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Kindle Notes & Highlights
Only the gods tell him what to do, and you should beware of men who take their orders from the gods.
Ravn recited a long poem about some ancient hero who killed a monster and then the monster’s mother who was even more fearsome than her son,
Beowulf reference
“Wyrd bi ful aræd.”
Fate is steadfast, unchangeable, inexorable, or something like this, I believe.
“A leader leads,” Ragnar said, “and you can’t ask men to risk death if you’re not willing to risk it yourself.”
“The wind is a message from the gods,” Ravn said, “as is the flight of a bird, the fall of a feather, the rise of a fish, the shape of a cloud, the cry of a vixen, all are messages, but in the end, Uhtred, the gods speak in only one place.” He tapped my head. “There.”
I threw Weland’s severed head onto the ground where my brother’s head had once been thrown. I followed it with the silver coins. I threw thirty coins. The Judas price. I remembered that church tale. It was one of the few that I had liked.
Wyrd bi ful aræd, fate is unstoppable.
