over the side.

We couldn't stay long. We did not have time to search the passengers cabins as the sea had picked up in it's anger and the six of us had to exchange notes afterwards. We were just moving towards the cabins that would normally be set aside for any travellers or passengers that we hoped might tell us more when we felt the change in the deck beneath us. The sea was getting angry again. We felt it, before our other ship mates started to yell out for us to come back.

We ran, leaping from the sides of the Princess Rowan and back into our own longship. As it was, one of the men broke his ankle as he landed in the Long ship and we had to cut the lines. A man jumped for the rope that we threw for him as the Princess Rowan seemed to scream and turn away from us.

The noise was undoubtedly the sound of a tiller moving with the currents of the water but damn me if it didn't sound like a cry of madness from a soul in torment.

We caught our man and pulled him aboard. Then we watched as the Princess Rowan sailed away from us. Her sails billowed and she was carried away at a different angle, soon to be obscured by the rain in the air and the tall waves of the sea.

I wasn't the only man who wept as we watched her go.

That was the last anyone saw of that ship. I still ask occasionally when I am in port on the mainland as to whether anyone has news of the Princess Rowan, or the Godhammer if people prefer. But as far as I know she was never seen again.

Nor is she alone. My story of an abandoned ship is not unique and many are the names of ships and Captains that have gone missing without trace. Some of these ships are found in calm waters and are able to be sailed back to port. A gift from the sea who has had her fill of punishing the crews for whatever crime they committed to the first mistress of the sailor.

As for us. I think of the Princess Rowan often. She was a fine ship and she deserved better than to be abused and renamed in a manner that the sea found offensive. And I remember the warning that she represents.

Sometimes storms just blow up and sometimes a superstition is just nonsense. But sometimes there is a reason and a lesson that needs to be learned and remembered before something equally as dark and sinister happens to you.

-

“So what do we do now?” I asked Kerrass.

Ciri was sat nearby, stretched out with her legs crossed so that she could rest her head on the back of the chair. She was looking up at the ceiling and sucking her teeth as she thought about the information that I brought them.

“It's interesting stuff.” Kerrass told me. “Are you sure they won't let the two of us below to look at the details and the records?”

“I'm as sure as I can be.” I looked over at where Ragnvald was leaning up against the wall at the other side of the room. In theory he was over there to give us all some privacy but I was well aware of just how good his hearing could be when he put his mind to it. He nodded his confirmation of my opinion. “They call it, “having the bear in your soul”. I have it but the two of you do not and therefore they will fight to defend what is below with all of their... not inconsiderable might.”

I shuddered. Since the cave-painting I had seen some other things below that had caused me to be grateful that I had not been here from birth.

Kerrass grunted, even as he tutted his disappointment. “I would have liked to see this cave drawing.”

Ciri was nodding as she half listened to what we were saying. What Ragnvald had allowed me to do was to bring some of the looser drawings up to the surface for Kerrass and Ciri to study. They wouldn't be permitted to take the drawings with them of course but at the same time, both of them had spent time poring over the papers in detail, their noses inches from the charcoal markings.

Ciri had thrown herself into the chair in order to stare at the ceiling while Kerrass had more questions. Mostly going over what I had already told him. He was interested in the effects that the ship had on the psyche of the people that saw it. He wanted to know why a ship that was so terrifying to begin with was allowed to pass through Kaer Trolde harbour without incident.

Ragnvald couldn't help him too much. All he could say, over and over again was that the power of the thing could overwhelm minds that were “unprepared for it.”

“We need more information.” Kerrass told me. It was an often repeated phrase that he had said over and over again since I had climbed back up from the depths of the caves.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a little bit shaken by some of the things that I had seen. Not just the things to do with the Skeleton Ship itself, but some of the other things. The visions that I had seen, as well as the lifestyle that these men and women led. I was both repulsed and, at the same time, oddly fascinated by it all. It looked like a hard life as well as being a dangerous one but again, I would be lying if I tried to claim that there wasn't at least some small part of me that found the whole idea of the thing attractive.

I liked the freedom that was offered. There was no social boundaries there. All of my life I had been tied up by rules and etiquette. What to feel and when to feel it. There was an openness to these people that was... intoxicating. The feeling of being able to express my anger when I felt like it providing I did it in a controlled way. Where rage, grief and pain were not considered bad things that must be concealed from the people around you.

I liked that it didn't matter how tall you were or how good you were with a weapon. That respect and trust was everything. These were people who were encouraged to live their lives and feel everything that they experienced to the utmost of their capacity. They lived, fought and loved with an abandon that even some Skelligans lacked. Even Skelligans have certain rules that govern their behaviour. The most prominent example is an elevation and reverence of the ability to commit violence with skill and strength. Where that is seen as the foremost virtue among all other virtues. For all their progressive natures in certain areas they still saw violence as being the most important skill.

Whereas here, violence and the ability to cause violence was almost as a by-product of what they were doing. The violence was there so that they could use it to focus their rage and their anger and I found that difference appealing.

But despite my odd desire for that freedom, even though I was drawn to it and a part of me wanted to throw myself into those sentiments face first, there was something else holding me back. Something preventing me from taking that final leap.

I didn't even really want to take that leap, I just found my brain sliding off the idea whenever I thought about it. I did mention it to Ragnvald and he told me that the easiest explanation was that an aspect of my character represented by one of the animals in my vision was holding me back. If he had to guess then he would have said that the Spider or the snake would have been the most rational of the animals that were represented in my visions. And so he would guess that they were the calmer, logical part of my brain. That they were holding me back from taking the plunge. He did make the point that he didn't think any less of me for it.

I had decided that I didn't like Ragnvald. He was, and is as far as I know, a good man and frighteningly good at what he does. I suspect that he would be an amazing teacher, fiercely intelligent, amazingly empathetic and had that knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking. I don't know for sure but I think that the thing I didn't like about him was that he had absolutely no guilt at all about using what he knew about your behaviour and your emotions against you. In order to get you to do what he wanted or in order to do what needed to be done. He was the genuine equivalent of a man who is a “good” man but is not a “nice” man. He is similar to Kerrass in that way but I feel and felt that Kerrass is more... honest about that.

Kerrass presents the same face towards everyone unless he knows you well. He too will do what needs to be done rather than what you want him to do. But he would also not lie to you about what he was doing. I found Ragnvalds methods a little... manipulative and I did not like that.

I can all but hear him laughing as he reads these words.

But I also don't like the rage. I've thought about this a lot since my time under the Rock when I began to come to terms with the anger that I was carrying around with me all the time.

Yes. I am angry. Yes, I am flame damned furious about all the shite that has happened to me and my family over the years while all of this stuff has happened and continues to happen. Yes, I am angry about all of the things that I see and all of the small injustices that are still rampant around the world.

But I do not like the way that this makes me feel. I do not like being angry and tapping into the rage for the energy and the strength that I am well aware that it gives me. I know that I can do that at any time I want to. But I don't like it. I have never liked it and I don't think that I will ever like it.

If you can. If you can use it and like it then all power to you but it isn't something that I am comfortable with. In the same way that I wasn't comfortable with the hate that I was feeling when we were fleeing from Lord Cavill. Not that I really like equating the two. But there are similarities. I have every right to my feelings. Including the ones about rage and hatred. But I don't have to like them.

I don't know. Maybe it's a measurement of my upbringing or societal pressure or something. I just don't like it.

But I didn't like it. I didn't like the thought of having to live inside my feelings and my instincts for so long.

There were other things as well. Even though I was well aware that it wasn't how everything worked. That you didn't need to go all the way and indeed, many of the other berserkers, including Sigurd, had decided that they didn't want to go the route of the full Warp Spasm. I didn't like what happened there. It was savage, primal and terrifying. One of the youngsters had decided to follow through on his potential and take on the full aspect of the bear.

I saw the ceremony and I was allowed to talk to the young acolyte beforehand and afterwards. The things that I saw in that room are things that, although Ragnvald told me that I was perfectly welcome to go through and discuss on this stage, I found that I didn't, and don't want to.

It was dark in that room. It was a thing of primal fury. Of unbridled savagry that claws at the throat and scrabbles at the back of your mind. It was the thing that sends the red mist and the awful power of the berserker. It had claws and teeth. There was blood in that room and if I hadn't talked to him afterwards I would have sworn that the young man died.

But he didn't. He lived and now waits to be called to service in the name of some Lord of Skellige. To be called towards service and battle.

He grinned at me. I remember that. White teeth shining between dirty and cracked lips, standing stark out of a blood smeared and exhausted face as I looked and remembered the horror that this young man, this boy had been through. Had volunteered to undertake.

He told me that he was looking forward to the combat.

I shivered. I remember that too.

The last question I asked Ragnvald before I headed back up the stairs to see the others was regarding these things though. I still had to know a little bit.

“If I was going to join you all and be trained as a berserker...” I began.

“You would be a terrible berserker.”

“Yeah I know but...”

“No buts. You are far too old, too rational and too set in your emotional ways to be able to properly commit.”

“Yeah I know but...”

“No. I'm not having this conversation with you.”

“Ragnvald. Stop. It's not going to happen. I know that, you know that. I have other things to do and other places to go and other people to talk to to be here for training. But just let's suppose. If I was coming here. To seek help with my rage and unchecked aggression. Putting aside all that gumpf about the Skeleton Ship, my sister and everything else. Put all that aside. Where would training begin? What would that look like?”

He sighed and gazed at me for a long time.

“It starts with two questions.” He told me after a long time. “Possibly the most basic questions that we have to ask ourselves and each other. They are big questions and not everyone can answer them. Some people are never able to answer it and other people spend lifetimes looking for answers that satisfy them properly.”

I nodded to show that I understood what he was saying. “Are you ready?” He asked.

“Sorry, is that one of the questions?”

“Stop being flippant. I know that humour is a defence mechanism but now is not the time for such trivialities. This is a serious business and if you are not going to treat this with the respect that it deserves then this conversation is over.”

“Alright alright, keep your bear skin on. What are the questions?”

He looked at me for a long time before taking a deep breath.

“Who are you the most angry with?” He began. “And Why? Just two questions.”

I considered this for a while.

“Right now I'm pretty angry with you.” I told him.

“There you go being flippant again.” He snapped back and wouldn't be drawn on anything else.

It is a difficult question for me to answer and I suppose that that is the point. I also think that my struggle to answer it is further going towards proving Ragnvald correct when he says that I do not have it in me to be a decent berserker. That the rest of me gets in the way of just letting the anger and the fury get in the way. I still consider this riddle from time to time, whenever I find the time and there is so many different answers that I find that I cannot pick just one out.

I am angry with Kerrass for not being able to protect my family and myself from all the horrors that we have seen and that we have been through. I am angry with Sam and Emma for allowing a growing rift to take hold in the family without really trying to stave it off. I am absolutely furious with Francesca for allowing herself to be kidnapped.

I should say that I am well aware that many of these sentiments are unfair. They are and there is nothing that any of them could have done or could do to sort things there. But I would also be lying to others and myself if I tried to say that I am not still angry.

I am angry with Sam for his treatment of the Elves. Not me, but the Elves deserved better at his hands back in the North. I am angry with the Empress for not being able to protect my sister and I am also angry at Ciri for being quite as heart broken as she is over the same thing.

Having spent time with both I now think of the person as being two separate people. Ciri the person and the Empress as the person who fills out the role.

I could go on and on with the list.

Edmund for allowing himself to become corrupted. My mother for not making the problem clearer and trying to push it all under the rugs. I am absolutely furious with the religions of the North for not sniffing out the whole messy conspiracy before I got there. They could have saved Kerrass and I a whole lot of pain and heartache if they had just done their job properly.

So many people that I am angry with. Even the petty ones who just need a good punch in the face.

Robart de Radford. That mage, Phineas is due for a good hard kick in the balls. Even people who are dead. I would happily bring Sansum back if it meant that I could kill him all over again.

But then there are two people who I am the most angry at. Let's be truthful and honest with each other here, just for a moment. Who am I the most angry at?

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I would be willing to bet that most of you have seen the answer already.

I am angry with myself. So many things that I should have done. So many things that I should have seen and said and acted upon. If I'm honest with myself I am mostly angry for myself for things that I didn't do. I never made peace with my father. I never saw the way through my family issues. I never found a way to help the Elves of the world before my eyes were opened by force. So many people that I wish I could have saved and so many other people that I wish, just as hard, that I could put in the fucking ground or burn to a cinder so that they cannot trouble me or any of the other people of the world again.

I am angry that I still don't know what happened to Francesca and I am absolutely furious with myself for not having seen any of the clues that I am absolutely certain were there that would have let me prevent her kidnapping. I am angry for all the pain that I have caused Ariadne over the time since I met her.

I am so so so very sorry my love and I will spend a life time trying to make it up to you.

For all I ought to have said and did not say. For all I ought to have done and did not do. I am angry at myself.

Kerrass maintains that my redemption lies in the fact that I am aware of my own faults and failures and as a result, I am not so arrogant as to believe that I am right all the time, but must I be so bad at things?

I'm even angry about all of the things that now, now that I can look back with the benefit of perfect hindsight, I can see the answers to. The girls that I might have known. The small cruelties that I unknowingly inflicted on other people. The times that I could have had when I was too busy with my nose stuck in a book and my head jammed up my ass.

I'm also angry because of all the anger that I feel. All the unfairness of it and unreasoning nature of that rage. I know that most of it is unfair and unreasoning and even that makes it angry.

So many things to be angry with myself and to feel sorry for myself for. It's enough to cripple you if you let it, that kind of spiral of thinking.

But I would be lying to myself if I tried to draw the line there.

I miss my father every day. Every. Single. Flame-Cursed day do I miss my father. I would give anything to be able to speak to him again. I want him to meet Ariadne. He would have liked her I think, I suspect that he had a weakness for a pretty face. I would have liked to have seen them together, on a hunt, discussing economics or some other topic. I would have liked to see him dance with her on our wedding night.

I want to talk to him. Not least about my own anger and rage. I want to discuss the things that I have found, the growth that I have experienced and the changes that I see in myself, just since the day I met Kerrass let alone since the day I left home, while I also want to discuss all of the changes that are still to come. I want to talk to him about the things that I have learned and then maybe I could have taught him a few things. I want to know why he didn't take Mother's confession to the church. Why didn't he take more steps when Edmund started to show some more of his true colours? Why did he do this and why didn't he do that?

And why could he never.....

No, I won't say that.

But he isn't here. I miss him every day. I wonder if he would like this new, older, more grown up and hopefully wiser me. Or would we still have been at each other's throats.

I suspect the latter but I dream of the former.

And I am so angry for not allowing himself to be saved. For all of the reasons that I am angry with myself, I am also angry with my father. So very angry.

So who am I angry with the most? What is the answer to Ragnvald's riddle?

I have no idea. And I suspect that was the point.

At the time though, I was thinking about none of that. At the time, I was still thinking of ways in which we could still get some news out of Ragnvald about the Skeleton Ship. What else could he show me about the berserkers? What other lessons could he teach me?

But then there are extended sea journeys and camps where there is little to do other than to tell and listen to stories, or to sit and think.

I don't think that I was down in the caves for all that long. I think I was down there for a good chunk of a day. Maybe two days in total. Kerrass and Ciri were no help there. They had stayed topside and spent some time gossiping. They had gone outside and done some some hard training out in the cold and the ice on the part of the island that was reserved for the look out. They had also spent some time talking about various things. I think that Ciri was a little fascinated with Kerrass. She obviously knows a lot about the Wolven school but I think that she was curious about the other schools of Witchers and wanted to know more.

I also get the impression from the man himself that he gave her a few pieces of his mind on the subject of the new Witcher schools that she has been, and still is, planning. Nothing too dangerous as they remained friendly towards each other for the rest of the time that we journeyed together.

My stay in the caverns was split into two distinct periods. The first was the time that I have already recorded where I went below, was tested, learned a lot about the different aspects of life in the cave of the bears while also saw many of the paintings and carvings about the Skeleton ship in what passes for their museum. But I was just getting into that frame of mind that Kerrass refers to as “Freddie's research face” when Ragnvald and I were summoned to the surface.

It was fucking cold out there. I can't even say that I wasn't warned either. It was much warmer in the caverns, all that torchlight and free standing fire bowls make a difference. So coming back outside was cold enough to take my breath away. Even without the extra cloak that I had been lent.

I understand that the term is “Sleeting”. That point where the rain is freezing to just shy of the point of being solid enough for slow. This situation was made worse by the fact that it was also blowing a gale

Kerrass and Ciri came with us.

“What's going on?” Kerrass demanded. Sometimes he reminds me so much of the symbol of his school that it stops being funny. He had been napping when the summons came and was resenting being pulled from his nice warm bed.

“It's going to be tricky to see given the sleet and things.” One of the lookouts needed to all but scream it at us as over the wind.

“What's going on.” Ciri spat a bit of sleet out of her mouth.

“Watch the horizon.” The other man said pointing. “Try not to blink or you'll miss it. She's flitting around just on the edge of things.”

The three of us as well as Ragnvald, who was annoyingly unaffected by the weather and low temperatures, moved to the edge of the rock and looked out over the tossing see. The lookout was not wrong in that it was extremely difficult to see through the weather, trying to shield our eyes and faces from all the ice that was being blown into our faces.

“Don't worry if you don't see it at first.” Ragnvald's calm voice came through to me. “You will see it soon.”

We peered, Ciri and I with our eyes squinting while Kerrass just stood there, still and calm as a rock.

“There it is,” he said. “Little more than a speck.”

“There what iooohhhh.” Ciri's mouth opened in shock as she shuddered.

“I don't see it.” I told them. “What am I looking for?”

“Just wait,” Ragnvald told me.

But then I did see it. As Kerrass said, little more than a speck on the horizon but there was an essence of movement as it seemed to move across the horizon. Just a hint of the movement of wings.

What little amount of breath that I had managed to take in vanished as I moaned. I felt sick suddenly and, despite the cold, I felt a cold sweat stand out on my forehead and underneath my arms. My legs felt uncomfortable suddenly and I wanted to run away. Run as hard as I could and as fast as I could for as long as I could.

I am an old friend of fear. You can't hang around with a Witcher and accompany him on his hunts and not feel fear. So it's easy to recognise it when it happens and it's easy to know the difference. There is the fear of the unknown as shown by the black cave-mouth or the door to the crypt. There is the fear of injury as bandits and enemy warriors come rushing towards you with weapons drawn. But this was another kind of fear. This was the kind of fear that you feel when something is happening that you cannot explain. It's the fear of wraiths and wights and spirits as the awful, unreasoning rage and grief of such things washes over you. It is the fear of the human mind rebelling at something. At the awesome power that is being thrown at it.

It is that part of us that is still primal and primitive, telling us that something vast, something awful, something.... something beyond our understanding is coming.

And it hates you.

“Holy flame,” I breathed.

“The Albatross.” Ciri said, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

Kerrass frowned and pursed his lips.

“Now do you understand?” Ragnvald asked us. “The Albatross. The herald of the Skeleton Ship. Before the ship it flies, mournful wails as it glides high over head, so high, impossibly high but it is the harbinger of doom for the Skelligan isles. We can feel it's effects, even here at the end of the world we can feel it as, finally, it shows itself above the horizon. We feel the fear, the terror and just the beginning of the hatred that comes from that faraway thing and we shake with the very terror of it all. The Albatross.

“We are the Vildkaarls. The berzerkers. Children of the bear and owners of the fury. We fight, laugh, love and rage with all the passion that we can muster. Even we, men and women who take the fear of the shieldwall, the fear of injury and death, of losing loved ones and leaving people behind. Even we, who would take that fear, turn it into rage and hurl it into the teeth of our enemies. Even we shiver and moan before that force of nature.

“The Albatross has come and the ship will not be far behind it. Even now, it lurks, just beneath the horizon and it's coming will shake the mountainside.”

There was a long pause as we all stood there, the wind and the sleet momentarily forgotten in the wake of what we were seeing and feeling.

It was Kerrass that broke the spell. Of course it was Kerrass. It was practically what and who he is.

“Poetic.” He commented, his voice bone dry. “Very poetic. How far away is it?”

“There's little to no way of telling.” I got the sense that Ragnvald was almost disappointed in Kerrass' non-plussed attitude. As though he was more used to his words and stories having some kind of effect. His slight frown ignited the humour in me somewhere and I felt myself smirk.

“I don't understand.” Ciri was saying. “Shouldn't your people be getting ready to light the beacon? I mean we've sighted the thing now haven't we?”

“Yes and no.” Ragnvald warmed up a little. He was back to being the supplier of information now so he was instantly feeling better. Also, he was able to give so ambivalent an answer. To men like Ragnvald that like to preserve their mysticism, such things are like alcohol. “We have sighted the Albatross. That's not the same thing as sighting the ship itself. To be fair as well, there is also a difference between the two. We've seen it for the first time now but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. It might dip beneath the horizon a few times, it might disappear for a day or two before coming back. But it has been sighted now. Which means that the Ship is coming. There is no turning aside from that now.”

“How long before the ship does appear on the horizon?” Kerrass wanted to know. Always asking for the specifics of the situation.

“Difficult to say.” I saw Kerrass sigh at the answer but Ragnvald continued. “At least a week, sometimes as long as two but then, if what you're asking is how long until it will become a serious problem, then the answer is that the ship will be among the islands within a month. And it will bring the ice with it.”

Kerrass nodded. “Then we have some plans to make. Perhaps we could do this inside? Where there is warmth, shelter and tea?”

“That's a good idea.” Ciri commented, brightening instantly.

“When's Helfdan due to come back?” I asked no-one in particular.

“He was going to take a couple of days, according to Svein.” Kerrass told me. “That's if he hasn't found a nice fight to get involved in. He wanted to check if we were being followed or if there is anyone sneaking about. Or he might have been sunk I suppose.”

“Never happen.” Ragnvald told us. “That man has some mer-person in his history and he would only ever sacrifice his ship to save his people. There would be an argument as to why he has never married. He would put his people and his ship before a wife making her a distant third. He knows that this would be unfair to her and wouldn't put any woman through that.”

Ciri's face darkened for a moment. “Some women would be happy with even that much.”

I looked at her in a little concern, but it seemed only a passing mood to her and she shook herself clear of the maudlin thoughts quickly, as we went back into the cave entrance.

“So, Where do we go from here?” I asked as we all got back into the guest quarters. Kerrass had already gone over to the table where he poured us all a cup of something warming.

“We still need more information?” Kerrass quickly responded. “As I say, I would dearly like to examine all of the information that you've seen Freddie but failing that, I suppose these notes and your recollections will have to do.”

“I'm not sure how useful all of that is.” I told him.

“It might not be immediately obvious.” Kerrass told me. Glancing over to where Ciri was still leaning backwards in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “But it might also be true that the information that you have found proves to be the context which puts other things in perspective. For instance, we know that the Ship has been coming here since before the dawn of recorded history in this part of the world.”

“Human history at least.” Ragnvald commented a little smugly.

“Quite.” Kerrass was flicking through the sketches and papers that I had been allowed to bring up with me. It wasn't that Ragnvald was trying to keep things secret, it was more that tradition was tying his hands. They couldn't take the cave paintings out of the cave, nor could they take Kerrass and Ciri down there. So...

But the book of sketches as well as some of the accounts could, and were, brought up for Kerrass' inspection. Which he did. Carefully taking notes.

“So what we need to do,” Kerrass commented, half to me and half to himself. “Is to decide where we want to go next? Who do we ask next?”

“I would recommend the church of Freya on Hindersfjall.” Ragnvald told us. “With all due respect to the Empress. Women often have a wisdom that escapes the rest of us and it is entirely possible that they have remembered something that the rest of us have forgotten. That they are then keeping this wisdom until someone unbends enough to ask for it.”

“It's not a bad idea.” Kerrass commented. “Hindersfjall is also the island that has the best and most preserved Elven ruins as I recall. It's possible, however unlikely that we might find something there. I keep hearing about an Elven Laboratory in the islands as well.”

“The laboratory will be of no use to us.” Ciri spoke up from where she was now frowning and rubbing her forehead. “It was destroyed a few years ago and the owner and operator of it has long since vanished. Even if he were still here, he would not help us and we would not want his aid.”

We grunted in response and a little bit of surprise but Ciri continued regardless.

“Can I have another look at those pictures. Especially the one with the writing on it.”

Kerrass handed the parchment over and she put it across her knees while she stared at it, resting her chin in her hands. We watched her for a few moments to see if anything was going to come of it but she wasn't moving.

“So after speaking to the priestesses and having a look around the ruins...” Kerrass shrugged. “I suppose we could always see if we could find an ice giant willing to talk to us. An ice giant or a vodyanoi I suppose as they have forgotten more about the sea than any of us, even Helfdan, have ever known.”

“True,” Ragnvald shifted uneasily. “But that would mean that you would have to treat with the Vodyanoi. Fomori we call them and we have fought with them for many years. Despite this they still come to try and take our islands that we have paid for with fire and blood.”

Kerrass grunted at that to show that he had heard and understood. But to show that, at the same time, he absolutely intended to ignore the advice if it came to it.

“But where would we find an ice giant?” He mused. “As I understand it, Hjallmar and cousin Geralt killed the one on Undvik.”

“He did,” Ragnvald said. “But if there is anyone who knows where to find another one then it's the priestesses of...”

“I have it.” Ciri crowed in triumph.” I knew I'd seen that symbol before.”

She rose and went over to the table, still taking the time to carefully move the food and other items out of the way before she put the paper down. I thought that that said something about her but had no idea what it said.

“This symbol,” she said. “This is the symbol for VOC.”

“What's one of those when it's at home?” Ragnvald wondered, giving me the first glimpse of the man that he might have been before he gained all the power and the prestige.

Ciri took a deep breath

Then she stopped. Gazing at the man in a weighing fashion before she shook her head. Just minutely. I thought that it signified a decision made although I couldn't tell you what her decision was.

“It means that I have my own story to tell around a camp fire.” She told him.

“I don't understand.” Ragnvald scowled as he said that. Whether he was doing it deliberately or not, I got the feeling that he was unhappy with having to admit to it.

Ciri held her hands up.

“Look.” She told him. “In the same way that there are things about you and this place that I am not allowed to know. There are things about me and my history that you are not allowed to know.”

“But my charge is the Skeleton Ship. And if you have an insight into that...”

“The insight is,” Ciri overrode him, a little coldly in all honesty. “That the Skeleton ship is from another world than this one. That is certain now and there can be no doubt in that.”

“There has to be some kind of context for that.” He told her. “How can you know that? I must know.”

“But you will not.” She told him.

“Why? It is my task to know about the Skeleton Ship. I have that authority. Who decides that...”

“I do.” Ciri told him. Just for a moment, the Empress stood in the room. The same cold and austere presence that had once destroyed the knights errant in the very seat of their power. Then she subsided. “The Skeleton Ship is definitely from another world. You can record that if you will and add my name as the expert who told you that.”

“But proof...”

“My friend.” I decided that it was time to intervene. “Just accept the truth from the lady and life will go a lot better for everyone.”

He looked at me for a long while. “You know don't you?” He asked.

“I do.”

“Will you tell me?”

I laughed at him. I was feeling a little bad, even though all that was happening was a reverse over what had passed between the two of us in the past. This time I had all of the information that he lacked rather than the other way round.

“My friend. If you think about who this woman is, just for a moment, then I expect you will understand how she came by the knowledge. It is no great leap of logic in order to figure it out. They call her the Lady of Time and Space for a reason.”

He subsided a little. Then he laughed at himself.

“What is it?” I asked him.

“I was right. It will be a little disappointing when we finally learn the answer as to what it is. It is an alien ship from another world. So simple an answer that it is disappointing. I will miss the mystery.”

“There is still mystery.” I told him, trying to console him for some reason that I didn't really understand.

“Oh?” He looked absurdly hopeful.

“We don't know why it comes here.” Kerrass told him from where he had returned to glaring at the drawings in an effort to divine some kind of sense from them.

“You think it's being steered?” Ragnvald asked.

“Oh yes. There is an intelligence here. Something is thinking. I just don't know if it's the ship or the people standing on it.” He turned to Ciri. “So are these other symbols the same kinds of letters?”

Ciri came over to him. “Yes. I could tell you what the letters are but I couldn't translate the language.”

“So they would still just be gibberish to us?”

“Yes.”

Kerrass sighed. “See. There is still mystery.” He rubbed at his forehead.

“Still, it is important knowledge. So here's what we know. We know that it is a ship from another world. We know that it has some kind of supernatural effects over the minds of the people that see it and that it brings with it, a cold that we could not comprehend otherwise. We have also learned that the thing is old. Very very old.”

He nodded to himself.

“Well, if we're not allowed to go below while we wait for Helfdan,” Ragnvald emphasised this with another shake of his head. “Then I suggest that Freddie, you go back down there. I would be interested if there are any other places that the ship regularly visits. To see if there really are any other pattersn. Take a map, and trace them out. Then we can have Helfdan look at it and see if his “sea eyes” see something that we are missing.”

I nodded.

“In the meantime, Ciri and I will keep watch and continue to sound out details, in private.”

I wondered if that last was aimed at me or at Ragnvald.

But regardless, I did as I was told and climbed back down the stairs and into the bowels of the island. I saw some more aspects of the berserkers and did indeed draw up something of a map. TO me, the pattern looked chaotic but Kerrass was right. There was the possibility that a scrawled map could tell someone like Helfdan something that the rest of us had missed.

Helfdan took a couple of days from the first sighting of the Albatross to return to the island. Sigurd was summoned from where he had spent his few days reconnecting with old friends as well as being held up as an example as to the kind of life that a berserker could lead out in the rest of the world. With his armour and his axe and his stories of life serving aboard the Wave-Serpent. I was not surprised that Helfdan's even-handed treatment of the berserker in his command had endeared Helfdan to the Vildkaarls and Sigurd told the children many, highly sanitised, tales of what life was like aboard ship.

It all seemed rather wholesome until you realised that many of these children were being trained how to kill someone more efficiently than ever with a fury that was terrifying.

Helfdan pulled the Wave-Serpent alongside the dock and I was not looking forward to the downward climb to the moving deck of the Longship. The watch on the plateau had doubled. There were several men standing up there now. They had a strange pedestal set up with a long tube on the end. I asked what it was and the man working at it shrugged and told me that the device was dwarven and allowed you to see great distances.

And so it might, but I asked to take a look and they declined for reasons of their own.

I watched Ciri and Sigurd descend to the ship down the rope ladder first to see if there was any tricks or techniques I could use to ease the passage down for myself but at the end of the day, the truth seemed to be that the best thing for me to do was to just go for it. Luckily, this time I could throw down my pack and weapons to the waiting sailors.

Ragnvald shook my hand before I went. “Do you have an answer to my question?” He asked me.

“I am not certain that there is an answer to that question. I think it is a question designed to infuriate me and tie me into knots.” I told him.

He smiled a little sadly. “It is a shame, Lord Frederick, that we had not known each other when you were younger. You would have made an excellent druid, or Shaman of the bear. I suspect that your killing rage would have left you after some training though but... Oh, we could have used a man like you. Still could if the truth be told.”

“I hope you will take this the right way when I say that I am glad that things didn't turn out that way.”

He grinned at me. “I will take it as it is meant. The life is not meant for everyone.”

I decided to throw him a bone. “I think that there is some wisdom in your teachings.” I told him. “I don't know what that is, or which bit of your practices it is that I like, but it is there. Unfortunately, it comes with a lot of things that I am not entirely comfortable with.”

“That is understandable Lord Frederick. Take care of yourself and I shall hope to see you again under better circumstances. In the meantime, think about what we said and if you ever do need help with matters spiritual. Remember us.”

“I will.” I told him before screwing up my own courage and climbing down the rope ladder.

Which was both worse, and better than I had feared at the same time. And again, like last time, of course Kerrass made it look easy.

Helfdan pushed away from the dock almost immediately and we turned around under the power of oars to head back inland.

It was an agonisingly long time before we could talk to him and the rest of the crew. The sea was significantly more violent than the last time we were aboard ship and the crew were working hard to overcome it. I felt like the passenger that I was and had to force myself to just sit there and look on. It was not easy and I hated every minute of it. But at the same time, I am not new to this whole thing of sailing on the sea and I know from previous bitter experience that it is better to take your time and let the proper sailors do their jobs rather than try to interfere and mess everything up for them.

I am certainly not able to properly tend an oar for example.

The most that was asked was that Svein came to ask us where we were heading to next. The smiling genial man that we had known had become a man of intense concentration. I put that down to the movement of the Wave-Serpent on the sea waves and I later turned out to be mostly correct but that was not the only reason that the crew had other things on their minds.

We told him that we wanted to head to Hindasrfjall in order to consult the priestesses of Freya, he nodded and went back to speak to Helfdan who frowned a little as he examined the sails and the horizon. Of all of the other men, only Helfdan looked like a man who was relaxed. Stood, with his legs braced against the beam of the tiller.

We sailed east, through the network of islands that I assumed lay over the vast caverns of the Bear caves until we found a camp site on the western shore of Undvik. I found it a fearsome place, unpleasantly cold. The way that some places feel cold despite the warmth of the fire or even if you visit them in the height of summer. To the North, we could see the huge Elven tower that stands on the headland of Northern Undvik. I had seen it from a distance before when we had been sailing through but now that we were much closer to the things, my sense of curiosity was piqued. I couldn't go up there as it was impractical but I did promise myself that I would climb up there one day and see what could be seen from the top of that tower.

Ciri's reaction to it was interesting though. She sat, facing the fire with her back to the tower, she pulled her hood up until it shadowed her face and pulled her blanket tightly around herself. As I watched, she turned down any food that Sigurd tried to get her to eat and declined to join in any of the normal kind of camp activities. I was a little disappointed as it meant that I couldn't really ask her about the significance of the letters that she had translated on the side of the ship.

Instead, Kerrass, Svein, Helfdan and I sad in a small circle as we conferred as to what we were doing. Well, saying that the four of us conferred is a little ambitious. I had given Helfdan the map that I had drawn from the records of the Vidkaarls and he spent a bit of time studying it before he declared that our original hypothesis of it being a search pattern were likely to be correct. Followed by the declaration that at current weather conditions, it would take as several days to get to Hindarsfjall providing we didn't run into any other problems.

Then he took out his book and just sat there reading. He seemed to think that his part in this conversation was done and that the rest of us should just get on with it.

“So let me just ask the stupid question.” I began.

“No such thing as stupid questions.” Svein told me. “Only stupid answers.”

“I've heard some pretty stupid questions before now.” Kerrass told him. “Many of them from Freddie.”

“But is there any point in us going to the place where the Skeleton Ship will come through to our world?”

“We'll freeze.” Svein told me promptly and Kerrass shook his head at almost the same time.

“We know what's there. Even if we close one portal, which I don't think we can. But even if we can close one portal, what's to stop it from finding another. Also, the answer to this is not out there. It's in the islands. I'm more sure now than I was before. The answer to this whole thing is in the islands somewhere. I just don't know where.”

“So the news that it comes from a different world...”

“Is not actually that surprising.” Kerrass told me. “We know that it's bigger than anything modern Shipyards build. We know that it doesn't look like anything that modern shipyards build. So we know that it's similar, but not quite the same. So more and more it fits the theory.

“The ship came here by means of it's own or was sent here or fell through a portal. Fuck it, maybe magic works differently in that world and what we see as magic, it's denizens would see as perfectly normal. But it comes here, by intention or by accident and loses something. While it's here it can only survive according to our laws of nature and magic for so long before it has to return home for... I dunno.... magical repair. But the thing that it lost is important and it must come back here to find it. Which it does on a semi-regular basis. It would also not be completely beyond the realms of possibility that time flows differently in their world than it does in ours. So the periods between it leaving and then coming back could be quite small to someone who stood on the back of the ship.”

“That's an interesting thought.”

“But it doesn't help us. We still need to find the thing that it lost which means that we need to find out more about when it first came here. We need the old stories, the old gods and the old denizens of the islands.”

“Well,” Svein scratched his chin. “Let's leave the ice giants till last though aye? Not particularly interested in meeting one of those just yet.”

“No.” Kerrass grinned. “From what cousin Geralt told me, you wouldn't want to meet one on a dark night.”

“Or a clear one, or during the day either for that matter.” Svein told him.

Kerrass grunted his agreement to that.

“So the Wave-Serpent was going to have a look back and see if anyone was following us?”

Svein nodded.

“Well?” Kerrass prompted after a moment. “What did you see?”

“There's a lot of interest in what we're doing.” Svein told us. “Lot's of lookouts and things waiting to see who's going to jump first. Lots of people watching. That moment where a brawl is obviously about to start and everyone is watching each other, sizing each other up and deciding who they are going to punch first when the blows actually start flying.”

“Are we in any real danger?” I asked.

“We are.” Svein responded. “Very real danger.”

“What's out there?” Kerrass prompted. Contrary to normal levels of behaviour, getting this information out of Svein was like trying to extract blood from a stone.

“There's a lot of merchant ships and their small escorts.” Svein finally relented. “We saw ships from the Silesian league from the North and some ships of the Tragen guild of the south. There are other merchant ships out there, delivering food and supplies to some of the other islands in theory. But there were several ships from both of those leagues that were being far too inefficient to be just delivering goods.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I had winced when the names of the merchant leagues had been given. Both were not insignificant competitors to our families interests.

The Silesian league is a group of merchant families that operate out of Vizima. The league had been formed in order to form a response to the aggressions of the knights of the Flaming rose but after that threat had been destroyed, the families had stayed together to support each other during King Foltest's aggressions to recover his children. This before, or so rumours say, providing intelligence and support to the Nilfgaardian forces coming up from the south. This due to their opinions that the Nilfgaardian army represented a quicker return to order and stability which is essential to trade.

Before people think that this is harsh, they are not entirely incorrect given the unstable nature of the throne of Vizima and the scattered nature of Temerian forces. Also, the league had a couple of Nilfgaardians in their membership so that would make quite a bit of sense.

The Tragen group are from Nilfgaard to the south. I didn't know much about them at the time but I now know more. As is the way with all such concerns, individual merchants had banded together for protection against encroaching bandits and the depredations of the war efforts. The first victim of war is truth, the second is innocence. After that, the ruling families of any nation build up their armed forces at the expense of the common man which means that the next victims are the merchants. First of all the crown will buy up the food, arms and armour and all of the other things that the war effort will need. Or they will simply take it on a pretext. Which means that a merchant who had worked hard all their lives in order to provide for his family can suddenly and abruptly turn around and realise that everything that they have worked towards has been for nothing.

Apparently there are various tricks that can help to combat such mass confiscations and one of those methods involved everyone banding together and taking care of each other. So when the crown threatens one merchant then the other merchants can act on that warning. Such efforts have been known to cripple war efforts before they have even begun.

Neither group are bad people. But they are merchants and even my sister would admit that the first duty of the merchant is to the bottom line. She works hard with our families efforts towards philanthropy and she doesn't like that element of her own character that would be considered by everyone else as being “ruthless” but she knows that it's there and will not hesitate to use it.

“Why is inefficiency cause for suspicion?” I asked. “I've known plenty of lazy merchantmen.”

“Well, the Skeleton Ship is coming innit.” Svein sniffed. “A merchant ship should be heading for port by now or heading away from the islands. True, food and supply deliveries still need to be done, but no decent ship master is going to be fucking around when it comes to that kind of thing at this time of events. A ship caught out when the ice starts to come is a ship that will get caught in the ice and then shatter. So merchants don't have time to fuck about. They need to get into port, get their deliveries done and then head for home or get their ship out of the water.”

He sniffed at that. As if to suggest both that only really good sailors should be out and about while at the same time suggesting that we should all get to port. It also showed his opinion of these merchant ships.

“We're not too worried about them though. They're big, and blustery and could probably summon mercenaries and reinforcements. And true they have lots of archers and things that could set fire to us...”

“You're not making it sound as though we shouldn't be worried there old boy,” I commented.

“But we can out sail them. We know the water better, we're quicker, harder and nastier than they are. They don't really stand a chance against us if they decided to try their luck.”

“Any Skelliganst out there then?” Kerrass asked.

“Oh yes. It would seem that Clan Tuirseach has a lot of interest in what we're doing. Which makes the fact that we're going to Hindersfjall next rather interesting if I might say so. They're just watching at the moment but there's no reason for them to be in these waters. They're also hiding their shields and colours.”

“What?”

“They haven't got their shields over the side and they're using neutral sailcloth. A proper Skelligan announces himself by hanging his warrior's shields over the side of his ship. It provides protection as well but it also tells who we're fighting that they should be afraid. The same can be said about the colour of the sail which is supposed to show which clan you owe your allegiance to. That way, if someone looked at the Wave-Serpent, they would know that Helfdan and I are aboard and that we sail for Clan An Craite.”

“If they're anonymous, how do you know that they're from Clan Tuirseach?” I asked.

“Everyone sails differently.” Helfdan said without looking up from his book. It would not be unfair to say that we all jumped in startlement. He merely turned a page. “In the same way that two men who are taught to fight using the same swords and the same fighting style and there will still be differences... Every captain sails differently. There are many variables, the ship itself, the knowledge of the seas around the ship, the crew, everything. But if you know how a man sails then you can take him, have him dropped in a completely random ship in a random sea and you can tell who he is when he comes round a headland.” He turned another page.

I had not noticed it before but he reads very very quickly. I prefer to take my time although I can read at a faster pace if I want, but I think that Helfdan left me standing.

“It's in the way he sets his sail, in the way the ship turns and the timing of the oarbeats.” Helfdan looked up at me and I felt the shock of eye contact. As I've said before, he doesn't look you in the eyes often so when he does, it is always something of a shock. “Those ships belong to Clan Tuirseach. There is no doubt as to that. There are other clans on the water but they are main ones. ”

I felt myself frown. “But we are on a mission for the Queen. The very fact that it's you... that it's the Wave-Serpent that's sailing proves that.”

“Which is why they are sailing without colours.” Svein told me. “They don't want to be seen to be disobeying but they are getting ready to do exactly that. There is also the very real probability that individual captains who might profit from the continuation of the Skeleton Ship, or who are just pursuing a grudge against 'is lordship would take the opportunity to have him disappear and then blame the Skeleton Ship.”

Helfdan had lowered his eyes back to his book when I had been distracted by Svein.

“I suppose that it also means that the actions of those Captains are deniable.” I commented to Svein's nodded agreement.

“What does this mean for us?” Kerrass wanted to know.

“Next to nothing.” Svein told him. “To my eyes, Helfdan is right. They are ships of Clan Tuirseach but I think I also saw ships of Clan Brokvar and clan Heymaey on the water. Clan Heymaey might cause us some trouble as they have traditionally sided with clan Tuirseach on most matters and Hindarsfjall is their territory after all.”

“So are we in danger or not?” I wanted to know. “Please forgive me but I'm easily confused.”

“We are in danger.” Svein grinned at me. “But nothing that we can't handle. My reckoning is that Clan An Craite will follow the Queen as will Clan Brokvar as they normally do nowadays. Clans Tordarroch and Dimun will keep their heads down. And Tuirseach and Heymaey will be the traditionalists that will want to prevent us from doing anything. But as I say, there's also a larger than nothing chance that certain people will want to show Helfdan up and not many people would weep if he didn't make it.”

He looked at me with calm brown eyes. “There will be fighting and blood ahead. Have no fear but we can handle it. The real danger is if any of the Longships and merchant men start to join forces. That might make life a little awkward. Weight of numbers and things combined with the agility of the longships will be a potent mixture.

“But,” he shrugged. “No sense in borrowing trouble. We'll just keep doing as we're doing and hope that the Priestesses of Freya are apt to help us.”

“Is there any danger that they won't?” Kerrass wanted to know.

Svein laughed. “I know many things my Cat eyed friend. All I can tell you about the mood of the priestesses of Freya is that there is never any telling, on any given day, what they are going to choose to care about.”

“That's a quote isn't it?” I asked.

“Yes.” Helfdan said. “It might even be from you.”

There wasn't that much left to decide. There was some brief conversation as to whether to go round the northern end of Ard Skellig or the Southern End. As it turns out, Hindersfjall was almost directly opposite where we were at that point so it really was a choice of one way or the other. It was decided that we would take the southern route for two reasons. The first was that it would carry us further away from An Skellig and the port of Kaer Trolde, but the other factor was that this meant that we would, once again be able to spend a night in Helfdan's village.

“Never lose an opportunity to take on fresh water and food.” Svein told me. It seemed to be an appropriate piece of wisdom and I could see why it had a certain amount of merit.

I can't be sure. But once again I saw a small piece of interplay between Helfdan and Ciri. Just before Helfdan put his foot down and stopped the debate between Svein and Ursa as to which of the two routes to take, he spent a bit of time looking over at Ciri's drawn and closed off body language. Then he turned and looked up at the tower to the North. Then he made his decision as to which way we were going.

There weren't any stories that night. Nor was there any singing. Ciri's mood seemed to be quite pervasive amongst all of us and instead we worked, weapons were sharpened and oiled, armour was greased and clothing was cleaned against the coming cold. There was training. A game of Jugger ball was begun but Svein called a halt to it a little early as it was getting a little violent for everyone's tastes and I think that Svein was getting concerned that the injury count might get a little high.

The mood lifted in the morning when we all climbed aboard the Wave-Serpent and sailed off in the early hours of the morning in order to catch the tide. It was bitterly cold with a driving snow storm that was just the wrong side of completely frozen. So that for every complete snowflake that fell there were two partially frozen drops of blood that were driven into my face. But on the other hand, we had had to use the oars to get us off the western shore so the physical activity warmed everyone up. That and Svein came round with a flask of something along with a small cup where he measured out this clear liquid and told us all to drink it.

Every crewman, including Ciri, Kerrass and myself had a cup full of it. What it was, I couldn't tell you. I didn't have time to look at what it was because by the time that it was in the cup, I was being forced to drink it. I know that it was clear, a lot like water in appearance but it moved... it moved slightly more silkily. I have no other way in which to describe the way it seemed to come out of the flask that Svein was carrying it in.

What I can tell you is that it tasted of frozen cherries in the moonlight.

I know, I know. Far too poetic but that's what occurred to me when I drank it.

When I swallowed, there was little to no rasping as it went down the back of my throat the way the harsher whiskeys sometimes do. But from the moment that it started sliding down my throat, a warmth seemed to emanate out. I felt energy return to my limbs and crackle in my fingertips. I felt strength in my arms and power in my legs. I was no longer cold and I felt the laughter bubbling up in my chest, driving away the gloom and the remembered terror of seeing the Albatross for the first time.

Ciri seemed to know what it was and didn't want to drink it at first but Svein pressed it on her until she relented. Kerrass took his own cup and drained it a swallow, his eyebrows rising in surprise before he asked Svein what the stuff was. Svein shrugged and simply told us that “the women of the village make it.”

Apparently, you can't take a lot of it because it can consume a man's mind if you take too much of it over too short a period of time. But it helps with the cold and can lift the mood of even the most depressed of a person but it works best when you haven't had any in a while. Continued use seems to reduce the effectiveness or some other such alchemical terms.

We sailed East with some truly impressive speed, coming round the south side of Undvik with ease. Camping on an island off the eastern shore in the shelter from the wind and the weather that was still blowing in from the west. The camp that night was lively and Ciri came back out of whatever mood or memory that she was in. She never told us what it had been that had been troubling her so much on the shore of Undvik and if I'm honest, I didn't ask. But that night she told us some stories that no-one else could possibly have told and I was grateful for the opportunity to travel with her.

The following night we spent in Helfdan's village with very little ceremony. It seemed that the reaction the previous time was because no-one expected Helfdan to come home just yet and so had been unprepared for his arrival. This time though, they knew that he was in the local area and took it a little bit more in their stride. It was not a night for much festivity though, Helfdan's Skald told us one of the old tales about the founding of the isles and just why they work the way that they do. It was an interesting story but I had heard it before in the halls of Kaer Trolde. I suspect that it was chosen because it was fairly short and because no-one would insult the man if they snuck off to bed early.

Again we were out and sailing in the early hours of the morning and came round the headland to head out to the open sea. According to Svein, it was a straight line run from there to get to Hindersfall and that the currents and the wind should make the journey swift. Which it was.

So fast that anyone who wasn't Helfdan went out of their way to keep their heads down and out of the elements. The speed of the ship was impressive and if the world and the sea had been a little calmer I would have even enjoyed myself. As it was, I wasn't sick but it was becoming necessary to huddle in the bottom of the ship in order to stay warm.

Something to do with the fact that I couldn't really move around. On land it's easier to stamp your feet or do something strenuous to warm yourself up. Hell, light a fire and make yourself a hot drink if all else fails. But we couldn't light any fires and therefore, hot food and hot drink was something that was happening to other people. So all we could do was to just lie there and huddle with each other for warmth, wrapped in our blankets as tightly as we could.

For those that have never been to Hindarsfjall, a very simplistic description of the place is that it's built around a mountain. If you want, and I understand that some people do, you could race horses around the mountain itself. Theoretically it is the smallest island in the Skelligan islands but I can't answer for that. I thought that it was a beautiful place with vast and thickly grown forests and impressive cliff faces. It's one of those places where I would like to return to later and have a proper explore. It certainly seems a strange place. The cold snow on the mountain, which apparently never melts, is complemented by hot springs that exist at the base of the mountain in the village of Lofoten. The village is slowly being rebuilt after an attack by “The Wraiths of Morhogg” apparently.

I know that the place was another one of those areas of extreme significance to Ciri who spent a bit of time looking around the place with an almost pinched and drawn look to her face. Unlike the mood that afflicted her on the shores of Undvik though, she seemed able to throw this off with relative ease and would allow herself to be drawn into conversation.

To land at the island we had to pass round the eastern shore to get to a natural harbour with the town of Larvik looking over it. This is the headquarters of Clan Heymaey. Clan Heymaey are one of the clans that I know the least about. They are, apparently a fairly devout people but this is not really surprising given the presence of the temple of Freya elsewhere on the island and as a result of this are fairly traditional in their leanings. Harsher men than me like to claim that they are traditional and religious because it gives them a sense of identity and uniqueness against some of the other clans but I think that this is mainly a rumour spread by their enemies. I didn't get to interact with them very much so I can't comment.

They also seem to like the colour Yellow. No-one could explain to me why.

The harbour was relatively well sheltered so we had to bring the Wave-Serpent into dock under oar. We did so slowly though until we came into dock and the snow had turned into a bit of a drifting thing that deadened sound and obscured the sights. It gave the uncomfortable impression that we were drifting through another world.

Then we waited. Svein stood on the prow of the ship. He must have been freezing cold but I didn't see him shake at all as we waited. The rest of the crew were arming and armouring which I found surprising given that, in theory, we were docking in a friendly port. But when they were done they just wrapped their cloaks around them and sat still, quietly waiting.

A silence descended, broken only by the lapping of the waves against the hull of the ship and the wind echoing across the mouth of the harbour and causing the sail to ripple.

I couldn't handle it for long.

“What's going on?” I wondered aloud. But even I was pushed down into speaking in little more than a whisper.

“The time of the Skeleton Ship is a time of mists, and a time of spirits.” Ciri told me. She had her hood raised against the cold and also, I suspect, to protect her identity a little. In any other place, her weapons and armaments would make her strange but in Skellige she is much more camouflaged. Unless someone sees her hair of course.

“It is said that when the Skeleton Ship comes then the dead are known to walk abroad.” Ciri whispered, the silence and the gently falling snow as well as the howling wind making her words carry that little bit more meaning. “Spirits come out of the mist and the blizzards looking for warmth and steal away the unwary. Sometimes the mist itself seems to come alive with creatures that cannot be seen or heard, only felt. And ships, long lost and crewed by the dead, return to port until the mist and the blizzard lifts when the dead retreat to where they come from.”

She let the words hang in the air for just a moment before she grinned. “It's all nonsense of course. The dead come back in the form of Wights and Wraths.”

“It's possible that the Skelligans know something that we don't,” Kerrass chided. “But I would agree that such things do not exist unless it's as part of a curse of some kind. Which would, in turn, be part of some larger magical phenomenon.”

“But that doesn't tell me why we're waiting.” I told the pair of them.

“Sorry,” Ciri grinned a little sheepishly. Not very sheepishly but enough to assuage her own guilt. “The urge to spin a yarn is contagious. Clan Heymaey is very traditional, in the sense that they follow all of the tenets of most traditions where it doesn't bring them into conflict with others. Therefore, in times such as these they are waiting to decide if we are real rather than a spirit as summoned by the Skeleton Ship.”

“And Svein?”

“Is allowing himself to be seen.” Ivar, who was sat nearby, told us. “Even now, messengers will be heading up to the Jarl, or whoever is in residence, to let them know that we are here and ask what to do with us. If we listen, we can probably hear a horse in a moment.”

We did.

“Who comes into our island, during this time of snow and ice?” Came the words. There was a sing-song quality to them. An air of formality. “Who sails abroad when tradition would have us enclosed with fire and fur?”

“Lord Helfdan of Clan An Craite. The Wave-Serpent and her crew.” Svein answered. His voice sounding harsh in the ear after the melodious and poetic words.

“And what would you do here?” The question was a little less formal and a little more accusing. “The last of our food is gathered in and we are not prepared to accept visitors or to dispense charity. If Lord Helfdan is short of supplies then he should enquire of his own clan.”

Svein looked down at Helfdan who shrugged.

“My Lord has a matter to discuss with the Ladies of the Goddess.”

“And what matter is this?”

“The matter is private.”

There was a pause. I saw Svein turn to look back at Helfdan who had taken out a book and was flicking through the pages absently.

“Then Lord Helfdan may come ashore but his fellows must...”

Helfdan was already shaking his head.

“Lord Helfdan's matter is of import.” Svein responded. “And I lead his guard.”

“Nevertheless.... The security of our island is...”

“The security of my Lord is my responsibility.” Svein answered, a little more forcibly, checking with Helfdan who nodded. “And the matter is of import to all the islands of Skellige. If my lord is prevented from doing his duty then there are people who will want to know why.”

“People?” The voice asked. “Including the Queen?”

“I would not know.” Svein responded. “I am merely a warrior, serving as best I can.”

Helfdan nodded and started to move towards the middle of the ship to climb ashore.

“Then you would be welcome Lord Helfdan.” The Herald called. “Your ship and your men are assured of safety in our port.”

Helfdan was already vaulting over the side and Ursa was with him. It took us a little while to get everyone ashore and I was surprised to see that we were taking everyone. The Herald seemed to share my surprise.

“Do you truly need so many men to escort you?” He asked. Trying to make it sound as though helfdan was insulting him and the Clan.

“My folk are extremely religious.” Helfdan responded easily. “And many would seek to make offerings at the temple of the Goddess.”

The men of the Wave-Serpent laughed as they climbed over the side.

They made way for me and I quickly found myself at Helfdan's side. He was standing near Svein who was shouting out orders for the march ahead. It didn't look as though there were any horses to be borrowed so that we would have to make our way on foot. Also that the Jarl of Clan Heymaey had already travelled to Kaer Trolde to help celebrate the time of the Skeleton Ship with the Queen so Helfdan didn't need to go and offer his respects. Something for which he seemed rather grateful if you ask me.

But Helfdan was looking at the other ship that was in dock.

Because there was another ship. Another Long-ship at that. To my eyes, it seemed bigger than the Wave-Serpent although I couldn't tell you how big or what that meant to anything. There were a number of men that were loading crates and barrels aboard in the, now, gently falling snow. They were working with the calm speed of men who knew that they were doing an unpleasant job, that it was going to take a long time to do it and that there was no point in actually rushing things.

They also didn't look like professional warriors.

Everyone in Skellige learns to fight but some men are professional raiders and warriors where as there are plenty of other people who just know what they're doing and fish, or chop wood or... you get the idea. I could tell because they had put their weapons aside for the work. Even when lugging crates around, the men of the Wave-Serpent are seldom parted from their weapons. Their armour? Certainly. Armour is sometimes more of a hindrance rather than an aid to anything. But their weapons? Never. It is a habit that Kerrass has spent a lot of time forcing me to adopt and I have never had need to regret it.

Helfdan was watching them as Svein worked, a slight frown on his face. Kerrass and I stood with him as he watched. Ciri was doing some warm-up exercises and having a wander round. One of the things that I have learned about the Empress is that she does not enjoy being cooped up for too long and eventually just wants to stretch and jump about. As I say, she was unhappy about something and far be it from me to get in the way of an Empress when she's in a stomping mood.

But Helfdan just watched as Svein shouted and stomped about. I turned and watched the moving crew alongside him in an effort to see if I could spot what he himself was looking at. I have to assume that I missed something though as Kar, Svein's youngest brother melted out of the gathering. I jumped, Kerrass turned to see him approach...

Helfdan didn't move.

“Lord Rymer and The King's Blade.” Kar said to him as he passed Helfdan some form of cake and took a wineskin off his shoulders and offered his Lord a cup.

“How many?” Helfdan asked as he took the cup and held it steady as Kar poured some form of steaming liquid for him.

“Just shy of a full ship.” Kar was all but whispering so that I had to strain to hear what he was saying. “But a good half of them are mercenaries.”

Helfdan opened his mouth to ask a further question but Kar had anticipated him.

“A good chunk of them are former Drummond men but the others are your standard Landless type, between lords that kind of thing.”

“How much did he pay?” Helfdan wanted to know.

“I'm finding out.” Kar grinned.

“Tell Svein.” Helfdan told him after a moment, sipping from the cup, “and catch us up when you can. Be careful Kar.”

“I will Lord.” Helfdan nodded as Kar headed over to where his elder brother was shouting at someone about proper maintenance of weapons. He moved more openly than he had before.

For his part, Helfdan stood looking at the ship being loaded for a bit longer.

“Lord Helfdan?” I began.

He didn't answer so I tried again. “Lord Helfdan?”

“Mmm?” He seemed to realis that he was holding a cup of something that was rather hot and he snatched the cup out of one hand and passed it to the other. There was a brief moment that would have been comical under any other circumstances as he realised that the hand that he wanted to move the cup into already contained the small bun of fruit bread. In any other man, the brief moment of confusion would have been funny as he tucked the food item under one arm before transferring the hot drink over and blowing on his scalded fingers. Then he frowned at the food as though he was trying to remember what it was and what it was for.

In the end he offered it to me before taking another, more careful sip from his cup, grimacing at the taste.

“Lord Helfdan?” I asked again.

“Yes?” he had turned back to looking at the ship.

“What significance is the amount of pay that the mercenaries are being paid?”

“It tells us how easy they were to hire.” Helfdan took another absent sip from the cup that Kar had been given before grimacing again. Obviously deciding that the drink wasn't entirely to his taste he poured the remnants into the water that was lapping round the jetty that we stood on before moving over to join Svein.

“What the hell was that all about?” I wondered to Kerrass.

“The more they pay, the more desperate the employer is.” Kerrass told me. “I know the formula well. If the Employer has to offer more money then that menas that the soldiers are reluctant. If they took less money then that means that the mercenaries are desperate and less good quality. People always offer low unless they're truly desperate in which case they offer high in which case there is a very real danger that the promise will be backed out of.”

“That's just for Witcher's work though. And you charge a fixed rate unless the people are in danger or you are feeling sympathetic.”

“I do. But rarely.”

We started to wander over to where the column of warriors was getting ready to march off towards the temple of Freya. Apparently it wasn't far and there was some hope that we would be able to take shelter for the night there. Ciri moved to meet us wondering what we were talking about.

“There is another reason.” She told us. “The better quality the mercenary, the more he will charge.”

“All of you are wrong.” Svein told us as we moved in next to him. How he had heard us I do not know. “The reason in this case is this. The ship is nearly full of warriors. At a time of dangerous seas, bitter cold and very real danger. They should have struggled to fill the ship. No warrior has to sail at the time of the Skeleton Ship, it's an ancient tradition. But Rymer filled the ship with mercenaries. So if he paid low, then he did that easily. If he paid high, then he struggled to fill it.”

“I don't follow.”

“He's saying that the less that was paid,” Ciri's eyes lit with realisation. “The more fanatical the crew is. Helfdan is wondering if that ship is full of our enemies.”

We went to move off. The snow was beginning to lessen and spirits seemed high. I don't know if they were actually high or if the men were just pretending. We didn't get far though.

“Lord Helfdan.” A man called out. “Lord Helfdan.”

Helfdan turned, Ursa walked with him and I saw myself, Kerrass and Ciri being beckoned. Ivar too.

“Lord Rymer.” Helfdan called, his tone friendly. “I would not have expected to see you out here when the Skeleton Ship is on it's way.”

“I could say the same to you my old friend.”

Try and picture a Skelligan Lord for me. Don't question it. Just picture one. Picture a man of wealth and power but still a fighting Skelligan Lord. This was a man who both liked to flaunt his wealth in the ornamentation of his outfit and his armour but also liked to keep it tidy enough that he would still fight in it.

That was what Lord Rymer looked like.

Minus the helmet with the horns. No serious warrior ever wears a helmet with horns on it. That makes it far too easy to knock the helmet off his head, or you someone could grab the horns and swing the neck round until it breaks or.... I'm sure you get the picture.

There was no way that anyone would ever be able to mistake this man for being anything other than what he was. He was a powerful man. A wealthy man and a hard man at that. He was everything and anything that you might imagine a Skelligan to look like. With careful runes carved into his armour, ornate tool-work on his scabbard for a sword that was utterly without ornament. He wasn't wearing his helm as that was tucked under his arm but even so it was a fascinating work of art that I would have cheerfully displayed in an art gallery. But it was also a helmet. If you it hit it with an axe then yes, the wearer would feel it. But there was also a better than evens chance that the axe would shatter.

He made Helfdan look positively drab in comparison.

He was accompanied by another trio of men. One was an older man, much more lightly armed with a long braided beard that he was tugging on. He was glaring at all of us indiscriminately. The other two were warriors after their Lord's heart. One of them was glaring at Ursa so hard that it almost seemed enough to freeze Ursa to the spot. I guessed that he was to Rymer, what Ursa was to Helfdan and Rymer's man was desperate to prove to everyone watching, that he was the better champion.

The other man looked bored and if working with Kerrass for so long has taught me anything it's that you always watch the man who looks bored in tense situations. It's because he's used to it, or doesn't care and is just waiting for the violence to start.

“Rumour has it.” Rymer began, “that you are on some kind of secret mission.”

Helfdan said nothing.

“Rumour also has it that you mission would shake the nature of the Skelligan islands.”

Helfdan said nothing.

“And that you were given this mission by the Queen herself.”

Helfdan sighed and said nothing.

“Lord Helfdan.” Rymer was smiling. I got the impression that the two were old sparring partners. They had a familiar, almost friendly, kind of contempt for each other. “Is there any truth to these rumours?”

Helfdan nodded to himself. As though an item had been crossed of a list that he had been waiting for.

“The mission is hardly secret.” He told the other man. “I sailed out of Kaer Trolde harbour openly and with all the honour of a departing Quest. The matter is, however, a private one.” Rymer opened his mouth to protest but Helfdan held his hand up. “I am helping my friend and companion, Lord Frederick, unearth some information that may help him unearth some secrets regarding the disappearance of his sister.”

Again, Lord Rymer opened his mouth to interject but Helfdan wasn't done.

“Let's see now. Your next point was to wonder whether the mission would shake the nature of the Skelligan isles. I doubt that. As I say, the mission is one of information gathering. Any action that would be taken as a result of this information would be decided accordingly.”

“But the Queen did order your mission.”

“The Queen gave me no orders on the subject.”

“Come now Helfdan.” Rymer chided. “You never sail without the Queen's permission. You are all but tied to her apron strings and would not do anything without her say so. Your lack of ambition in that regard makes you predictable and a liability to her.”

“You call it a liability. But I take my oaths to her and to my Lord An Craite seriously. So yes, if my Queen orders then I go. But she gave me no orders. She did give me her blessing. But I find it interesting that you think my honour and sense of duty is a liability.”

Rymer laughed although his entourage bristled a bit.

“Surely Lord Helfdan.” The Greybeard began. “Surely you must see that the Skeleton Ship is a vital part of our culture. The Queen has already destroyed and torn up so many of our traditions and values. Surely you must see that this would be one step beyond into the realms of blasphemy. Any attempts to do so must be resisted at all costs.”

A small flash of annoyance crossed Helfdan's face. “Queen Cerys is the duly elected monarch of the Skelligan islands.” He told the Greybeard. “She was elected, partly, because of her desire to move away from a more traditional role. If you wish for a return to a more traditional time then I suggest that, the next time it comes up, you pressure the relevant people to elect a more traditional monarch.”

The grey beard bristled but Helfdan was relentless.

“As to the rest of it. As I said, and as I say again. My mission is a fact finding one only. Beyond that... Honour prevents me from saying anything more.”

“You are lying.” The man trying to pick a fight with Ursa snarled. I couldn't see Ursa's face but he seemed relaxed and calm. Helfdan didn't respond at all.

“Now now Osvald.” Rymer began, his tone a little mocking. “Helfdan is well known to not lie. Another one of those little honourable liabilities that have got him into so much trouble over the years. But it is also well known that his words do not always mean what we hear. Is that not correct Helfdan?”

“Again. You call things liabilities. I call it honour and I am, once again, surprised that you see a difference. In the meantime, I will not take insult at the suggestion that I might be lying. Despite Osvald's determination to pick a fight. You should watch him Rymer, he's going to get you into trouble one day when he seeks to prove himself against the wrong person.”

“Not an unfair comment.” Rymer threw a look at the named man who seemed to ignore it. Still bristling with suppressed violence. “So where do you go next Lord Helfdan.”

“We go to consult the Goddess' wisdom.” Helfdan told him. “And yourself?”

“We sail with the next tide. Will I see you in Kaer Trolde for the passing?”

“Maybe. I have not yet decided.” Kerrass responded.

“Fair sailing Lord Helfdan.”

“And to you Lord Rymer.”

Rymer turned and led his little quartet away. The man called Osvald threw some more threatening glares our way.

Helfdan turned and signalled Svein to start the crew moving before he turned back to watch Rymer head towards his ship.

“And I thought courtiers at court had the monopoly on fencing with words.” I commented.

“If he's about to sail.” Kerrass commented. “Where's his crew?”

Helfdan grunted at that.

“I do believe that that man is planning to kill you Lord Helfdan.” Ciri told him.

“Probably.” Helfdan responded. Then he spun and marched after his troops.

Ursa shrugged. “He's tried before.” and followed his master.

Ciri nodded. “It's about time.” She said with some force. “I could do with some good, old fashioned, unambiguous violence.” Then she turned to me and grinned. “You promised me some fun after all.”

She turned after the others.

“Regretting bringing her along yet Freddie?” Kerrass grinned.

“I do believe that that woman is going to be the death of us.” I replied.

“Not us Freddie. Many other people I think, but not us.”

(A/N: Happy Pride folks. I've made my thoughts clear on the matter earlier in the story. But for now, and again, shine on you crazy diamonds. And again, Happy Pride)