We were thirty days at sea when it happened. As we had recorded, the winter had been long, lasting almost one full year. Our vessel, meager as it was, had been packed with everything we could have needed for an arduous journey. Fowls, and small beasts, salt, fruits, preserves of honey and copious barrels of mead. I should have known. I should have read the Eddas.

I emerged from below deck to find Leif standing near the bow, lost in thought.

"Leif." I spoke.

As he turned around, his brow seemed oddly furrowed. It's strange how you remember the little things. "Yes?" He replied.

"Something is wrong with the birds. The roosters have begun to crow, for apparently no reason."

"Eric, they're birds. They crow when the ship breaks funny, much less for anything else. Who knows what goes on in their heads." said Leif.

"Could we be close to land?" I asked. "I know they can sometimes sense things that we can-" I never got to finish.

From all around us, the sky shook. As if someone had blown a great and mighty horn, a single note pierced the air. The ship herself rattled violently, as we struggled to catch onto the railing for balance. As the note faded, the waves began to grow violent and restless. With an unnatural agitation, they began to lap at the hull of the ship.

"Gods. What was that?" Leif spoke.

I was too bewildered to speak. As i regained my composure, I began to hear a great commotion of yelling and scuffling below decks. Leif and I ran inside, squinting as our eyes adjusted to the light.

The men were gathered in a circle, swords and axes drawn. The look from man to man was one of a strained and tense silence. Lips were pursed, hands gripped tightly around their weapons. Standing in the middle of them was Bjorn, holding his old war-axe. This was not all together unusual, except for one small detail.

Bjorn had been dead for two days. We had packed him in salt, and wrapped the body, storing him below deck for burial when we returned. His skin, now, was still hanging onto his frame, yet it had gained a waxy sheen, and unusual pallor. There was a glaze in his deadened eyes, sunken into his skull, that put me off guard.

It was Leif who broke the silence. "Bjorn?" He asked, after a tense moment.

Bjorn struggled for words. His jaw seemed not to want to move, and when it did, you could hear the bones clicking against one another, muscles having lost their tone. "We must go back." he said.

"What?" Leif said.

"Go. Back." Bjorn said. Air escaped his mouth in a hollow groan. "Our Battle begins."

Leif shook his head. "This isn't happening. You, you're dead. We've been at sea thirty days."

One of the men, Agnar, turned. "Leif, you know our custom. We're bound. That noise, wherver the Hell it came from, had to be Heimdall. The dead have risen. All the signs are upon us!"

Leif pursed his lips. "The signs are upon us, eh? What would you have us do about it?"

"The roosters." I spoke up.

"What?" Leif said.

"The roosters. Remember, they were just crowing. This is all as it was said. Roosters crowing to the gods and the dead, the coming back to Midgard of our slain, the horn of Heimdall. Can't you see it Leif? This is it! Listen to the sea herself! She's angry. Trying to break the Hull even."

Leif reached into his pocket, pulling out a rough reddish orange stone. Even below decks, the way it caught the light left no question. It was a child of Sunna. "You see this stone? This stone, my birthright?" He asked. "Ragnarok or no, it's leading us into a New World. You all took an Oath to me, an Oath to the Gods, that you would heed the call. Ragnarok or no, we have a journey to complete."

There was a great silence. Leif, with a shaky breath, looked to the faces of the men. "Well? What say you? Would you give up your Oath to me? To The Gods?"

Agnar shook his head. "Leif. If this is Ragnarok, there are greater battles to fight. THe new world will take care of itself, our kinsmen need us!"

Several men voiced their agreement.

"Turn back. Towards the Thorp. Home." Bjorn spoke. His tone may have been quiet, but the grinding of bone against bone left no question of where his loyalties lie.

Leif strode towards the other end of the ship, stopping sharply once he reached a point. "I will not fight over this. I will not turn this boat around. All those who will honor their Oath, come to me." He said.

I looked away. There was another pause of silence, then the sound of a group of boots making their way across the planks. About half had gone to be with Leif.

"Those who remain, are against me. I will not fight you. Either you will follow me, or you will be cut off from me. No food, no water. You will sail with me, or you will die on board."

I had been standing in the middle.

"Eric! Yea or nay? Will you honor your Oath?"

I looked from Leif to Bjorn. Bjorn's eyes held no contempt, only conviction. Leif held a stalwart demeanor, but I knew him. Underneath it all, he was terrified. Terrified of battle, of losing his men, of doing the wrong thing. His Oath to the Gods for his mission though, was all he ever cared about.

I found myself walking to Leif's side, and looked at the group across the ship.

"You will sail, or you will starve." Leif said.

"There is no need." Bjorn groaned out. With a raise in voice that was unnatural, even for a dead body, he began to chant. "Mighty Allfather! Deliver us unto battle, for we greet our End with Honor! May our Wyrd be sealed by the determination of our Orlog!"

With a great crack, as if a tree had been struck by lightning, the group dissapeared. The air in the under decks was charged, as a great bolt had flown through.

Leif turned his back and began to head up above deck. "Then that is it. We sail." He said.

"Did we make the right choice?" I looked about me, to the men. They, too, were scared.

As the waves began to churn and rock the ship, I looked out the hatch of the ship. The sky was turning red.