Chapter 11 - The Last Raid

 

The years passed swiftly in Blundergard. The settlement had grown from a handful of wooden huts into a thriving coastal kingdom. Trade ships arrived from distant shores. Harbours bustled with activity.

Children who had once listened to tales of the Kraken's Daughter now told those same stories to their own children. And at the centre of every tale sat Rikus Rikmansen. Older, wider and perhaps slightly wiser.

Though opinions differed greatly on that last point. His beard had become streaked with silver. His hair had begun retreating from several strategic positions. His knees complained whenever storms approached. Yet his appetite for adventure remained entirely unchanged. This worried everyone.

One autumn evening, Rikus stood before the great map wall in the hall. The famous string board of the Ghost Ship Rikmans-yflir occupied one side. Charts of the southern seas covered the other.

The navigator found him staring at a blank section of ocean. "What are you planning?"

Rikus smiled. The navigator immediately regretted asking.

"I think we need one final raid" said Rikus. The hall fell silent. Several sailors dropped their mugs. Sven the Goat stopped chewing. The blacksmith groaned.

The navigator closed his eyes. "No."
"Yes.
"No."
"Definitely yes."
"You are nearly sixty."
"I prefer 'experienced.'"
"You fell asleep in a wheelbarrow yesterday."
"I was inspecting it."

The argument lasted an hour. Rikus won. Mostly because no one could physically stop him.  Within weeks preparations began. The finest sailors of Blundergard assembled.

The Rikmans-yflir was repaired and strengthened. Fresh sails were woven. Supplies were loaded. Axes were sharpened. Maps were updated. The settlement buzzed with excitement. For although everyone claimed the voyage was a terrible idea, nobody wished to miss it.

The Last Raid soon became the talk of every harbour. Young sailors begged to join. Old veterans volunteered. Songs were composed before the voyage had even begun. Most already exaggerated events that had not yet happened. Rikus approved of this greatly.

On the morning of departure, the entire settlement gathered at the harbour. The crowd was larger than any in living memory. The Jarl stepped forward.

"You have nothing left to prove."
Rikus nodded. "I know."
"You could stay here."
"I could."
"You could enjoy a peaceful retirement."

Rikus looked horrified. The Jarl sighed. "I thought so."

Sven wandered aboard the ship. The goat's decision settled the matter. If Sven was going, everyone else was going too.

The Rikmans-yflir sailed with the tide. Cheers echoed across the harbour. The people of Blundergard watched until the dragon-prowed ship disappeared beyond the horizon. Many suspected they were witnessing history. None realised how right they were.

For several weeks the voyage proceeded peacefully. The crew explored remote islands and mapped unknown waters, discovered hidden coves. Everything seemed strangely ordinary. This made Rikus uneasy.

"No disasters."
The navigator frowned. "Don't."
"No sea monsters."
"Please stop"
"No mysterious prophecies."
The navigator stood up. "Stop talking" pleaded the navigator.

Unfortunately, fate heard him. Three days later a storm arrived. Not an ordinary storm. A storm unlike any seen since the night of the Kraken. Black clouds covered the heavens. Lightning flashed constantly. The sea boiled with fury. Winds screamed through the rigging.

The Rikmans-yflir fought for survival. The crew battled through the darkness. Rain lashed the deck. Waves crashed over the bow. The world vanished beneath water and thunder.

Then the lookout cried out. "Ship ahead!"

The crew stared. At first they thought it impossible. No vessel could survive such weather. Yet there it was. A longship. Its sail glowed faintly within the storm. Its dragon prow cut effortlessly through the waves. The crew exchanged nervous glances. They knew this ship.

Everyone knew this ship. The . The legendary Ghost Ship Rikmans-yflir. The same vessel reported for decades by sailors across the southern seas. The same vessel recorded on the navigator's wall. The same vessel that could not possibly exist.

The storm illuminated it for a brief moment. And there, standing at the bow, was a figure. A Viking. Silver-haired. Broad-shouldered. Laughing. Beside him stood a white goat.

Silence fell across the deck. Even the storm seemed quieter. The navigator slowly lowered his spyglass. "That's impossible."

The sailors nodded. It certainly was. The ghostly vessel altered course. It sailed ahead of them. Guiding them. Leading them through the raging sea. Exactly as every story had claimed. The crew followed. What else could they do?

Hour after hour the spectral ship remained before them. Always visible. Always just beyond reach. Then, as dawn approached, the storm suddenly ended.

The sea became calm. Sunlight broke through the clouds. And the ghost ship vanished. Gone. As though it had never existed. No wreckage, no wake nothing.

The crew searched, the horizon. They found only empty ocean. No one spoke for a very long time. At last the navigator turned toward Rikus.

"I don't understand." But neither did anyone else.

Rikus looked thoughtful. For the first time in many years, he appeared genuinely serious. He gazed across the calm sea. Toward the place where the ghost ship had disappeared. And somewhere deep inside, he felt a strange certainty. The voyage was no longer a raid.

It was something else. Something larger. Something waiting. For beyond the horizon lay a destination he had never expected to find. A destination that seemed to know his name. And for the first time since leaving Blundergard, Rikus wondered if the ghost ship had not been leading them away from danger.

But toward destiny. The Last Raid had begun. And before it ended, Rikus Rikmansen would discover the greatest mystery of his life. A mystery older than Blundergard.

Older than the Kraken. Older than the vortex itself.

A mystery waiting at the edge of the world.