Ragnarök

“Vikings, they call us. I am a Norseman, as have been all my ancestors. We’re no marauding hordes who kill for pleasure. No, we are farmers, fishermen, woodsmen who set out to get what our people need when the need is great,” remarked the dark figure.

Gunnarr was the seventh son of a seventh son, which, according to lore, gave him the gift of far-seeing.
“I never asked for the damn thing, a curse it is. If it helps my people, then at least it’s a curse I will endure,” muttered the Norseman.

Two nights ago, after returning from a raiding party, the Gunnarr had a terrifying vision. He sought the wise woman for an answer to its meaning. “Ragnarök, you’ve seen the end times,” the woman said in a quivering voice.

“Go to the old one who dwells under the cliff on the mountain. He will know the path you should travel,” instructed the crone.

“Gunnarr, son of Thorrn, what brings you here?” asked the old one.

The Norseman told the Sage of his vision and asked for guidance: “Take two long boats with supplies for twenty men and forty women. Follow the Northern Star until you reach Hyperborea. Make your life there, and keep the old ways alive. Remember your past, Gunnarr, son of Thorrn,” said the old man.

The next day, the boats left the village, and its crew was somber as they said their goodbyes to loved ones. “Take this amulet, child. It will show you the way to your new home,” said the wise woman to Gunnarr.

As the boats crossed the horizon, a bright flash followed by a deep reddish glow was spotted in the south.

“Ragnarök has begun. If we are to save our people, row with all your might,” the boat’s captains cried.

Hours later, the exhausted crews were thankful when a strong, northerly wind pushed the boats ahead. They sail through the night, ever present in the glow behind them.

On the third day, the sky cleared, bringing hope that they had escaped Ragnarök. On the morning of the sixth day, a lookout cried, “Land, land, ho.”

By mid-afternoon, the boats had found safe harbor and began unloading their seed, livestock, and tools. “We shall call this land Newfunlan in the hope that this will be the Norseman home forever,” said Gunnarr.

Tales tell of people fleeing a volcanic eruption who traveled to build a new life that honored the old ways.

Some say it was just a fairy tale told by the old ones to children on cold winter nights.

Whatever the truth, I always wondered why there were so many blue-eyed Inuits on the eastern shores of Nova Scotia. Do you know the answer?