Come, friend, pass the mug

Recall how short our time

For the cider must stop,

And our spirits drop,

When Olesja comes calling.

- a ditty from Viribyr

He had not been to Viribyr in four or five years, but the smell of it brought back a torrent of unpleasant memories. It was not that the people of Viribyr were cold and harsh, no it was that the climate did not offer much in terms of food and whatever was eaten on the islands of Viribyr was preserved and salted to death. So he braced himself for whatever welcome party it was that Olkvardr would give him.

"Any luck on figuring out what the horn does?" Giersa asked from where they stood next to him on the stern.

He shook his head distractedly. Of course he understood why Giersa had asked. There was an unwritten rule about lingering too long into territory that you weren't supposed to be in without an invitation from whoever owned said bit of sea. At first he thought maybe he could wait out the full moon while touching the borders of Viribyr. But there wouldn't be a full moon for at least four more days and they were already at the borders to Viribyr, why not just sail in and ask?

It was what he had done twice before and each time one of Olkvardr's ships had sailed out to meet him. They had been armed, of course, but not unfriendly once he had told them he had a question to ask their seer and ruler. Except it had been a good two days and no one came. The Viribyr were good sailors, they would have spotted him by now, would have sent a ship to check who it was that dared sailed so close to their lands.

"He hasn't lost his seat has he?"

"Olkvardr? No," said Jori. The last time he'd seen the man Olkvardr had split a wooden table in half and spun it around to separate two groups of men stuck in a drunken brawl. To think that Olkvardr would lose a duel with some petty upstart was unbelievable. The man had not been that old either, unless Jori was entirely mistaken on what each bead braided into the man's beard meant.

"Who is Olkvardr?" Ellis piped up.

For someone who supposedly spent most of his life sequestered in boarding schools and in his mother's stifling embrace Ellis took to life at sea extraordinarily well. Even better than Aly, though no one asked or ordered for him to climb anything. Probably because he didn't quite have the muscle built up to do so, not for the lack of trying. Sometimes Jori found himself looking at the boy from the corner of his eye, wondering if this was what Aly was like as a child. There were similarities, like the freckles and the grey eyes and the furrow of a brow when the boy was deep in thought. He had caught Aly looking at Ellis once, when he had been helping out the crew and there was a wistful look on Aly's face that was a mix of sad and happy. He could ask Aly if the other man had wanted to be a sailor, Jori thought, many times, upon seeing that expression again and again, but he never worked up the courage to ask it. Every time he meant to ask someone, or something would interrupt his thoughts.

"Someone I met a long time ago. And it's Olkvardr Stigeson, he likes the entire name being said, not just Olkvardr."

"Olkvardr Stigeson," Ellis repeated, and, like an unrelenting wave, "Why are we seeing him? Does he have something of Olysa's?"

The man better not have anything, Jori could not think of a worst person to convince to hand over or duel with. Firstly because Olkvardr only did a thing if his seer saw it being done in whatever ritual the man performed and secondly Jori was no suicidal fool to dive into death's door. Asking for a duel with Olkvardr was unthinkable, the man could probably snap Jori's spine in two without a second thought.

"I don't think so."

"Can you show me whatever the horn looks like when the next moon's full?"

"You have a lot of questions," Jori remarked as Giersa coughed loudly. He took upon Ellis's new appearance, a mix-matched of whatever clothes the sailors could mend or give to the boy. He had Ralphye's old shirt, Hari's boots stuffed with rags and maybe what was left of Perre's wool sweater as a hat.

"Did they ever teach you about Viribyr in your fancy schools?"

"They were barbarians from the North that did not care for our King Hamund's peaceful laws. They were driven to the North because... his Highness has good ships and loyal officers and sailors," Ellis recited. Then a mischievous look came to his face as he beheld whatever disgust came on Jori's face. "You don't believe it do you?"

"No. Do you?"

Ellis glanced around, walked closer to Jori and said, pitched low so that only the two of them could hear, "I've met the officers. My uncle's husband was one of them. I don't remember him but—" here Ellis shrugged, "supposedly one of the King's best and brightest. If he's an example than the others must truly be worst."

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It occurred to Jori that Ellis might have more knowledge on the man he stole the horn from. "Have you ever met Captain Wyne? The one that lives next to you?"

"He hosts many parties," said Ellis. "So many parties, and they're not all that interesting, I don't know how anyone bothered to come. He's not the King, no one's bound to answer to his summons."

The horn, Jori thought, and the figures carved onto it. Wasn't one of the men blowing the horn? "Did you say summon?"

"Invited, then, I meant invite. But that's polite, but he's nothing like that," said Ellis.

"Right," said Jori, and to Giersa said, "We're done waiting for Olkvardr's sailors to show up. I want to speak to him now."

His first mate was wise enough to not question that decision, and soon enough the Plucky was making its way towards the shores of Viribyr. Jori frowned contemplatively as he walked down the stairs towards his father's cabin. Most of the items he'd recovered from Olysa were of the singular kind, a thing to help someone sail better. Like a blessing. So far he'd recovered a compass, a map, and a telescope. He'd kept the map but sailed into the deep seas to throw the compass and telescope back to their owner.

Nothing happened when they sank into the waters below, but perhaps it was because they were gifts bestowed to the original owners and wrongly used. But he could say the same for the horn. Was it not a Viribyr thing to have such a horn for communal parties? That was what the Wyne patriarch was using it for, was he not? It did not make sense, and maybe he could find something in his father's notes about the horn. He would usually read them himself, but Aly had offered to lend a fresh pair of eyes. For the first couple of days after he had reluctantly accept the offer it was an itching madness to have someone in Amard's room. Now he conceded that it made more sense for Aly to sit there with all the notes than have them being moved about. Not to mention it was nice to have it not looking so haunted all the time. They'd stopped by a port before heading off to Viribyr and Aly had struck up a conversation with a seamstress and her apprentices. They'd given him flowers which now stood on a vase on the table. If Aly wanted to keep them he should press them soon, Jori thought.

"Are we moving again?" Aly said, looking up when he entered. "Can you come over? I have a question." These days Aly spoke without the awkwardness from before, "Why haven't you thrown the horn overboard?" He gestured to the notes, "I've been reading this and there are times where you've tossed said thing to the sea. But not now. Why is it?" He held the horn in his hand and turned it this way and that as Jori did. "What is special about this one?"

"The last times I could read what I was throwing into the sea. They had the names of their original owner. But I don't read Viribyrese," said Jori, "It would not bode well if I threw it in and it returned to Wyne now, would it?"

"It could do that?"

"I'd rather not risk it."

"Hm," Aly flipped to a page and held it out for Jori to look at before showing him a sheet of paper covered with Aly's handwriting. "Your father had a lot to say about the horn. What is a moot? I'm not familiar with the word. Does it mean a meeting?"

Aly had done a decent job of deciphering Amard's ramblings into a single coherent sentence that read that did not give him a headache to read 'a moot must be called and so begins the R-A-G-N-A-R-Ö-K'.

"I don't know what that word is," said Aly. "Your father wrote about it multiple times, I checked if it's a mispelling—"

"My father doesn't make spelling errors."

Aly gave a huff, "That maybe true, but he's written plenty that the chances of him making an error gets higher. Is it a Viribyr word?"

"We'll see when we get there."

"How long does it take?" Aly placed the notebook down, putting it in order with the rest. He stared out at the tiny porthole and the jagged rocks they sailed past.

Jori followed Aly and they both gazed outside. "If you go any faster you'll crash onto the waves."

"I thought the Plucky was lucky."

He liked this new Aly that kept his hair tied back with a leather cord and the quips that came from rosy lips. "That doesn't mean I'll tempt luck."

Aly made to lean forward then coughed and pulled back, "Should I stay on the ship?"

"You can come if you want to," said Jori. "But stay close to one of the sailors, their parties are... rowdy."

He did not mention how handsy the men could be, though he took the nod from Aly that his meaning was understood. But when they docked Aly came down the gangplank with him. Unlike last time, they were not greeted by a big party. In fact, the entire island was dead silent with only a lone figure at the docks.

The Viribyr painted lines upon their faces during battle, red and black and rarely an luminescent ruby. He had been informed last time that the green was saved for their seers, and then Olkvardr's seer had been pointed out to him. At the time the man had sported runic circles around his temples and what looked like birds in flight. But tonight the light of the half-moon made the lines running down the seer's eyes look like tears of blood.

"You are back," said the man, "Jori Amardson. I only wish this was under better circumstances." For all that Viribyr was cold, the seer only wore the outer layer of a man's clothes and a furred cloak. His black eyes took in the crew of the Plucky, lingered on where Jori had the horn under his coat and settled on Aly.

"What's happened to Olkvardr?" Jori said. He did not want to say that the man unnerved him but he did.

His question was ignored by the seer in favor of a greeting to Aly. "How do you find Viribyr, Aly Nathyeson?"

Aly blinked, but managed a cordial smile, "I don't think we've been introduced."

Here the seer smiled thinly, "Seers have no names on Viribyr."

"But I did not come to ask you for a prophecy," said Aly. "Nor did I come seeking your advice as one. So would it not be possible for you to say?"

Jori did not know why Aly found it so important to know a seer's name but this garnered the first reaction from the man that wasn't a puzzled or haughty silence. A grin came to his face, a flash of sharp canines before the man leaned over to Aly and whispered something in his ear. Aly took several steps back, glanced at Jori then back to the seer.

"Come then, Jori Amardson, I believe you have questions to ask of me." The man began walking towards the longhouses, not waiting for Jori to respond or follow him.

"What happened to Viribyr?" Jori said, gesturing around. "Why is everything so silent?"

"Two years after you left a ship came near the shores of Viribyr," said the seer. "I told Olkvardr not to sail to meet this ship. It flew King Hamund's banner and it smelled like death. I told him not to but he did anyway. The ship sank, but all the men and women who came back fell into a deep sleep. Their families as well."

"You weren't there?" It did not make sense for Olkvardr's seer to abandon him.

There was a bitter smile on the other man's face when he responded, "Sea magic does not affect selkies as much as they do men. Or the children of such unions. I thought you'd known, Jori."