Twenty years had passed since the discovery of Blundergard. The settlement had become a thriving town. Children who had been born beneath the southern stars had grown into sailors, traders, and explorers.
New villages dotted the coastline. Maps filled entire walls of the Great Hall. And at the centre of every story stood one name.
Rikus Rikmansen.
To the younger generation, he was already becoming something more than a man. He was becoming a legend. This troubled Rikus greatly.
"Legends are usually old," he complained.
"You are old," replied the navigator.
"I am experienced."
"You fell into a water trough yesterday," commented the navigator"That was tactical."
The navigator sighed. Some things never changed. Yet even as Blundergard prospered, strange stories began arriving from distant settlements.
At first they seemed harmless. A fisherman reported seeing a longship sailing through a storm where no ship could possibly survive. A trader claimed to have spotted a dragon-prowed vessel emerging from thick fog before vanishing moments later.A whaler swore he had seen a Viking ship sailing across moonlit waters without a single oarsman aboard.
Most dismissed such tales, sailors were famous for exaggeration. Especially after several mugs of mead.
Then the reports increased. Soon they came from every corner of the southern coast. The descriptions were always the same. A longship.
A dragon-headed prow. A crimson sail. And a white goat standing at the bow. That last detail made people nervous. One evening a weather-beaten captain arrived in Blundergard. He demanded an audience at the Great Hall. The room fell silent as he told his story.
"We were caught in a storm." The captain's hands trembled. "The worst I've ever seen."
Lightning flashed outside as if the heavens wished to assist the tale. "Waves taller than mountains." The audience leaned forward. "Our mast snapped."
A murmur spread through the room. We were finished." The captain paused. Then lowered his voice. "That's when we saw it." The hall became utterly silent. "A longship appeared out of the storm."
Rikus smiled. "A sensible rescue vessel, no doubt."
The captain shook his head. "It sailed straight through the waves." The audience exchanged uneasy glances. "The sea couldn't touch it."
"Interesting."
"The lightning couldn't touch it." The room grew quieter. "It passed beside us."
The captain swallowed. "And standing at the bow was a giant white goat."
Every eye turned toward Sven. The goat was asleep beside the fire. He opened one eye. Then closed it again.
The captain continued. "The ship led us through the storm." The room remained silent.
"When dawn arrived, both the ship and the storm were gone."
The captain sat down heavily. No one laughed, no one joked. The story felt different. Older, stranger. As though it belonged to another world.
Within weeks more reports arrived. A pearl diver, a trader, A group of fishermen. Each described the same vessel. Each told a similar story. The mysterious ship always appeared when sailors were lost, when storms threatened, when hope seemed gone.
And every sighting ended the same way. The vessel vanished.
The navigator eventually covered an entire wall with reports. Strings connected locations, dates, witnesses and storm paths. For several days he studied the evidence. Finally he arrived at a disturbing conclusion. "This is impossible."
"Most interesting things are," said Rikus.
The navigator pointed to the map."Several sightings occurred at exactly the same time."
The room fell silent.
"That's not possible."
"No."
"Unless there are multiple ships."
"That's unlikely"
"Then what are we looking at?"
The navigator hesitated. He disliked mysteries. Mysteries rarely followed sensible rules. At last he spoke.
"I think the sailors genuinely saw something."
Rikus looked thoughtful. "Perhaps a spirit."
The navigator laughed. Then realised nobody else was laughing. Outside, the wind howled and the fire crackled. The stories continued arriving. And with every new report, the legend grew.
The people began calling the vessel by a new name. The Ghost Ship Rikmans-yflir.
Children whispered about it around campfires. Sailors carved its image onto lucky charms. Songs were written, some were dramatic and some were ridiculous.
One claimed the ghost ship was crewed entirely by heroic goats. Sven seemed pleased by this version. As the years passed, sightings became even more common. Always during storms, always near danger and always when someone needed saving.
Then came the strangest report of all. A young sailor arrived from the far western coast. His ship had nearly been destroyed upon hidden reefs.
Like every witness before him, he described the ghostly longship. But he added one detail. One detail no one had heard before.
"There was a man aboard." The Great Hall fell silent. The sailor nodded. "A red-haired Viking."
Rikus slowly raised an eyebrow.
"He looked familiar." The room erupted into nervous laughter. The sailor remained serious.
"He stood beside the goat." The laughter faded. "He was laughing."
No one spoke. The sailor pointed toward Rikus. "He looked exactly like you."
Silence. Even Sven stopped chewing. For a moment, the fire seemed quieter, the wind softer. The world still.
At last Rikus smiled. "Handsome fellow then?"
The tension broke instantly. Laughter filled the hall. The mystery remained. The stories continued.
And somewhere beyond the southern horizon, beneath storms and moonlit seas, something moved through the darkness.
A ship, a legend or perhaps a glimpse of a future yet to come. For unknown to all, the greatest voyage of Rikus Rikmansen still lay ahead. A voyage from which he would never return. And when that day came, the Ghost Ship would cease to be a story.It would become the truth.
But that tale belongs to another chapter and the sea was not yet finished with Rikus Rikmansen.
No comments:
Post a Comment