Chapter 1
The Curse of the Missing Axe
Long before the discovery of Blundergard, before the storms, the Kraken, and the voyage of the Rikmans-yflir, there stood a small Viking village upon the cold northern coast.
It was a place of fishermen, traders, warriors, and storytellers.
It was also the home of Rikus Rikmansen.
Now Rikus was not famous at the time.
In fact, most villagers knew him only as the man most likely to fall off a roof while trying to fix a fence.
Twice.
On the same afternoon.
Despite his lack of practical talent, Rikus possessed two remarkable qualities.
The first was optimism.
The second was luck.
The optimism was his own.
The luck was generally considered a burden placed upon the gods.
Where another man might lose a coin and never see it again, Rikus would lose a cart and somehow discover a treasure chest while looking for it.
No one could explain it.
Least of all Rikus.
His closest companion was Sven, a stubborn white goat with curved horns and an expression that suggested he was constantly disappointed in humanity.
Sven followed Rikus everywhere.
The villagers often remarked that the goat appeared to be the smarter of the two.
Sven never argued.
One autumn morning, the village awoke to excitement.
The Jarl had announced a grand expedition.
Three longships would sail west in search of new trade routes and richer lands.
Every able-bodied warrior was preparing for the voyage.
Axes were sharpened.
Sails were repaired.
Supplies were loaded.
Songs were sung.
Arguments were settled.
New arguments were started.
The village bustled with energy.
Naturally, Rikus wanted to join.
"Adventure awaits!" he declared.
"No doubt," replied Sven.
The goat was chewing a rope at the time, but Rikus had become surprisingly skilled at understanding him.
The day before departure, Rikus prepared his equipment.
His shield was polished.
His helmet was repaired.
His boots were packed.
His favourite battle axe was hung beside his bed.
It was a fine axe.
Not because Rikus used it particularly well.
Mostly because it had survived being dropped into rivers, left in forests, and once forgotten inside a bakery.
The following morning, disaster struck.
The axe was gone.
Rikus searched beneath his bed.
Nothing.
He searched behind his chest.
Nothing.
He searched inside a barrel.
A surprising amount of cheese, but no axe.
By midday he had searched half the village.
The fishermen laughed.
The blacksmith laughed.
The children laughed.
Even the chickens seemed amused.
"Lost your axe again?" called a passing merchant.
"This time it's serious!" shouted Rikus.
"That's what you said last time."
The merchant continued walking.
Sven watched the search with growing concern.
Or perhaps growing embarrassment.
It was difficult to tell.
By evening the entire village knew.
Rikus Rikmansen had misplaced his battle axe on the eve of the greatest voyage of his life.
The laughter could be heard from one end of the settlement to the other.
Only one person did not laugh.
The village seer.
She lived alone upon a rocky hill overlooking the sea.
Her house was surrounded by ravens, wind chimes, and enough mysterious objects to make visitors uncomfortable.
As sunset painted the sky red and gold, she summoned Rikus to her dwelling.
Rikus arrived with Sven at his side.
The old woman stared into the fire for a long moment.
Then she spoke.
"The axe is gone."
"I know," said Rikus.
"I've looked everywhere."
"The axe is gone because it must be gone."
Rikus blinked.
"That's not especially helpful."
The seer ignored him.
"The missing axe is not a loss."
"It certainly feels like one."
"It is a beginning."
The fire crackled.
Outside, the wind howled.
The ravens shifted upon their perches.
"A road has opened before you," said the seer.
"A road no Viking has walked."
Rikus frowned.
"I don't suppose this road includes finding my axe?"
The seer sighed.
"No."
"That's unfortunate."
She pointed toward the dark sea beyond the cliffs.
"You will sail farther than any man of the North."
"I was planning to sail west."
"You will travel beyond west."
"South?"
"Much farther."
"That seems difficult."
"It will be."
The seer leaned forward.
"Storms await you."
"That sounds bad."
"It is."
"Anything else?"
"Sea monsters."
"Definitely bad."
"Magic."
"Oh."
"A land beyond all maps."
Rikus considered this.
Then he smiled.
"Well, that sounds exciting."
The seer stared at him.
After many years of knowing Rikus, she had learned that worry was not one of his natural talents.
As darkness settled across the village, Rikus and Sven returned home.
The axe remained missing.
The villagers continued laughing.
The ships awaited the morning tide.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, fate had already begun preparing the first chapter of a legend.
For although Rikus did not yet know it, the loss of one simple battle axe would soon change the course of his life forever.
It would lead him to storms.
To monsters.
To distant oceans.
To Blundergard.
And to a destiny that no sensible Viking would ever have believed.
But sensible Vikings rarely become legends.
And Rikus Rikmansen was many things.
Sensible was not one of them.
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