Erik knew every stone in the bay of the fjord well. He was eleven years old and his hands always smelled of tar. In the long house the nets were drying and the 'Thunder' was waiting in the square. The long ship gleamed with fresh tar in the evening sun. Erik wanted to go to sea, but the elders shook their heads. Bjorn taught him knots and how to read wind signs. In the evening, ravens circled over the village and the sky burned pink. That night one raven perched right next to Erik. In its beak it carried a thong with a small bronze ring. A fleece glistened on the metal, like a mother's comb. The raven moved towards a shed by the shore, so Erik ran after it. Under the mast beam he found a small box wrapped in leather. Inside was a thin parchment and a bone whistle. On the parchment was a map of the fjord and the Isle of Mist. Next to it ran a row of signs: Listen to the whisper of the wave. Erik squeezed the whistle and felt a shiver up to his neck. The fog had set in, although it wasn't blowing and it wasn't raining. Erik ran out to Bjorn and showed him the treasure. Bjorn nodded and whispered: - Don't tell anyone, we are sailing right away. They pushed the light boat out and set off into the bay. The raven flew low, as if guarding something on the water. The water glowed green, as if someone was breathing under it. Three times something tapped on the keel, quietly and insistently. The map in Erik's hand grew warm and soft. The mist parted, revealing a black gate in the rock. The prow of a ship with a dragon's head slid out of the depths. But the prow did not flow - it glided without waves or sound. Erik tightened his fingers on the whistle as something opened an eye.