With everything loaded aboard, there was nothing to do but wait for the tide. The cows sat at their oars, in two lines down the length of each ship, ready to propel their vessels out into the open waters as soon as the waves lifted them. Hearthfire, it had been immediately pointed out, was simply too small to row, and had been tasked with the important job of staying out of the way until she was needed. She stood at the bow of Audir’s vessel, and looked out across the inky black expanse of the ocean. Anything could be lurking just below the surface, and there would be no knowing until it reared up, water streaming from its jaws, to snatch-
She shook herself, and looked away.
The gentle slap of the waves against the hull was growing in volume, as the water level rose and larger and larger waves braved the shallows to smash themselves against the beach. A murmur of excitement rippled through the rowers, and they let their oars fall, ready to scoop and push against the beach and waves. It was strange that she in some sense knew them all, though she had not spoken more than a few score words with most of them.
There was Tobba, son of Porbjorg the Horned, braced against his oar beside his own son, Tofa. Porbjorg had earned his name when he had fallen overboard and been swallowed by a sea monster. His friends had fought the beast and slain it, and when they had prized open its jaws, it was to find Porbjorg, still alive and kicking, with his abnormally long horns lodged in the creature’s gullet.
Towards the aft of the ship, at the oar closest to Audir, she could make out Skirlaug the Fisher, daughter of Salgerd, son of Runa the Strong. One bad summer, when the fishing was hard, and the village faced the prospect of starvation in the coming winter, Skirlaug the Fisher had tricked an entire shoal of fish into leaping into her boat, nearly sinking it. The crew had been forced to eat as many as they could before the vessel met with disaster, and had still returned with enough fish to last two winters. Runa the Strong had passed many seasons ago, but was said to have been able to lift any three other cows in the village onto her back, and carry them all day without faltering.
Hearthfire had not been able to make up her mind how much truth there were in these stories, as each seemed more comically impossible than the last, but, given how seriously the cows took them, she would not have voiced her doubts in exchange for all the gems in Equestria. Regardless, it seemed that a cow’s oar position was defined by the amount of trust or respect they had earned from their captain. Whether or not the rowers had truly accomplished the incredible feats claimed, unnamed Tobba and Tofa sat near the bow, and Skirlaug the Fisher took the most prestigious oar to the aft.
Audir the Brave stood proudly at the helm, facing her crew, with one hoof resting comfortably on the tiller, waiting for the right moment.
It came on a gust of cold wind and a swell, whipping a big wave ever further up the beach. There was a tiny shift, a creaking of hulls and a feeling of slight lift, and from each of the dozen ships a shout went up, lead by the twelve captains, but quickly snatched up by their crews as near four hundred cows bent at their oars and shoved.
The boats shifted, slipping down the beach until the wave receded once more, but the next wave was incoming, and again as it reached its peak, the shout went out, deafeningly loud, and the boats crept forward once more.
“Put your backs into it!” Audir called as the din waned again, “We’ll not be beaten this year, my sons and daughters!”
So it went on, for wave after wave, as the boats slid inch by inch down the beach, the shout rising with the water and falling back to the captains’ urgings for more speed, more strength, vying to be the first to pull free of the grasping land and surge out into the open water.
It was Audir’s Green Wind that won it, to a mixture of cheers and curses from every cow, and a thunderous drumming of hooves on decks up and down the beach, but before long the other crews had turned back to their oars, and the new race was to avoid being the last into the water.
“We’ll see you calfs in a few months!”
Whatever the other captains shouted in retort to Audir’s parting taunt was lost in the distance that separated them, as Green Wind’s rowers caught the dark waters with the flats of their blades and turned her into the wind, hauling her out through the swell and into the endless night.
* * *
They travelled under sail for the most part, navigating by the ever present stars and differentiating time by the rise and fall of the moon, but when the winds turned against them, the ship would become a fury of activity, as the cows worked the rigging to lower Green Wind’s sail and stow it lengthways down the line of the ship, between the two oar banks. Then they would un-ship their oars and set about driving onwards, the slender hull moving easily through the water and cutting the air like a knife. The cows were expert rowers, and save for the whistling of the wind breaking on the hull and the splashes as the bow breached each wave, there was an eery silence about the vessel once the sail had come down.
Poorly suited to most shipboard chores, Hearthfire found herself set to take every watch she could manage, tasked with standing at the raised bow of the ship, eyes peeled for treacherous waters or ice ahead, straining to see through the gloom. Each time she saw something, or imagined she did, she would shout a warning, and a rower in the middle of the ship would relay it to the stern, where Audir would heave on the tiller, and call for this or that bank of rowers to stop pulling on their oars, bringing the ship safely out of the path of the obstacle. Usually it was ice, immense chunks of it drifting aimlessly through the waters, or a large swell that the ship needed to be brought about to strike head on, other times it turned out to be a false alarm, just a patch of water that caught the starlight strangely.
The sheer scale of some of the icebergs was staggering, ghostly shapes the size of buildings that were mere black silhouettes against the black water until they loomed, suddenly. Her heart raced every time, especially the ones she had not spotted until they were very close. As for the waves, they were almost as bad; even under a relatively light wind, they would be enough to topple the ship and condemn every soul on board to the freezing waters if they were permitted to strike from the side. When the Green Wind mounted them, she would tip at a vertiginous angle, spray crashing over the bow to soak everyone on board, and every few hours, several cows were assigned the task of bailing out the slowly accumulating water.
Audir ran Green Wind on a demanding schedule, governed by the turning of an hourglass mounted near the stern. In good conditions, they sailed twenty turns of the glass and rested for six, during which time the sail came down, the sea anchor was dropped, and a kind of tent was constructed over most of the length of the ship. Using the sail and spar, they created a shelter in which a carefully controlled fire could be built, and where there was some respite from the ocean spray and the wind.
In bad weather, where the ship was in constant danger of being toppled by waves, and a sea anchor would do almost nothing to stop them drifting hopelessly off course, the ship ran indefinitely. The crew worked in shifts, four turns of work, two turns of rest, a schedule that was exhausting, but which the cows bore without any sign of complaint; Hearthfire was given no special treatment, and during some especially long stretches, she thought she might drop from exertion.
However, after two weeks at sea, and three days of uninterrupted gale-force winds and towering waves, the crew was close to breaking point. Every last soul aboard was coated in a film of ice crystals, as spray drenched them with each wave and then froze solid, matting their furs into a tangled mess that creaked with each movement.
“Audir the Brave!” called Osk the Wistful from her oar amidships, causing the captain to glance down from the heading.
“What is it, Osk?”
“We’re tired, Audir! We have been rowing for days!”
The captain shook her head, and pointed all around, at the water that assailed them on all sides.
“What would you have me do? Without our oars, we will be easy prey for the waves. They will roll us, and we will all drown. Row on, daughter.”
Osk had no argument against that, and she bent back to her oar, bending her back twice as hard.
Another day passed, and still the storm had not let up, and still the cows rowed, slipping from wave to wave, always on the edge of disaster. The spray was soaking through their furs, and even their own coats were matted with ice. It was Skirlaug the Fisher who next raised her voice.
“Audir the Brave!” Audir looked down, with a smile for her closest friend.
“What is it, Skirlaug?”
“Green Wind is tired, Audir! Her sail has flown for days, and her timbers creak!”
“What would you have me do? Without her sail, she will be easy prey for the waves. They will roll her, and we will all drown. We sail on, old friend.”
Skirlaug, too, fell silent, and bent to her oar three times as hard.