“SJáVARORM!” Agnar bellowed as the sea serpent’s head struck at the awning where the goats were bleating. Blood and screams as the jaws clamped tight, the head rearing with a mouthful of bloodstained sail and half a shredded goat dangling. The other goats leaped away, the captive woman and boy hurled in different directions.
Spears flew at the serpent, some piercing its sinuous, grey-green hide, dark blood oozing. Its head reared high, jaws opening as it swallowed the half-goat into its throat, then its head and part of its body crashed down on the deck, the top-rail splintering, ship pitching wildly, voices screaming. Sighvat stomped forwards and swung a hand-axe that crunched into the serpent’s body, just below the base of the skull. The serpent thrashed, slamming into Sighvat and sending him flying from his feet, then slithered the other way and connected with the captive boy, who was trying to reach his mother. He was hurled into the air and flew over the ship’s side into the sea.
Berak the Berserkir roared and leaped after his son, the chains around his neck and wrist yanking him back. He thrashed and screamed, but the chains held tight.
Without thinking Elvar found herself leaping on to the top-rail, searching for any sign of the child. A shadow beneath the waves, sinking, then she was dropping her spear, sucking in a deep breath and leaping into the sea.
She heard Grend’s voice, shouting her name.
Ice water, so cold it felt like a vice, crushed her chest. She saw the child, looking up, eyes bulging, arms reaching, and she kicked her feet, clawing her way towards him. Fingertips touched, then with another kick of her feet she had his wrist; she turned in the water and swam for the surface. The body of the serpent was close by, thick as a tree, descending into watery murk. Then she was breaking water, gasping cold air into her lungs as the serpent reared back from the Wave-Jarl’s deck and crashed back into the water, a wave that sent her and the child surging away from the ship.
A figure leaped from the ship’s deck; there was a splash as Grend hit the water, taking powerful strokes as he swam towards her.
The boy had his head above water, was shouting, calling for his mother or father, Elvar thought, and thrashing in the water like a speared seal.
The serpent heard, its head snapping round, black eyes focusing on them. With an undulating ripple through its body it was speeding towards them, its muzzle cutting through water like a drakkar’s prow, a wake lifting Grend high. He bellowed, swam harder, but Elvar knew he was not going to reach her before the serpent. He changed course, veered in towards the sea creature, crashed into its body and dragged a knife from his belt, stabbing frantically. The sea frothed red, but the serpent took no notice.
Elvar reached for a weapon, found nothing, then remembered she’d packed her weapon’s belt into her sea-chest.
I’m going to die.
Fear swept through her, the serpent’s jaws opening, water dripping from rowed fangs.
She gritted her teeth, cursed the serpent as it sped at her, sucked in a breath as she prepared to dive beneath the waves with a foolish hope of evading the serpent’s jaws.
A ripple ran through the creature’s body, and a new sound filtered over the waves, a high-pitched, keening song. The serpent’s head turned, rising from the water, its body slowing as it looked back at the ship.
A figure stood on the top-rail, a woman, and she was singing.
The serpent’s head hovered above the water, its body coming to a standstill, just floating on the sea swell. Then it let out a stuttering hiss and dived beneath the sea, the bulk of its body rising and then sinking, a spray of water from its tail, and in heartbeats the sea was calm, as if the serpent had never been.
Grend reached her, wrapped an arm around her and dragged them towards the ship. A rope was thrown down for them, arms reaching, pulling them up on to the deck, where Elvar flopped like a fish, gasping and shivering.
The boy’s mother ceased her singing and ran to her son, prising him from Elvar’s arms, hugging him tight, the boy sobbing.
“Fool,” Grend muttered as he fell over the top-rail and lay beside Elvar, then he sat and looked at her. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said, “though I can’t feel my toes.”
“I hope the fish have chewed them off and taught you a lesson. Fool.”
“You followed me. What does that make you?” Elvar said, grinning.
“An even greater fool,” Grend muttered.
A hand touched Elvar’s cheek: the boy’s mother.
“Thank you,” the woman breathed.
Elvar nodded, looking into the woman’s eyes. Pale, grey-blue like the sea on a wind-calm day. Her hair was fair, face pale; a glimpse of blue tattoos spiralled beneath the tunic and cloak pulled tight around her neck.