It was the season when the first winter nights were powdering the earth with frost.
And now began a lively and unquiet time for the sworn brothers. Relatives and friends came from near and far to spend some days with them. The whole of this last winter in Dalsfjord there was a festivity and bustle which made them all giddy with hilarity, especially Hjor-Leif. His irrepressible mood infected Helga. She gave herself away and forgot everything, even her most secret troubles—she forgot everything in the one fact that she just had Leif. They let day be day, and night be night, and merely lived—lived in a state of blissful intoxication, which excluded everything except absorption in the present happiness of their souls. Often when Helga was falling asleep, she thought, "You will not wake in the morning," and smiled happily. Her happiness was so deep that death and life ran into one.
There was no pause in the festivities. When there was no feast being held in the house, they and their guests and servants were invited to week-long feasts in other houses. Among their kinsmen and friends there were already at this time many who said that if Ingolf and Hjor-Leif prospered in the new land, they also would sell their properties in Norway and migrate thither. Norway was no longer what it had been. They knew no longer whether they were free yeomen or King Harald's lease-holders. Lately one of Harald's Jarls had murdered Atle Jarl the Slender. Haasten held his right and inheritance by Harald's permission. And there were many situated as he was. Every one who dared to murmur had forfeited life and land. It would certainly be a good thing to find a free place so far away that Harald's hard arm could not reach.
Hjor-Leif reminded Ingolf that he had long fore-told that. There was no need to fear solitude in the new land. Before many years had passed, the whole of the great island would be taken in possession by the best men of Norway.
Hjor-Leif spoke contentedly and undisturbedly about the matter. He was himself, as usual, not aware of any responsibility. Upon Ingolf the prospects of many following them thither had a different effect. He was quite weighed down with a sense of responsibility and anxiety. Was the land out there in the west so good that he could justify drawing others by his example from their inheritance and the country of their race? And, above all: Was it the gods' will that he should journey thither? Ingolf arranged a great Yuletide sacrificial feast. And now he wished to ascertain the will of the gods.
On the first night of the feast he cast lots. Some chips or sticks, dipped in sacrificial blood, were tossed in a cloth, and he read off the characters formed by the positions which the chips assumed towards each other. Far to the left lay a chip by itself, straight up and down, a clear character, an "I." That signified "ice," and seemed to mean that he should travel. The next character was even clearer. Some chips had so arranged themselves that they formed the runic character "F." That signified "cattle"; goods and wealth. There was no fear of making a mistake. Ingolf read off still more characters, but they were all propitious, with the exception of a single death-rune. Well, one could not escape death by not travelling. That came to each one on the day assigned by the fates. Ingolf was reassured.
Winter passed, and the days increased in light and length. Then came a spring day. It was a warm and festal spring which fell in step with winter's mood.
The sworn brothers launched their vessel and loaded it with goods and implements, men and cattle. Ingolf had taken the pillars of his high-seat on board, together with all the images of the gods from the temple.
Leif sat doubled up with laughter and watched Ingolf and his men dragging with solemn intentness the worm-eaten and bedizened pillars of the gods from the temple down to the ship. Was Ingolf, then, no wiser?
Helga awoke from her trance of happiness as she stood with her hand in Hjor-Leif's and sailed out between some small islands covered with spruce and fir, from whence a strong pine-scent was carried towards her by a gentle breeze. Hjor-Leif felt her hand grow cold in his. He clasped the slender fingers more closely. Had he clasped them too closely? Her little hand began suddenly to tremble in his. He looked into her eyes with a searching and slightly troubled look. But there was nothing the matter. She smiled her quietest and happiest smile at him. He kissed her, made her sit in shelter, and wrapped a skin round her, so that she should not feel cold. Soon they were outside the islands. The wind blew stronger and more steadily. Before the bellying sails the two heavily loaded ships steered over a sea blue with spring.