The fjord was silent as if holding its breath, and the morning mists clung to the water stubbornly. In the long hut, smoke rose to the roof, drawing intricate paths in the air. Eira stood on the palisade and listened to the waves repeat the old song of courage. She was seventeen winters old and had a pocket full of runes cut into the bones of a whale. She had learned to measure her way by the sun and the birds, for Hrafn, the old helmsman, trusted her eye. Jarl Torvald was planning a voyage to Hedeby, where silver travels fast and news travels even faster. Eira carried a sunstone and a small drum, as a skald must count time and rhythm. That morning the wind was sideways and the crows sat quietly, as if something was holding their breath. In the evening they were to convene a ting under the cliff to divide maps and oaths. First they heard the rumble of oars, then they saw the bow of the 'Silver Fox' retreating towards the harbour. The ship was returning unmanned, with its ropes taut as strings, and its flag hanging dead. Godi blew on the embers, marking the ash with Tyr's mark, but the ash refused to spread. On the railing someone had nicked three notches, a sign of silence after the storm, and stuck a bone flute. The runes on it broke the words, leaving hungry pauses, as if the song had been cut with a knife. A bowl of salt lay on the deck, untouched, though the sea moisture had doused everything. Eira climbed aboard and saw a knot that only her brother Arvid, stubborn and skilful, had tied. She touched the rope and felt a chill, as if water from the northern ice had sat on her hand. "It's an omen," muttered Hrafn, but the godi extinguished him with a look and pointed to the flute in the crevice. Eira read: "Where the white day carries the shadow, look for the word that stirs the wind and silences the steel." "Sounds like half a song," said Ivar, her snow-hunting friend, and moved away from the railing. Evening entered the fjord quietly, and the water carried the reflection of the campfires, crushing them into tiny sparks. Ravens fell on the mast, beat their wings three times, and suddenly even the drum in her hand fell silent. Then the flute moved of its own accord, turned the opening towards the sea, and stopped on Eira. The shape of a second ship emerged from the mist, but its sails were made of shadow and silence. "If the song is broken, sing the missing word," the wind whispered, and Eira took a breath and raised her drum.