For the best part of the descent, the two men spent it in silence, sliding down ice slopes along the frozen riverbanks.
At several intervals Ragnar would stop them and begin examining the surrounding terrain.
Then it became clear to Thorson what the man was doing.
With every step Ragnar was making mental calculations, judging where men would have to stop, where the cliffs were too steep and the ship would have to be lowered by ropes, where those ropes would be tied, and how much strength would be required to hold her back.
Such things were going through Thorson’s mind as well, and one thing became apparent.
This would be a disaster waiting to happen.
He had already experienced the ordeal of climbing the mountain on narrow paths with hardly any footing at all, where a single mistake could cost a man his life.
Knowing they would also have to descend while dragging a longship weighing several tons seemed almost unimaginable.
Yet such thoughts did not seem to trouble Ragnar.
From the determined look on his face, it was clear Ragnar was not a man who gave much thought to fear once he had made up his mind.
At the same time, Thorson’s secret weighed heavily on him, and eventually he felt he could bear it no longer.
For the first time since they had begun the journey, the boy broke the silence.
“Actually…
I was not entirely honest with you, Ragnar.”
Thorson’s voice was drowned by the sound of the stream, yet Ragnar heard him nonetheless.
“About what?” he asked as they continued making their way down the frozen bank.
“About the visions.”
Thorson remained quiet for a while until they had climbed down another steep descent.
He searched for the right words, but none came easily.
“Sometimes…
I can see through animals’ eyes.”
Thorson had expected the revelation to surprise Ragnar.
At the very least, he had expected the man to stop and ask for clarification.
Instead, Ragnar did neither.
It was almost as though he had expected it.
“And you did not tell me because you thought I would look upon you with suspicion?” Ragnar stated in a flat voice.
“You knew?”
This time Ragnar stopped, if only for a moment, and turned toward the boy.
“I had a hunch,” he said plainly.
“A hunch?
How?”
Ragnar smiled and resumed the descent.
“I may have known your master’s brother before he died.
The man used to boast of the same gift.
It was never proven, though.
He often claimed he could see through birds’ eyes.”
Ragnar shrugged.
“Unfortunately, his gift never amounted to much.
That is why men do not always trust such visions.”
Thorson felt as though the words had been directed at him.
“You think the visions are unreliable?”
“Not always,” Ragnar replied.
“And I am not speaking of your visions.
You are nothing like that man…
While he claimed to see and never tired of speaking of it, you seem almost burdened by the gift.”
He stepped over a boulder before continuing.
“If there is one thing I have learned in my life, boy, it is that confidence often walks hand in hand with mediocrity.”
“The truly capable men are often the ones who doubt themselves the most.”
He glanced back at Thorson.
“In any case, we have already established that your visions carry truth.”
Thorson felt as though the weight of an anchor had been lifted from his chest.
“You hear that?” Ragnar asked suddenly, cutting short their conversation.
Thorson listened.
He heard it.
The sound was growing louder and louder, much like it had before they discovered the feeder stream.
Only this time it was far greater.
After another short descent, the two of them came to an abrupt halt at the edge of another cliff.
Below them the Milkwater roared, its powerful current surging south in rolling waves.
The volume of water was greater than either of them had expected.
A smile of satisfaction spread across Thorson’s face.
The same smile appeared on Ragnar’s.
“There she is.
The Milkwater, I almost thought she would be white.”
Thorson nodded, though Ragnar could not have seen it in the darkness.
“This could certainly carry a longship.”
“Aye,” Ragnar agreed.
“It could carry her or it could smash her to pieces.”
He crouched, and Thorson followed suit.
“Look at those rapids down there.”
Thorson followed the direction of Ragnar’s finger.
“They are large enough to twist the ship off its course, and there are several of them.”
He went quiet again, and his eyes travelled farther ahead, then turned back to the mountain they had just climbed from.
“And we cannot rule out the possibility of a waterfall farther downstream.”
The smile faded from Thorson’s face.
“Still…
we would first have to get the ship down here…
And we are much closer to the Wall now.”
“Look.”
Thorson pointed, and Ragnar followed the direction of his finger.
They were still some distance away, but from where they stood they could make out the top of the Wall with surprising clarity.
Two torches burned upon its battlements.
Judging by the way the flames moved, each was being carried by a man.
Ragnar narrowed his eyes.
“Aye.”
“That will be a problem…
They are watching the valley below.
It will be almost impossible to slip past them under normal circumstances.”
Thorson looked at him.
“What do you mean by normal circumstances?”
Ragnar did not answer.
Nor did Thorson press the matter.
“Come.”
He led the boy farther down along the roaring river.
Closer and closer they crept until they reached a rocky ledge that Ragnar seemed satisfied with.
“Pull your cloak over your head.”
Thorson did as he was told.
He watched Ragnar bury his face beneath the gathering snow and quickly copied him.
“Whatever you do, do not move.
Use only your eyes.”
Ragnar’s voice came as little more than a whisper beneath the cloak.
Thorson had been through this before.
Already he could feel his body protesting, knowing the pain that would surely follow.
He remembered lying in the snow on the night his master, his family, and his mother had been murdered.
Before this was over, every joint in their bodies would be aching.
“Now what?” he whispered impatiently.
Ragnar’s eyes remained fixed on the darkness ahead.
“Now we watch the watchers.”
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