BEFORE THE WHITE LIGHT CAME

______

A University Thesis Presented to the Faculty

of

California State University, East Bay

______

In Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements for the Degree

Master of Arts in English (Creative Writing)

______

By

John Nicholas Cardaris

March/ 2018

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: While Autumn Shined Bright 1

Chapter 2: In the Hall with Meat and Mead 6

Chapter 3: The Fall Festival 9

Chapter 4: The Blood on the Snow 25

Chapter 5: My Dreams of Winter… 32

Chapter 6: A Breath of Spring 38

Chapter 7: When the White Light Came 43

Chapter 8: Depressive Silence 57

Chapter 9: Into the Forgotten Forest 61

Chapter 10: The King of Oak and Snow 66

Chapter 11: Heading South 72

Chapter 12: Gullaldr (Golden Age) 75

Chapter 13: Hvis Lyset Tar Oss (If the Light Takes Us) 81

Epilogue: Morgondagen (Tomorrow) 87

iii 1

Before the White Light Came

“I demolish my bridges behind me...then there is no choice but to move forward”-Fridtjof

Nansen

Norway, 950 AD, Fall

Chapter 1: While Autumn Shined Bright

Gylve Leifsson was practicing at spears again. The autumnal light peered down through the lofty green pines. A chill wind blew from the north of the forest, marking the beginning of the new season. Gylve poked and prodded into thin air at an entity unknown.

His long brown hair rained down his face and his beard were finally coming in. At twenty years old, physically, he was already shaping up to be as fearsome as his father. Yet still untested, Gylve had visions of combat. Blood was a recurring theme throughout his dreams.

Smashing skulls with axe-heads, puncturing intestines with well-placed spear thrusts, and even using fire arrows to set his enemies alight. He would hear old tales his father and cohorts would tell of battles they fought long ago against various tribesman from across the rivers. Placing his spear down into the muddy grasses, Gylve’s grey eyes stared out across the stream he was practicing. Fresh fish were buzzing back and forth, and the rippling waters echoed out across the land. Peering past the sea of pine trees, he noticed the massive snowcapped mountains in the distance that offered no life at all. Many men would traverse those mountains and never return. Some would get lost and lose their sanity in the cold.

Others starved. A few jumped to their deaths. 2

Gylve was tired of practicing at spears and axes. Although, he was truly excited to finally put his skills to use with the Fall Festival that was fast approaching. Archery, sharpshooting, the relay race, and the melee all piqued Gylve’s interest. Grabbing his spear,

Gylve trudged through the grasses back towards home. While walking, his brown wool clothes kept him warm. He thought of his sister, who was at home cooking meals. His father,

Leif, was helping set up the melee pit and rules. As he approached the village, Gylve recognized the village was expanding on their homes. The large wooden homes spread across a huge width and fit nearly forty people in one home. There were only four or five massive homes within the village, but they housed the entire community. Tall oval shaped domes crafted of tough golden-brown oak and colossal grey stones. The roofs were made of wood as well. Coated with pines being held down by large rocks to create insulation. Two big black dogs, as big as wolves, ran up to Gylve and he shooed them away. Chickens tottered to and fro and he smelled lamb stew from inside the homes. Gylve wiped the saliva building up on his lips. His stomach was growling loud enough to alert the entire village.

Old lady Kristin was cleaning some pans outside when she spotted Gylve walking.

Her long gray hair streamed down her face through her wool hood. Her face was bony, and her skin was cracked and aligned with crow’s feet across her eyes. Her thick black rough spun clothes covered her entire body. With a bony finger she pointed to Gylve, “Where did you wander off too?” she proclaimed. Gylve looked at her annoyingly, then she saw his spear. “Oh, playing with your weapons again. Don’t turn out like that brute of a father you have!” she yelled and pointed to no one. At that point Gylve had already left the scene. 3

Sunlight soon began to wane, and overcast clouds began to creep along the horizon.

The dark was approaching. Gylve noticed three young children playing with makeshift swords. Two young boys, about the same age, had large wooden sticks and were swinging violently at each other. Small welts were forming on each of their faces from the lashings they were giving each other. The youngest boy, had a chicken bone in each hand. Gylve grimaced and leaned towards him, “What are you going to do with that in a battle?” he asked.

Small ice-blue eyes stared back at him in the face. “I- I’m going to fight. I’m going to be strong, like my brothers!” he said in more of a whimper than an actual statement. “What’s your name, kid?” The boy froze. Almost in shock that another human being would care about his own name. “I-i-it’s Aleksander... It means-” Gylve cut him off. “I know what it means.

Be strong like our fathers’ father.” Gylve’s hair whisked in the wind as he turned away from the young children. The other two young boys were still oblivious, while Aleksander charged into the fray with only last night’s chicken bones.

The smell of lamb stew permeated the room. It wafted throughout the home and up towards the rafters. Gylve had never felt this much pleasure from a meal he was about to eat.

He sat down on a large wooden chair. The massive oaken table stretched down for what seemed like miles. The fire was cackling and burning large in the hearth nearby. All of the sudden, he saw a stream of dark blonde hair place a bowl of lamb stew in front of him. Gull smirked and softly rubbed his back. Ever since childhood, Gylve and his twin sister, Gull, always had a special connection. They could read each other’s thoughts. Feel each other’s pain. See each other’s dreams. Her grey eyes were warm and welcoming. Standing shorter than Gylve, she was still tall for a woman. She leaned over and stared at him, “I knew you 4

would be hungry. This is my special stew. Your favorite!” she gleamed. “Thank you.” Gylve said emphatically. His mouth was watering so drastically he was nearly creating a river across the table. As he waited, family and friends began streaming into the massive home.

Burly men with thick beards and massive arms wandered aimlessly at the smell of food.

Many were tremendously tall with very little wool clothing on. Some were short and stout with arms like tree trunks and legs like mountains. Gylve thought they were invincible.

Suddenly, a young man entered the room accompanied by his father. Gylve had never seen him before. “Who is that?” he turned to Gull and asked. Gull was doe-eyed. Red began creeping across her face. “What’s wrong with you? Who is he?” Gylve now demanded.

Strangely, the young man, who seemed about Gylve’s age, came across the room to sit down in the empty seat next to him. As Gull watched him saunter over, she immediately left.

Sitting down next to Gylve, he noticed he smelled of sweat. They shared no words. Abruptly,

Gull placed another bowl of lamb stew in front of this mysterious young man. “Thank you, it looks very good!” he complimented. “O-oh thank you. It’s not too hard to make actually…”

Gull whispered. “No, no. You probably cook better than my mother. What was your name?” he asked. “It’s Gull…and that’s my brother Gylve.” She pointed next to him. “Oh hello. I’m

Niklas.” He reached to shake Gylve’s hand. Gylve ignored it. Awkwardly, he stared back at

Gull, “Well, I hope to see you around. Maybe at the Fall Festival.” Gull looked like she was about to cry from nervousness. “Yes, I will see you there. I hope.” Retreating back to the cook fire, she helped prepare and serve more meals to the incoming guests.

Gylve stared at Niklas and asked, “How old are you?” His grey eyes pierced questioningly. Niklas sat firm, “I’m twenty-two.” Gylve asked another, “What do you mean 5

you will see my sister at the Fall Festival?” Niklas turned and smiled, “Well, I’m going to be there. She will be there. I hope to see her. That’s all…” Gylve felt this man thought he was more cunning than most. Gylve stood up proudly and pointed down at Niklas, “Well, I’m going to win the Fall Festival!” Other men laughed and cackled about as they heard his proclamation. Women looked about and pointed fingers at him. “Is that so?” Niklas stood up, a couple inches shorter than Gylve, “Then let’s make a friendly bet. If I win the Fall Festival,

I get to have your sister.” Niklas smiled while Gylve grabbed him by the shoulder. “Fine, then if I win, you can never talk to my sister again!” Gylve roared so the whole room could hear. “DEAL!” Both men shook hands. Leif, Gylve’s and Gull’s father came into the hall and sat down at the head of the table. “Let’s eat!” he mightily proclaimed.

6

Chapter 2: In the Hall with Meat and Mead

Lamb stew, roasted chicken, and fruit wafted about the air and stuck to the walls.

Gylve was scarfing down his food as fast as possible. Next to him, Niklas was doing the same. Already, the competition between them had begun. Large meaty hands grabbed chicken drumsticks left and right. Women were spilling their fair share of mead on each other in a friendly dance. A talented musician was playing a flute in the corner of the room by the crackling hearth. Glancing to the head of the table, his father, Leif, ate proudly. His face was chiseled with hard lines across his large forehead. Thick brown hair rained behind his back, while a long brown beard covered nearly his entire face. His beard, ran down almost towards his belly. Massive boulder like shoulders stretched the wool fabric he was wearing almost to shreds. His hands, cracked and scarred, tore at his meat as if it was an enemy on the battlefield. Leif looked across the hall to Gylve and nodded. Gylve raised his glass of mead and drank deep. Gylve’s grey eyes scanned the room. He saw happiness in abundance.

Everyone was braced for the start of the Fall Festival in a few days’ time. The time of peace was growing on his people. Gylve began to fear they may have forgotten how to fight.

But looking at all the men, some of them the size of titans, he reassured himself that if anything did happen, he and his family would be safe. “No one could be stronger than us…” he whispered under his breath. “Were you thinking about the Fall Festival, Gylve?” Niklas asked charismatically. “Ye-I mean, no.” Niklas picked at a bone stuck between his back molars. “Say…how are we going to decide who wins this competition?” he asked, as scratched his long blonde hair. “What are you talking about? There’s three competitions.

Whoever wins all three, wins the bet!” Gylve said annoyed. Niklas’ blue eyes stared at 7

dancers across the hall. “Instead of that…how about whoever wins two out of the three competitions wins the bet. That way I don’t have to embarrass you by winning three straight!” he smiled warmly. Gylve stood up aggravated, “Fine. I was going to win all three anyway. Have it your way.” Gylve stormed out of the crowded hall and left the warm fire of the hearth behind him.

The night air sent chills up his spine and permeated cold throughout his entire body.

Walking throughout the village, he noticed everyone was inside, warm, together. Gylve heard a pack of wolves’ howl in the distance. The brisk wind was blowing back his hair. He stared up at the night sky. Millions of stars stared back at him with no words. He closed his eyes and prayed to his gods. Chuckling under his breath, he prayed to the God of Thunder to strike down Niklas. In a more serious tone, he prayed to the Gods of Wind to bless him during the archery competition and the relay race. And finally, the God of War to be strong in the melee.

He opened his eyes. Gylve felt his feet connected to the roots of the forest. The winds matched his quickening breath. And the incoming mist mimicked his shrouded visions of grandeur and victory. Abruptly, he heard heavy foot steps behind him. He turned quickly, only to realize it was his father, Leif. “You should always carry your spear when out at night.

You never know who might be out here, Gylve.” He said concernedly. “Where’s your spear?” Gylve asked. Leif pulled out a large axe from behind his back. They both laughed.

Leif stood even taller than Gylve. His once golden blonde hair turning darker by the day.

Strokes of grey creeped across the roots of his scalp. Leif’s hand grasped the wooden shaft with a black axe head at the tip. Gylve noticed his missing pinky finger. Cut off in a battle in 8

his father’s youth. They stared at the stars. Unmoving. “It seems you finally made a friend!”

Leif roared. “Who? Niklas? He wants Gull. I’m going to beat him at the Fall Festival competitions. I’m stronger than he is.” Gylve said adamantly. “He seems like a nice man. I know his cousin from my youth. Their family had a fight with relatives, so now he may be spending more times eating with us.” Gylve let out a sigh. “I have to protect Gull.” Leif smirked awkwardly. His face contorted strangely from that of a warrior who has split men’s skulls in two. “Your uncle said the same thing about your mother. He wanted to save her from me. But in the end, we fell in love.” Leif looked down at Gylve. “Do you miss your mother?” Gylve looked away to the pitch-black skyline. Only the stars brightened the land.

“No.” Gylve lied. “Well I miss her. At least that makes one of us. Well I’m sure your sister misses her too. She’s just like her. Just as beautiful. Just as good a cook…maybe even better!” Leif chuckled. More wolves cried in the depths of the forest. “I’m going to go to sleep. The Fall Festival starts soon. Need to be strong.” Gylve mumbled tiredly. They both walked back together in the dead of night. The winds were brisk. Crows cawed deep within the black. Night had approached.

9

Chapter 3: The Fall Festival

Sunlight beamed down upon all the festival goers. A light wind was blowing that had hair stirring back and forth. The cut off age for the competition was thirty-five years old.

Young men lined up from various households and all were adorned in light wool clothing.

Many had colorful inlays of red, blue, and browns. Intricate designs of double helix’s fell about their waists. Many wore hats of darker shades of brown with wool stuffing pushing out of their scalps. Not a single man did not sport a beard. All men lined up single file waiting to start the first challenge. Women and children looked on chanting for their sons, brothers, and husbands. Some children were already doing battle with fake weapons. Leif stood at the center of the masses. Gylve was in the front row. His stomach had butterflies. Almost wanting to throw up from nervousness, he eased himself upwards with his bow. He felt like he was going to march off into battle, yet there was no battle to be seen. Gylve knew he had to protect his sister.

Suddenly, Leif clapped his thick cracked hands together, “Everyone. Welcome to the

Fall Festival. There will be three challenges! Archery! The Relay Race! And the Melee!”

Men roared loud enough for the mountains to hear. Some had grins from ear to ear. Some of the youngest competitors, ages fourteen or fifteen, looked wide eyed and terrified. “For the first contest, we will see who has the most accurate shot amongst you all. We laid out circular wooden targets about twenty paces from here. Then fifty paces. Then a hundred. And finally, two hundred. Whoever can fire their arrows at the target wins.” Leif shouted. Gylve searched through the crowd of bodies to see if Niklas had shown up. 10

Men gathered into groups of five and stood behind the large painted wooden targets.

The first man in Gylve’s group, a colossal man with bright red hair, roared mightily at the ease of the challenge. “They call me Bjorn! I could have shot a target from up to a thousand paces away!” he screamed. Other men ignored him. Gylve had never seen this man before.

He was probably from a neighboring village. Bjorn grabbed the large wooden bow, notched an arrow, and pulled the bow back as far as possible. Other participants followed suit.

Leif stood watching adjacent to the festival participants. Many men had their bows ready and arrows drawn. Leif smiled widely, “Ready…Fire!” A shrill of wind echoed throughout the air as arrows flew towards their motionless targets in unison. The thrum of arrows piercing through the wooden targets left Gylve excited, yet very nervous. He peered over Bjorn’s shoulder to see what he thought would be a bullseye. Instead, the arrow was nowhere to be seen. Bjorn looked about nervously. Most men had hit the target that was only twenty paces away. “Hah! I was just warming up. Time for my real shot!” Bjorn picked up another arrow and notched it in the bow. Leif bellowed, “You only get one chance. You miss, you’re out!” An embarrassing smile crept across Bjorn’s lips. “Well…maybe next year…” he said as he moved to the back of the line. Three more men stepped up. Only two hit the target.

Finally, Gylve stepped towards the bow. He grasped the strong oak in his hands. Picking up an arrow, he drew it back in one smooth motion. He closed one eye to focus on the circular target. Leif counted down, “3,2,1, Fire!” Gylve’s arrow flew at a blistering speed. It struck the center of the target. He smiled under his beard.

Leif roared, “Now, move those wooden targets out of the way!” A few men picked up the wooden targets that were twenty paces away and new targets were seen in the distance. 11

The open field provided ease of sight, but the distance was much farther now. Gylve knew he could do it. The men in front of him stepped up. Only one hit the target that was fifty paces away. Now it was Gylve’s turn once more. He notched, drew, and loosed. The arrow hit the mark once more. The process repeated again when Gylve stepped up to the target a hundred paces away. He hit that target too.

Finally, it was time for the last target. Two hundred paces away. Gylve had never shot an arrow that far. He would practice with Leif when he was younger at bow and arrow.

It was always one of his favorites. The thought of killing an enemy from dozens of paces away with a swift bolt to the throat or eye always appealed to Gylve. He turned and noticed only a handful of men remained. The smile he wore was from ear to ear. Gylve realized this challenge was too easy. Suddenly, he smile disappeared. He saw Niklas waving at him from a small distance away. Like Gylve, he was the only remaining man from his designated group. Gylve ignored him. Picking up his bow, he pulled back the arrow. Leif screamed emphatically one last time, “Notch, Draw, Loose!” Gylve closed his eyes. He thought of his sister. Releasing the arrow, it flew so fast Gylve thought it got lost in the distance. He heard a loud thump echo in the distance. He smiled. “Now,” Leif yelled, “let us go see who claimed victory.” All the men, those still participating and those eliminated, sauntered two hundred paces over to the targets.

To Gylve’s shock, he wasn’t the only one to hit the target. Niklas was the only remaining member to hit the target as well. Some men gossiped behind them and asked questioningly, “Did they both win, Leif?” Men rubbed their beards and whispered. Leif looked inquisitively at both targets. “Since they both hit the target, the winner should go to 12

whoever came closest to the center. Gylve stared over at Niklas’ target and realized his arrow was nearer to the right edge of the target. Leif noticed too. “Since Gylve came closer to the middle, I announce him the winner of the Archery contest!” Men roared, applauded, and smacked him hard on the back. Gylve smiled and walked over towards Niklas. “Looks like I won this challenge. One more and I win the bet!” he grinned. Niklas smiled back, “It’s not over yet. I’m going to win the other just you wait. You have a pretty good shot!” Gylve thought he was trying to sly. “I will see you at the relay.” Both men turned and walked deep into the forest where the relay would soon begin to take place.

*************************************

Gargantuan pines and oaks surrounded them all. Green pine leaves fluttered in the windy breeze and tickled the skin of every competitor. A sea of green surrounded them. A sea of moss and oak. Gylve stepped through the shallow grasses and noticed the labyrinth of trees and roots. Other men were sitting on rocks and fallen logs, waiting for instructions for the second challenge. Crossing his arms in impatience, Gylve wondered where his father was. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, expecting his father, but it was only

Bjorn. He had a deep smile underneath his thick fiery beard. “Congratulations on winning the archery contest. Unfortunately, that’s the last competition you are going to win under my watch! HAH! I was quite the adventurer back in the day. I would run through the forest for days at a time and never get tired!” Bjorn let out a hearty laugh. Other men overheard and rolled their eyes or guffawed.

Twigs soon broke through the trees and men quieted down. Leif made his way through the green woods holding an apple. Taking a huge bite, he stared at the festival 13

participants. He swallowed. “All right. Next challenge is the relay race. You are all going to race through the woods and see who winds up back at the village first. There are small markers to make sure you idiots don’t get lost!” Men chuckled and pointed fingers. “Near the end of the relay, you’re going to have to carry a woman on your back, or hold her in your arms. I don’t really care. And carry her to the finish.” Leif spit out some seeds. All the men looked eager to race. “NOW,” Leif roared, “ARE YOU GOING TO LET MY SON WIN

ALL THE COMPETITIONS?” Some men became enraged, others motivated. Gylve stared into the pits of the forest. The autumn sun cascaded down on his skin. It illuminated the heart of the land. But underneath the canopy of pine and oak, one misstep could mean a broken ankle or leg. “READY?!?!? GOOOOOO!” Leif shouted, almost maniacally.

A cascade of shouts and grunts echoed through the pits of the forest. Gylve pushed his way through a pack of muscle and fat. Men knocked each other over and some were trampled under feet. “Let me up!! ARRGGHH!” Gylve heard the shouts underneath him but was too focused on running to care. The stragglers were left to lick their wounds. Dashing over rocks and hands brushing the moss of the trunks of the tall pines trees, Gylve eyed left and right to see where the correct path lay. Many men turned left, while a couple turned right.

Some stood still and waited for someone else to decide for them.

The canopy of trees rained over them all. Gylve smelled the fresh pine air penetrate his nostrils and felt the chill of the autumn breeze behind his neck. He waited. Squinting, he spotted a piece of twine that was hanging from an obvious broken branch. Darting to the right, Gylve crushed the fallen pine leaves underneath his feet. His leather shoes stuck deep into the brush and provided great traction while he ran. He felt like he was flying over the 14

brush. As he ran, he began to hear the sound of running water. Coming to a halt, Gylve realized he was staring face to face with a small tranquil stream. A shadow of a man made his way into the woods on the opposite side of the stream. Gylve wondered who was keen enough to have seen the twine in the trees. The water came up to his waist and he waded his way through as fast as possible. Fish dashed left and right to stay clear of this human threat.

Fresh water seeped through his wool clothing but Gylve felt refreshed and cool from the running.

As he made his way out of the stream, he crawled up a small rock laden ledge and hoisted himself up to the top of the embankment. Gylve made his way to a clearing within the trees. He noticed some figures dressed in white about a hundred paces from where he was standing. Gylve thought they were forest elves dancing in the forest. His heart was beating heavy as he made his way to the elves. Unfortunately, they weren’t real elves, but in fact, women. Most were girls his age dressed in white. Some blushed nervously as they saw Gylve approach. He heard a squeal come from the center of the girls. One girl rose up taller than the rest and was laughing warmly. He realized it was Gull. They both turned to each other.

Gull had an enigmatic smile and looked forward. Gylve pushed his way through and realized Niklas had chosen his sister to finish up the relay. Niklas realized Gylve was only the second man to make it to this spot. Niklas laughed heartily, “I found your sister. I’m going to take her to the finish!” Without a second thought, he jolted through the open pasture of land and began to run over some hills. Annoyed, Gylve looked around to try to find a good-looking girl to carry. Nearly out of breath, he picked up a short blonde-haired girl and 15

hoisted her on his back. She snapped at him harshly, “You could at least have asked me for my name!” she screeched. Gylve turned his neck around and said, “I don’t care”.

Wheezing heavily, Gylve pushed his entire body up a green hill and slowly tip toed downwards as to not hurt the girl on his back. The blonde girl clenched his neck tightly, “My name is Astrid. And…” she cut herself off. “WHAT!?” Gylve shouted. Gylve couldn’t see her face but he knew she was grimacing menacingly, “You’re going way too slow. We won’t catch up! We’re going to lose!” Gylve wanted to throw her off his back in that moment. But he realized he wouldn’t be able to finish the relay without her. Annoyingly, Gylve turned his neck around once more, saying hoarsely, “Loosen your grip! I can barely breathe!” Astrid let go slightly. They charged as fast as they could over what seemed like a dozen hills and a hundred streams before finally making it back to the center of the village. Leif was waiting with an apple. Gylve wasn’t sure if it was the same one or a second, or third. Grudgingly, he saw Niklas and Gull talking and laughing. Leif stood by with open arms, “Good try son, you almost won. This man beat you to it.” Gylve’s expression was sour and Leif noticed, “At least your sister had fun.” Leif said mockingly with a sly smile. Gylve turned even sourer.

Soon an hour or two went by and men began making their way over the hills and into the village. They all had women in their arms or on their backs. Most women were laughing jubilantly while some just wanted to be put down. Gathering in a massive circle, men sweated and patted each other on the backs. Although they were racing for the title of the winner of the relay race, they were all in good spirits through camaraderie and competitiveness. 16

Leif’s grey eyes stared out across the vast expanse of rolling green hills. He returned eyesight to the men and shouted, “That seems about everyone. Now, I want to announce Ni-

-” In a surprised fashion, men turned around and stared out into the vast wavy hills. They noticed a woman in white running very fast and a man with a red beard slowly walking down the hill gingerly. “Who is that?” Leif bellowed. Gylve rolled his eyes. Niklas and other men laughed. The woman pushed her way through the crowd dressed in white. However, her dress was stained with mud and patches of green slick moss, “He must have dropped me at least ten times!” she yelled. “He’s useless. I thought he would be strong!” She pushed her way through to where the other women were talking. Almost sadly, the red bearded man waddled into the group of finished participants. Wheezing, sweating, and coughing, the man revealed himself to be Bjorn. “She weighed too much,” he snapped. “I needed someone lighter.” He smiled faintly. Gylve stared and almost laughed. He would have, but he was still upset he lost to Niklas. Bjorn came over to Gylve in a friendly fashion and put his arm around his shoulder, “Maybe next year, ahahaha. Did you win?” Bjorn was still panting violently. Gylve was a little concerned, “No. I lost.” He grimaced deeply. Leif saw his son angry and let out a small smile underneath his mighty beard. He stood on a tree stump that oversaw the group. “So, as I was saying,” he spits out another seed. “The winner of the relay race is Niklas with my daughter Gull.” A roar of cheers and claps echoed through the village.

Niklas smiled warmly as he received slaps on the back and was hoisted into the air without any consent. He turned and saw Gull smiling. Gylve looked on angrily, knowing he would have to win the melee in order to save his sister. It was only an hour away.

17

*************************************

Burly men sauntered down to the dirty fighting pit. The circular pit was caked in wet grass and slick mud, but it was a formidable place to do battle. It was just big enough to house the large group of participants wanting to partake in the melee. An ankle high length of twine surrounded the edges to mark where the pit ended. Men smiled gaily at the violence they were about to expel. Leif clapped his hands in a booming fashion. The rag tag group turned their heads upwards in unison. Leif shouted, “The final contest is the melee.” Shouts and war cries boomed out across the distance, down towards the waters, past the seas. Gylve felt his pressure rising. He let out a powerful scream. Leif smiled at the jubilation of violence, “Unfortunately, we can’t have you idiots killing each other for a contest. So, we have prepared dull swords, maces, and hammers for you to use!” A loud saddened sigh spread across the group. Men were genuinely upset. Younger boys, fifteen and sixteen, smiled under their short brown beards. “Your weapons of choice are placed on those racks to your right,” Leif pointed a meaty finger in that direction. The men stared starry eyed. “Well,”

Leif said annoyed. “Hurry up and grab them!” They smiled and cackled as they put wooden maces and make shift swords in their hands. Gylve grabbed a hammerhead that was clearly made from thick oak wood. It wouldn’t be able to split through helmet and brain matter, but it could break a nose or two.

The men sloshed and pushed their way through the mud and into the blackening pit.

Gylve couldn’t count how many men were there. Maybe forty. Maybe more. Looking about, the contour of the men’s faces began to gradually change. Hearty smiles and warm embraces soon became coarse grunts and swears. Elbows began to be thrown and arms pushed through 18

crowds violently. Hearing an altercation behind him, Gylve turned and gazed on. “I’m standing to close to the edge! MOVE OVER!” a burly man yelled with a thick blonde beard.

“Fuck off!” another said and pushed him back slightly, almost over the protective twine.

Suddenly, the blonde man swung his hammer down across the other man’s back. In a violent fashion, he shrunk nearly to his knees. The blonde warrior grabbed him by his back and arms, lifted him up, and threw him like a sack of potatoes out of the pit. Suddenly, men roared and began throwing fists and swinging their fake weapons. Screams of agony, anger, and enjoyment rang out in the big black muddy hole. Gylve looked towards his father who only rolled his eyes, “BEGIN FIGHTING YOU DOGS!!” he let out a prosperous laugh.

Gylve found the nearest man and slammed his wooden hammer into the back of his skull.

The man doubled over and Gylve slammed down again. Harder. The man fell to the ground holding his cranium. There was only a little blood. Gylve realized he gave the man a concussion.

Legs were caked in mud. Hands were caked in blood. The shouts of men, turning into beasts, alarmed Gylve. But he wasn’t scared. He felt at home. He felt like his father. And his father before him. Howling, he pulled one man by the shoulder, turned him around, and punched him dead in the nose. “ARRGGHHHH!” the man fell, clutching a broken, spraying, bloody nose. He fell to the ground and crawled past the twine, eliminating himself from the tournament. Gylve began to realize that the center of the pit was Hel. If the weapons weren’t fake, many men would be going there in a matter of seconds. He felt blood running down his lower lip. Probably from a stray elbow. He gazed and saw some injured men cowering and making their way past the protective twine. He realized that was salvation from the pain. But 19

he didn’t want it to stop just yet. Screaming, he ran up and kicked a black-haired participant who was looking for his sword in the muck. Kicking him twice in the stomach and once in the face, the man curled up into a ball. Gylve ran past him and looked forward. Shouting, he slammed his hammer across the jaw of a massive bohemian even taller than his father.

Turning around angrily, he spits out a loose tooth. Long black hair strung down his face and covered most of his eyes. Gylve wondered how he could even see. Arms, coarse with black hair, grabbed him by the neck, and threw him nearly ten feet away. Coughing, Gylve spit up some blood. The black-haired beast was running towards him now. Gylve realized that the man had no weapon, he was only using his fists. Searching through the thick brown mud, he grabbed his hammer and swung down at the oncoming mass. Agonizingly, Gylve heard the black-haired beast bellow a thick scream. To his horror, he recognized that it was only a bloodcurdling laugh. Picking Gylve up, he slammed him to the ground once more. One giant meaty fist was balled up and swung down hard on Gylve’s mouth. The impact felt like falling off a mountain. Gylve thought he swallowed a tooth. Or maybe it was more blood.

Another heavy fist was about to strike him, when the titan keeled over, holding his knee. Standing above him, was Bjorn with a massive wooden Warhammer of his own. Bjorn smiled mightily, “I always hated him. He said he was stronger than me!” and ran off into the midst of battle. Gylve stood up and watched the man squirm around. Gylve thought his kneecap was broken. Pushing himself to his feet, he spits out a glob of blood. He dashed back into the fray and continued swinging at random. Bodies were crashing down and he heard men screaming, whether it be in agony or ecstasy, Gylve wasn’t too sure. In the pit, seconds turned to hours, and hours to days. It seemed like they were fighting a lifetime. Wheezing, 20

Gylve sank to one knee and stared into the abyss. To his surprise, there were only a few fighters left.

Staring in awe, he saw Bjorn lift a man upside down and throw him outside of the fighting pit. The man crashed with a heavy thud. Bjorn lifted his arms to the sky in a ceremonial fashion. Thinking he was the last competitor, he let out a heavy scream.

Suddenly, a shadow from behind smacked him from behind the head and Bjorn keeled over and fell outside the twine. Clutching his head, Bjorn mumbled a few words, “What the hell was that?” he asked. To Gylve’s surprise, the shadow that eliminated Bjorn was none other than Niklas. His wooden sword was drenched in blood. Gylve stood up on his two feet, realizing that there was only one other person in the pit besides him, Niklas.

Gylve spit out more blood while Niklas laughed, “I knew it would end up like this.

Two out of three. Winner takes all!” They circled each other like crows circle their decayed prey. The mud was wet beneath their feet. Gylve almost slipped, but instantly charged forward with his hammer in one hand. He let out a primal scream. More wolf than man.

Slamming his hammer downward, Niklas back stepped quickly to avoid the blow. Turning to his right to avoid any more contact with the hammer, Niklas swung his sword in a chopping motion across Gylve’s shoulder. It made contact. Even though the sword was crafted from oak, the pain was immense. Gylve knew he would be black and blue tomorrow. Clutching his hammer, he swung for Niklas once more. Nearly grazing his chin, Niklas smiled. Hearing roars from outside the pit, Gylve realized the magnitude of this spectacle. He hoped Leif would be proud he made it this far. Niklas ran up close and kicked him in the rib cage.

Falling backward, he dropped his hammer in the muck. Niklas pounced on him and kicked 21

him again. Gylve looked to the sky. It was spinning. He saw the sun reflecting a thousand times in his eyes. Shaking the cobwebs, he lurched up and punched Niklas in the face. Now it was Niklas’ turn to spit out blood. He charged now with sword in hand, but Gylve read where the blade would fall. He grabbed his arm and twisted the slab of wood out of his grasp and chucked it into the black muddy grasses. They both had no weapons. They both were spitting blood. They both were smiling. Gylve threw his left hand and it clocked Niklas on the chin. Niklas nearly fell off his feet, but came back with a right hand straight to the mouth of Gylve. Now Gylve knew he really swallowed a tooth. The cheers became louder now.

Echoing in both of their ears. Gylve charged now. He slid his entire body into Niklas’ ribcage and pushed him back to the edge of the pit. However, in one foul swoop, with his remaining strength, Niklas picked Gylve up, and threw him outside the twine and out of the pit. Niklas collapsed outside the pit as well. In fact, they nearly both fell out of the pit at the same time.

However, Gylve fell first.

Groggily, Gylve shook his head. He wiped the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. Blood was caked in his beard. He stared at Niklas on the ground next to him. He stared up at the men laughing and clapping at them, “WHO WON? WHAT HAPPENED?” he asked. Bjorn was smiling in the crowd proudly. “You lost, friend. But it was a hell of a fight.

HAHAHAHA” he laughed mightily. Men around him cheered and a few women shuddered.

Disappointed, Gylve saw a hand extended towards him. Niklas lifted him up to his feet. His eye was completely shut, and his lip wouldn’t stop leaking blood. He smiled gingerly, “I win…” It was almost a whisper. “Fuck!” Gylve said hoarsely under his beard.

Leif pushed his way through the pack of wolves cheering them on. He stood taller than them 22

all. Leif patted Gylve and Niklas on the back with a meaty slap of the hand, “Well done you two. You fought like brothers fighting over the same woman.” he smiled and chuckled. Other men joined the laughter. Gylve looked annoyed. Grabbing Niklas’ hand, Leif lifted it to the skies, “And the winner of the melee, NIKLAS!” The crowd cheered loudly, their voices echoed across the pit and deep into the forests for even the wolves to hear.

*************************************

The sun was waning over the mountains as day was finally turning to night. A cold breeze was blowing from the woods as Gylve shook in his wool clothing. His lower lip had stopped bleeding but was still extremely swollen. His back was aching, and his back molar was gone. The knuckles on his right hand were bruised and he thought his index finger was broken. As he sat at the oaken dinner table, he stared across at Niklas who didn’t look much different. Niklas couldn’t see out of his right eye due to the swelling. His upper lip had a huge gash and his face looked almost purple. With all the deformities, Niklas still managed to smile while he was talking with Gull. Her blonde hair streamed down her face and onto his shoulders. She was touching his eye gingerly with a moist cloth. Her brown eyes echoed endlessly into his gaze and she smiled back in turn. Jokingly, she pushed her lips onto his swollen gash and Niklas reeled back in pain. They both laughed heartily.

Suddenly, their gaze met Gylve’s. Niklas waved his hand in a friendly fashion. Gylve stared depressed. He wanted to get up and leave, but he was too tired to move. He let out a half smile. A thick hand came across his shoulder and he knew it was his father. Leif mussed his hair and smiled, “You fought well today. You made me very proud,” he said as he bit into some meat. Gylve took a deep drink of mead. He wanted to forget the entire day. “I lost.” 23

Leif turned to him and laughed, “You learned.” Gylve looked at him puzzled, “What did I learn?” Leif chewed a thick piece of duck meat with his back molars and swallowed deeply,

“You learned what happens when you lose. When you lose, you lose sight of your goals. You lose sight of what you were fighting for in the first place. But you have to remember, even though you lost, you still have the belief, that burning image of why you fought, deep in your heart. Nobody can take that away from you. Not me, not Niklas, nobody. You have to ask yourself, why do I fight? Probably, because you want to protect somebody.” Leif took a cupful of mead and downed it in an instant. Gylve looked up, tears slowly welling up, “Why did you fight?” Leif turned and put an arm around Gylve’s shoulder, his grey eyes staring deep into the depths of his legacy, “For my blood. Always for my blood and soil.” Gylve wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. “I couldn’t protect Gull.” Leif laughed mightily, “Protect her from who? From that boy? He seems like a strong boy. I don’t mind.

Even though he may take her, she will always be your blood, Gylve. Now stop that crying before somebody sees. What do you think these brutes would think?” Gylve coughed and straightened up. He grabbed a piece of roasted duck and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed with his front teeth since the back of his mouth was throbbing. He ate the rest of his dinner in silence.

When everyone had finished their plates, Leif stood tall and raised a cup of mead in honor of everyone who participated in The Fall Festival. Men and women roared happily in anticipation for next year’s tournament. Gylve heard men telling tall tales to women about the melee. He heard tales of violence and grandeur. Some he found hard to believe. Gylve saw the room dispersing and men walking with women hung underneath their arms. 24

A big brutish man with a thick red beard of fire was holding two plump women under each arm. He realized it was Bjorn. Gylve listened closely as he walked off, “I took out about twelve men, no fifteen, or was it eighteen? Nobody could match my strength!! I practically won the melee! HAHAHAHA” his laughed echoed throughout the corridors of the hall.

Gylve stared towards the fiery crackling hearth. He saw Niklas and Gull making their way across it and into a narrowing corridor. Standing up, Gylve followed them. Turning down the hall, he saw them enter a small room. It was Gull’s room. Gylve let his imagination do the rest. Saddened, he walked out of the hall and into the nighttime expanse.

Staring out into the blackness, he walked down towards the waters. Large wooden boats, crafted of oak, stood gallantly in the nighttime air. They swayed and creaked back and forth in the small tide. Gylve gazed out at nothingness. He shivered feeling the small ripples break back and forth beneath his feet. Out there, Gylve wondered, was an entire world he would probably never see. He wondered if there were warriors stronger than his company.

Angrily, Gylve shouted loudly, across the expanse of black water, “I NEVER WANT TO

LOSE AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN… FOR BLOOD AND SOIL! I WILL PROTECT MY

PEOPLE, FOR BLOOD AND SOIL!” his voice careened off the ships and echoed deep into the pits of the blackness. He stood, almost in a trance, for what felt like hours, looking long into the abyss. Finally snapping out of it, Gylve turned around, brown hair rippling in the night air, and made his way back home. Only the howls of hungry crows and wandering wolves accompanied him.

25

Chapter 4: The Blood on the Snow

***********Four months later************

Gylve slammed his axe-head down deep into the wooden oaken shield. Shards of wood splintered everywhere. Digging his axe out of the shield, Gylve swung down hard again, this time narrowly missing. Niklas sidestepped and pushed his shield into Gylve’s ribcage, knocking him off his feet. The cold snow pierced through his wool and sent chills through his veins. Niklas ran over and slammed his sword down onto Gylve, but Gylve narrowly rolled out of the way. Propelling himself to his feet, Gylve ran and tackled Niklas, sword, shield, and all, to the ground. Niklas lost hold of his sword in the white snow and was defenseless.

Gylve wrapped a hand around his neck and was about the strike down with his sharpened axe but he heard a sharp cry. “WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING NOW?!” Gylve realized it was Gull. Niklas pushed Gylve off him and they started wrestling. “It’s time for lunch!” she yelled. Walking over, her protruding belly rippled out of her multiple layers of thick lamb wool clothing. Both Gylve and Niklas had each other in a headlock. “Once again, what are you two doing?” This time demanding an answer. In unison, “PLAYING!” as they gripped and jockeyed for better position. “Well knock it off! The food is going to get cold!”

Untangling themselves from each other, they brushed off the ice-cold snow off their bodies.

“You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold for the little one.” Niklas said concerning. “It’s alright. We won’t be out for long if you two would hurry up! Besides, I wanted some fresh air.” Gylve and Niklas both grabbed their weapons and dashed over towards Gull. With a shocked expression, Gull launched into a tirade, “Are those real weapons? Not the wooden 26

ones!” What if one of you had gotten killed!” They both laughed. “It’s just a game.” Niklas chuckled. “Yes, you never know when the real thing is going to happen.” Gylve finished.

The snow crunched underneath their feet. Branches were dying all around them. The leaves had fallen, and only sharp wooden fingers stretched out across the skyline. Besides a few ground squirrels and nagging crows, most animals had gone. They made their way towards home. Gull rubbed her belly happily. Niklas walked beside her proud. Gylve watched observant and relaxed. Pushing the doors wide open, the hearth had wonderfully warmed up the hall.

Sitting down at the oaken table, dinner was spread out for all three of them. Niklas was on the left, Gull center, and Gylve on the right. Leif passed by and smiled warmly. Lamb stew was dripping on their lips. They drank fresh water to gulp it down. Niklas looked to

Gull, “Did you make this, too?” he asked kindly. “No, just the fish.” Gylve and Niklas both looked down the table and saw meaty hands clawing at the cooked salmon and trout. “What are you two going to do the rest of the day?” she asked. “Sleep” they replied in unison. “I guess you’re right. It’s getting pretty dark outside. Did you two just fight all day?” Gylve wolfed down more lamb stew, “Yes.” Niklas took another sip of water, “We’re training. I want to fight again. The melee was so much fun. I want the real thing.” Niklas stood up and pushed his way through the crowded hall to grab a piece of grilled fish. Gull rolled her eyes and shouted, “Be careful what you wish for,” she stared at Gylve now, “seriously! It’s peaceful right now. We don’t worry about much right now. It’s still normal.” Gylve nodded but realized it was a naïve way of thinking. 27

The entire hall finished up the rest of their meals and began heading to bed. Gylve went down the hallway to a little room he shared with a bunch of other men. Niklas and Gull went down a windy corridor to their room. Gylve heard the winds pounding against the wooden walls. He knew snow was falling down. Soon, the entire land would be covered in snow. As he closed his eyes, he heard the sounds of men snoring all around him. The rhythmic trance of their sounds propelled Gylve to the recesses of his mind. He realized what

Gull said was true. Maybe life was better this way. Soon he would be an uncle. Maybe he might become a father too. Maybe he would be happy, like Niklas. Suddenly, he heard some dogs barking outside. He thought they must have just been cold. Then, louder. Gylve stood up out of bed. Pushing the woolen blankets off his body, he opened the door and made his way around the windy corridors in the dark. Making his way to the hall, he saw light from the dying hearth illuminating his way. His footsteps were soft along the ground. He heard some rustling outside but wasn’t sure if it was the wind. Opening the great oaken doors of the hall, he stepped outside with an axe in his hand. White sheets of falling snow were smacking him across the face from every angle. Vision blurred, teeth chattering, and shivering through his veins, Gylve walked out into the storm. He turned his eyes to the forest. He saw small balls of fire in the distance. They were getting bigger. Closer. Then, shouting. Gylve realized they were under attack.

Running now, his footsteps were heavy. Bursting in to the hall he shouted with all his might, “RAAAAAIIIIIIDDDD!” His booming voice reverberated off the walls of the hall.

Men woke up from their slumber at the table. Many were coming out of rooms with axes, hammers, and clubs in hand. The shouts from the forest were growing louder now. Coming 28

out of one of the windy corridors, Niklas appeared with a war hammer in hand, “What’s happening?” his voice was nearly lost among the shouts of all inside the hall. “We’re under attack!” Gylve yelled. He looked down the hall, “Where’s Gull?” Niklas smiled, “Don’t worry. She’s hiding with some other women. They have knives, they should be fine. Gull knows how to use a knife right?” Gylve smiled now, “She can do more than cook with it, that’s for sure.” They both nodded and gathered towards the center of the hall.

Leif was standing on the table with an axe and shield in hand. He was pointing and screaming at men arming themselves, “I don’t know who those bastards are, but if they think they can take our land, our women, and our lives, they’re fucking wrong. LET’S GO KILL

THEM ALL!” A roar of excitement and ecstasy burst through the hall. Men who had crust in their eyes rubbed it away angrily. Others let out a tremendous war cry.

Pouring out of the hall like a human virus, men ran with weapons in their hands deep into the blistering cold. Some brought torches to light their path. Gylve watched as Bjorn ran out the hall with a war hammer in one hand and an axe in another. Following closely behind,

Gylve ran into the snow alongside Niklas. They saw the shadowy figures breaking through the forest. A few were wearing helmets with war hammers in hand. They charged mercilessly and met Gylve and his company head on. An intruder, slammed his war hammer across the jaw of one of Gylve’s compatriots. The man fell with a sickening thud. He was clutching his broken jaw on the ground and spit out shards of broken teeth everywhere. The blood was on the snow now. Gylve saw the perpetrator disappear into the snow. Another was on him now.

The snow was blinding but he could tell these men wore much thicker wool than his people did. They appeared much larger than his tribe. The snow didn’t allow him to get an 29

accurate count of the men. He felt Niklas beside him shout, “How many are there?” he poked his spear out into a body in the snow. “I can’t see anything out here. Maybe twenty?” Ice began to freeze on his beard. A shadow suddenly lunged at him with an axe in hand. Gylve sidestepped and thrusted his own axe down into the man’s skull. He heard a crunch as his blow pierced bone and brain matter. The invader was dead before he hit the ground. Screams were rippling off every dying tree. Crows watched as their prey killed each other one by one.

In the falling snow, Gylve watched as Niklas speared a man through the ribcage. Niklas proceeded to stab him once more through the spine as he fell to the ground.

Suddenly, Gylve received a stiff punch to the face. Falling to the ground, Gylve mightily grasped his axe. A fat man with shaggy black hair knelt on top of him and tried to punch him in the face again. Gylve realized he was trying to beat him to death. Clutching his axe, he launched it into the fat man’s eye. Gylve couldn’t generate enough force lying down to kill the man in one swing, but hitting him in the eye was enough to get him off him. The heavy mass contorted, screamed, and plopped off his body. He squirmed holding his right eye as blood and a strange white liquid seeped out of his eye socket. Gylve stood up and sliced the heavy-set brute across the jaw and took it clean off. The dead man died jawless in the snow.

More screams echoed all around him. Looking down, he realized he was stepping over corpses to get to the next invader. The snow was caked in drying freezing blood. The snow was still falling but much softer than before. He realized they were pushing the invaders back into the woods. Out of nowhere, Gylve saw Bjorn smash an invader’s head nearly off with a heavy blow from his favorite war hammer. Bjorn had lost his axe in the 30

battle, or maybe in a corpse. Bjorn than picked up another victim and tossed him onto his head. Seeing the man was down, Bjorn kicked him once in the groin and then slammed his war hammer down onto his spine. Gylve recognized the invader probably had a broken vertebra or two.

Out of the shadows, stood a man taller than the rest of his followers. He was shouting orders, “PUSH BACK! FALL BACK!” The remaining surviving invaders fell back into the woods. Leif shouted now, “BLACKTHORN YOU BASTARD! HOLD YOUR GROUND!

DON’T CHASE THEM!” A few of Gylve’s men were falling down dying. Most were pushing Blackthorn’s men back. Stragglers ran back into the woods. The titan his father dubbed Blackthorn, was the last to retreat under the cover of the snow and forest. However,

Gylve saw a man with a spear chase after Blackthorn. Shocked, Gylve realized it was Niklas.

Shouting now, Gylve ran deep into the forest to stop Niklas, “NIKLAS. FALL BACK!” He heard Niklas’ voice trailing off from the woods, “I WON THE MELEE. I’M GOING TO

KILL THIS BASTARD!” Stepping over broken branches and snow-covered rocks, Gylve wandered deeper and deeper into the woods. The snow had stopped falling now. Suddenly, he heard an inhuman scream call him from about thirty paces away. It was a scream that would make the most vicious wolf scared. In an open clearing, Gylve found Niklas staring up at the dark sky. His abdomen had been pierced by an axe. Intestines were bubbling up and down and spouting blood down the rest of his body. Gylve ran towards him, shocked, “What happened? Why did you run off?” Niklas smiled, choking on his own blood. It was pouring out of his mouth now, “A-A-Asgeir…” Gylve looked on, confused, “Who’s Asgeir? Was it

Blackthorn…Don’t talk anymore.” Gylve looked to the sky, wondering if the gods were 31

watching, “Asgeir..” Niklas rasped once more, and died. The snow was a dark misty red. His hands were caked in Niklas’ blood. He stared up at the sky. He was alone.

32

Chapter 5: My Dreams of Winter…

There were six massive graves dug for the men who died. One for Niklas too. Gylve and Bjorn picked up his body and lowered it into the ground. Gylve placed Niklas’ favorite spear and an axe adjacent to his body. Alongside his favorite weapons, a gold chain was placed on top of his chest. The dirt was shoveled on top of the men who died in the raid.

Gylve watched as the brown dirt covered his best friend’s face. At first, only his torso was visible, but soon, that too, was covered up by the dirt. The other men were buried with necklaces and axes as well.

Gylve stared out into the crowd and saw Leif consoling Gull. The village was in mourning together. Leif pushed to the front of the crowd and said solemnly, “Brave men have fallen before us today. They died to protect our land. The raiders came from up north, out of the woods. They may come back again one day. We have to be careful. For now, let’s all stay close to home. We have plenty of food stored for winter. Let’s all stay put.” The crowd chanted prayers underneath their breath with some having tears in their eyes.

Making his way back inside the great hall, Gylve sat down and put a cup of wine to his lips. He felt a hand across his shoulder, turned, and realized it was Gull. Her long blonde hair was dirty and frazzled, and her usual glow was non-existent. Gull sat down next to

Gylve, putting her hands to her eyes. He could see dry tears across her face. She turned and said hoarsely, “Who’s going to take care of the baby? I can’t do it all alone!” she whimpered.

Now it was Gylve’s turn to put a hand across her shoulder, “We will. Together. We have father too. The entire town will help if need be.” He said sternly. The fire was crackling in 33

the hearth across from them. They heard the chill of the wintery winds outside the walls.

They had both lost their best friend. They were both alone together now.

The townspeople ate their last meal of the day in the hall in silence. Rarely did anyone raise their voice or speak up regarding the battle. The food was tasteless to Gylve and he drank more wine than usual. Gull was nowhere to be seen. Leif ate his food angrily, maddened that such a raid could occur in his village, under his watchful eyes. The winds were truly picking up now and they heard the mighty roaring from outside. The forest was breathing heavily, wailing over the death of Niklas and the other men. Suddenly, a massive boom was heard outside. Men grasped their swords and axes on their backs. Others just their forks. Some young girls quivered. Leif stood up and pushed his way past everyone in the hall. He grabbed his small black mace and pushed opened the great oak doors. They shut behind him, and then he was gone. Gylve looked around anxiously, wondering if it was another raid.

Burly men began to curse under their breath and pace towards the doors. They put their ears up against the walls to hear anything they could. Some women grabbed large butcher knives and put their young children behind them. All Gylve could hear was the wind outside. He saw the snow falling rapidly like never ending arrow fire. BOOM! Another bang and everyone turned towards the oaken doors. They boomed open with Leif covered in snow.

His beard and long grey hair were caked in ice and white powder. Everyone was on edge, waiting for an explanation. Leif looked up and saw the hall. Men had beads of sweat running down their foreheads. Women clutched forks and knives. A wry smile crept across Leif’s face, “It was just a tree. A huge tree collapsed. That was the noise.” His mouth was hoarse 34

with anxiety. Men sheathed their weapons and women breathed sighs of relief. The hall continued eating in silence.

However, after the debacle, most people could barely finish all their food. Everyone seemed to be on edge. Gylve finished his soup and watched as everyone began to disperse back home or to their rooms. Making his way to his room, he saw his father overlooking the hall. He was alone on the dais and the hall was nearly empty. Gylve knew not to disturb his father while he was thinking. But just this one time, his curiosity got the better of him. Gylve took his axe, walked over to the large oaken chair his father sat at, and placed it down on the table. There was still the blood of an invader on the axe head. Gylve looked up into his father’s grey eyes, “I killed a man today. With this axe.” Leif smiled warmly, “I know. I’m very proud. You protected your sister. Your father. Your land. And most importantly your people.” Leif picked up the axe and handed it back to Gylve, “Keep it. You may need it again.” Gylve hung it across his back once more. “Who were the invaders? Why did they come from the forest? Why did they attack us?” Leif stared at his heir inquisitively, “I want to ask you the same question: Why do you think someone would attack us?” Gylve heard the snow cascading down on top of the hall. He heard the flames of the hearth cackling and trying to whisper him the answer. "I don’t know. To take our land?” Leif smiled. “They want our land. They want to expand past the boundaries that were given to them.” Gylve looked surprised, his scratched at his brown hair, he felt dried blood in it too. “What do you mean

‘given to’? Who is Blackthorn? How do you know him?” Leif raised his hand and touched

Gylve’s chin. He ran a calloused and frigid hand across Gylve’s jawline. He felt the cold permeate his body. 35

Leif returned his hand to the top of the oak table. “Blackthorn was my best friend. He was like a brother to me. But that was in the past. Now…it’s different.” The hall was completely silent besides the hearth. Outside, the winds were screaming over the death of

Niklas. Branches bustled back and forth and scratched the walls of the hall. Leif took a deep drink of his favorite wine. He exhaled and stared across at the fire, “Whenever I would tell you stories of my battles, long ago, he was always by my side. He helped me amass the strength this village has now. We fought other invaders alongside each other. He was always better at the spear than I was. But these are just ramblings. Just memories I’ve mostly forgotten. Back when your mother was still alive.” Gylve looked at his father’s cracking face.

He saw crow’s feet across his eyes and the years of wear and tear on the skin. “What happened between you two?” Gylve asked, almost a whisper. “We had a fight. On who was going to lead this village into the next age. I won. He lost. Even after he lost he tried to undermine our fight. Undermine the results of the rules. The same rules that my father and his father before him lived by. So, I banished him to the north. Past the Great Forest and to the forgotten mountains.” Gylve noticed the pain in his father’s voice. He had never seen his father cry, but he thought he saw his eyes getting watery. Maybe it was just the endless staring into the fire. “Did he go all alone? Into the Great Forest?” Leif took another drink from his bronze cup, “No…No, he took others. Thieves, Liars, Rapists, Vagabonds. People who couldn’t handle living in a society like ours. They wanted to live differently than us.

Without the rules of our fathers. Without consequences. So, I banished them too.” Gylve stared into the fire now too. “How do they survive out there? In the north? In those misty forgotten mountains?” Leif coughed, expelling the cold from his body, “I don’t know. But 36

they found a way. But now, now, they’re pressing their luck. If they want my village, they’re going to have to kill me. All of us. This is our land Gylve. Not theirs.” Leif scratched his wet hair and snowflakes fell to the ground. “Father,” Gylve looked straight into Leif’s eyes, “I want to kill him. I want to kill Blackthorn. He killed him…he killed Niklas.” Leif grimaced,

“I know, I know son.” Leif put a hand across Gylve’s shoulder and patted him twice. “Ugh,”

Leif rubbed his temples, “I have a headache. Too much wine.” Smiling at Gylve, Gylve returned the smile. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.” As Leif was walking down the hall to his room, Gylve called out to him, “What about Gull?” Leif laughed and

Gylve was taken aback, “She’s stronger than both of us. Give her time. She’s just like her mother.” Leif’s voice bounced off the walls as he went down a darkened corridor.

Gylve was left alone with the hearth. He saw the embers crackling and nearly extinguished and dying. His legs felt like heavy tree trunks as he made them travel to his bedroom. He laid on his straw mattress and put his sheepskin covers on. He was still cold.

Gylve shut his eyes and wondered what was to become of the invaders. Would they strike tomorrow? The day after next? Never again? Would they all be dead soon? Sleep soon took him, and he awoke on a battlefield. Men were smashing each other’s brains in with hammers.

Arms were flying off and blood was spraying the walls of a great stone castle. He saw men falling from ramparts like sacks of potatoes to their painful deaths.

A big hairy red-haired man was punching another man mercilessly on the ground.

The red haired bearded man was shouting something, but Gylve couldn’t decipher it. He saw a man walking by him, screaming, pierced at least ten times by arrows. Gylve looked for a weapon, until he realized his hands were full. He looked down and saw he was carrying 37

something. Something important. Something wrapped in thick white blanket. The men continued to die around him. The air was warm. The sun was out. It was a fine day to die.

Gylve woke in a cold sweat. He wiped his brow and realized it was nearly day break.

Gylve thought of rushing to his father to explain the dream, but he realized Leif probably had too many things on his mind. Gylve kept the dream locked away.

38

Chapter 6: A Breath of Spring

Gylve had never heard so much screaming. Not even on the battlefield. There was so much blood that he questioned whether pregnancy was a fate worse than death. Gull was ferocious, like a woman possessed. She was clutching his arm, hard. Her nails dug into

Gylve’s skin and were beginning to draw a drop of blood. “The baby’s almost here. It’s coming any minute!” said Freydis. “YOU SAID THAT FOUR HOURS AGO!” yelled Gull.

“UGH MAKE IT STOP!” Freydis smiled, “Soon, just remember to keep breathing.” Gylve looked towards his father and whispered, “Does she know what she’s doing?” Leif smiled and patted him on the back, “She helped you and your sister come into this world. Have a little more trust in her.” Freydis paced back and forth with a bucket full of water. Her hair was shortened and grey, and her brow was full of sweat.

Gull, however, was drenched in it. Her blonde hair was bushy and stringy, while her skin was covered in a damp layer of sweat and blood. “I FEEL IT. IT’S COMING OUT.

THE BABY.” Freydis smiled and yelled, “PUSH. As hard as you can.” Gylve felt his hand going numb. Then, he heard a loud cry, and suddenly, the blood rushed back into his hand.

He saw the marks of Gull’s grip deeply embedded in his hand. He didn’t mind at all. The baby was crying gently and Freydis took a small knife and cut the umbilical cord. She placed the baby in warm sheepskin and placed it into Gull’s arms. Gylve had never seen his sister smile so happily. Not even when she was with Niklas. She had tears in her eyes now, “It’s a boy, Gylve. What should we name him?” Gylve looked puzzled, then to his father. Both shrugged their shoulders. Gylve spoke up, “Didn’t you and Niklas talk about this?” Gull wiped a tear from her eye, “No, we never got the chance.” Gylve suddenly remembered a 39

piece of his memories, “What about Asgeir?” Gull clutched the baby to her breast, “Spear of the gods… yes, I like that name. That was Niklas’ favorite weapon. How did you come up with that?” Leif looked over to Gylve. So, did Gull. “Like you said, it was his favorite weapon.” With that, they left Gull and Asgeir to rest.

Gylve and Leif walked outside and felt the melting snow crunch underneath their feet.

A bright sun was shining down across the town. Children were running to and fro smacking each other with sticks and playing tag. Women were out at small cook fires warming up fresh meat. Most men were sitting around and talking about battles they probably never fought in.

Gylve looked on and realized peace had finally returned to the town.

The deaths of the Niklas and the other men were not forgotten, but a distant memory.

Leif looked down to Gylve solemnly, “I’m sorry about your friend, Niklas.” They passed by a woman who was washing a large blanket. “He seemed like a strong young man. He should have never died. Under my watch at that.” Gylve watched the children playing. He understood their romanticized vision of war was nothing like the real thing. It wasn’t too long ago he was just like them. They finally reached the great hall and Leif began to walk inside,

“I have some business to finish up with some advisors. Would you like to sit in?” Gylve looked anxious, “No…I’m going to go train with Bjorn.” Leif smiled happily, “Don’t hurt him.” Gylve chuckled and grabbed his spear and axe from inside, then dashed into the woods.

Bjorn was already swinging merrily at the bark of an old tree. He turned when he saw

Gylve running up with his weapons, “So you finally decided to show up!” he laughed jokily.

Gylve looked confused, “We both agreed to this time. How long have you been waiting?” 40

Bjorn stared up at the sky, “Probably a couple minutes. But that’s an eternity of waiting before a fight!” he grunted. Gylve slung his axe behind his back and pointed his spear at

Bjorn. The wooden shaft was nearly five feet long, with a sharp bronze blade at the tip. “Why do you want to fight, Gylve?” Bjorn unfastened his axe from the thick bark of the tree. He began walking closer and circled to his right. “I want to kill that bastard. I want to kill

Blackthorn…For Niklas.” Gylve readied his spear. Bjorn cracked a faint smile, “Not if I kill him first.” Gylve plunged the spear forward into Bjorn’s gut, but Bjorn dodged to his right.

Grabbing the spear by the shaft he yanked it towards him and Gylve flew forward. Bjorn clotheslined him with his bicep and Gylve fell to the soft watery snow, hard. He was dazed and reached for his mouth. Thankfully, he didn’t lose another tooth. His lip was cracked, and he felt blood running down his chin.

Bjorn extended a meaty hand down to the ground. Gylve grabbed it and was pulled up with immense force. “How did you do that?” asked Gylve. “I knew you would try to poke me with that. What else could you do from that distance? I just decided to sidestep.” Bjorn, for a man his size, was quite agile on his feet. “Listen,” he slung his axe against his hip. “In battle, you have to be strong and brave,” he waved his hands back and forth in a strange fashion.

“But most importantly, you have to be smart!” Gylve looked annoyed, “Weren’t you eliminated from the Fall Festival because you weren’t smart?” Bjorn smiled, “You’re just like your father. You catch on quite quickly!” his booming laugh echoed past the newly growing branches and pine trees. “Now try again!” Gylve picked up his spear. Bjorn circled to the right again. Instead of thrusting once, he did it twice, and back Bjorn up. He followed with a charge, which Bjorn didn’t expect. Backpedaling, Bjorn tripped over a small root in 41

the ground, and his mighty body collapsed onto the snow. Gylve lurched over him and pointed the spear directly at his throat. “Well, that works too…How did you do that, son?”

Now it was Gylve’s turn to extend a hand. “I watched your feet. I saw the root popping out of the snow. I rushed you,” Gylve replied breathing heavy. “And then you tripped. And then, if it was a real fight, you would be dead.” Gylve smiled happily. He picked up the hefty Bjorn and he dusted off the snow from his clothes. “I forgot to mention,” Bjorn was shaking his head full of the cobwebs, “a little luck is also involved.” They both smiled and circled each other again.

Over an hour had passed since they had started practicing for battles. The sun was nearly unseen across the horizon of the mountains and a cool breeze had come from the woods. Both Gylve and Bjorn made their way back to the town. They opened the large oaken doors of the great hall and saw everyone had already begun eating. Gylve turned to a hungry

Bjorn, “Thanks for today. I learned a lot.” Bjorn rubbed his belly, “Yes of course. Now I’m going to go eat.” Bjorn rushed off and grabbed an entire roasted chicken and bit into it. The juices flowed down his lips and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Gylve saw an opening near the fire where his sister was sitting. He saw she had the baby in one hand and was eating with the other. “Hey sister.” Gylve said with a smile, truly happy to see her. “Oh, just a little tired is all. I just fed Asgeir here. He eats a lot.” Gull put stew to her lips. “He’s going to be strong. Like his father.” Gylve said proudly. “I know, I know.” Gylve grabbed some roast lamb and potatoes and began eating. His stomach was as empty as the northern mountains. 42

When everyone was done eating, they all dispersed into separate rooms or left to go to their own homes. Gylve watched Gull leave down a corridor to her room. He saw his father watching him. They both nodded. It was just another day in times of peace.

43

Chapter 7: When the White Light Came

He awoke to the shadows of the sunlight creeping under the door. It was already around nine o clock and Gylve was still in bed. He had had another late-night training with Bjorn and some other fellow villagers and decided to sleep late. He tussled his hair into place, grabbed his axe, and made his way out of the great hall. Pushing open the oaken doors, Gylve followed the voices of the townsfolk down to the sea. There were hundreds of villagers all gathered at the break of the shoreline. Small waves crashed and broke upon the muddy sands as people were standing with their mouths agape. Gylve pushed his way through the crowd. He heard murmurs of death and destruction under the breath of his friends.

The sand was mushy and soft beneath his feet. His father’s massive wooden ship was docked, and swaying back and forth in the water. However, he saw a titan of a fleet coming towards their land. The three ships were crafted of a darker wood but were behemoths compared to his father’s favorite treasure. The masts of all three were pure white, with two golden lines across one another, one horizontal, and the other vertical. They were steadily approaching as a light summer breeze allowed them to push forward across the murky

Scandinavian waters.

Gylve sensed the apprehension of the crowd. He realized he needed his father.

Pushing even deeper into the sea of people, he saw men clutching large war hammers and spears. Their beards were thick and dark, like the waters the invaders were traveling atop.

Women were holding children to their chests and praying to the old gods. Gylve saw a man at the front of the pack, tall, darkening brown to grey hair, and he put a hand over his 44

shoulder, “Father. What is all this? More raiders?” For once in his entire life, Gylve realized his father didn’t have an answer. He stood silent, watching the summer winds push the fleets closer to their beloved soil. Gylve got annoyed, “What do we do? Should I call the men to arms?” Leif looked on, assessing the situation at hand, “Even if we did,” he replied solemnly,

“there’s too many men aboard that ship for our town to fight off.” Leif spit. “For now, we must wait.” As he said this, he clutched his favorite short sword. The pommel was near to break from the pressure of Leif’s grasp. Gylve looked on confused, “What sort of symbol is that? Like two sticks…placed on top of each other.” He watched as the sun began to rise higher in the sky.

Men began to scream obscenities at the incoming vessels. Women grabbed bows and arrows to protect their children. Gylve began to feed into the panic, “Father, we should do something. Anything…” Leif didn’t break a second glance and continued staring at the titanic wooden fleet, “For now, we wait.” Gylve stared up the clouds. They were shaped like a great fire, spit from an ancient creature spreading its misery across the earth.

Of the three mighty ships, only one of them docked close to the shore. The other two were stationed farther out into the sea. At a moment’s notice, however, they could change course and sail straight onto land. Men sailed in dozens of smaller makeshift rowboats across the waters and onto the precipice of their Scandinavian shores. The townspeople backed up cautiously as the invaders walked upon the sands. Their footprints washed away by the crashing waves every few seconds.

The invaders were all men. Most had white skin, but the others who had skin as black as night, were covered in scars and bounded by iron chains. They barely spoke, or even 45

glanced at Gylve and his people. Gylve was shocked at seeing a man as black as pitch. He never thought men existed that dark. He noticed a young man, a little bit older than himself, who looked like one of his own townsfolk. He was tall, blonde haired, and handsome.

However, he sported no beard, his hair was cut nearly to the scalp, and his body looked emaciated and malnourished. He was wearing black robes with the same symbol of the fleet’s mast over his chest, two gold sticks overlapping, one horizontal, and the other vertical.

An older man was standing next to him. Gylve realized he was probably older than his father

Leif. He was nowhere near as strong or intimidating as his father. Gylve could crush him in one swing. The old man-made eye contact with him and Gylve felt a thousand snakes crawling within his stomach. Gylve didn’t feel fear, only disgust. The sun was still shining.

Leif stepped forward and stood his ground. The old man and the blonde-haired man stood at the front of the pack. There were about two dozen men with iron weapons behind them. Mostly all had swords, some axes. They were all had the same symbol hanging somewhere on their body. One man had it burnt into the flesh in between his eyes. Leif stood his ground and said deeply, almost a growl, “Who are you?” Gylve realized his father was marking his territory. The elderly man put a hand over the blonde man’s shoulder and smiled.

The short haired blonde man spoke, “Hello, friends. My name is Ezekiel.” Leif was taken aback. He was sure they didn’t speak the tongue of their land. Leif grasped the pommel of his blade, “Where do you come from?” The old man coughed and spit on the watery sands. The waves washed away his phlegm. Ezekiel continued, “We come from down south. Our territory lies there. Our friends live there.” The old man smiled again. Leif looked annoyed,

“Is that how you treat your friends?” pointing to the black slave. This time the old man 46

chuckled. Leif’s patience was wearing thin. Gylve looked on agonizingly, wishing for the encounter to be over.

Gylve looked through the crowd and saw Gull with Asgeir, watching nervously next to some friends. He wanted to console her, but he felt he needed to stand next to his father.

Ezekiel looked puzzled, “They didn’t want to change. They didn’t want to become one with our God.” The townspeople whispered under their breath. Many were sweating atop their brows and cursing under their breath. Gylve heard whispers, “We should just kill them. Make them go away.” Gylve wanted to do the same, but he wanted to follow his father’s orders too.

Leif bellowed, “What god? There is no one god! There’s many gods. Gods of thunder, seas, winds, violence, trickery. Who is this god you speak of?” Ezekiel opened his mouth, but he felt a hand over his shoulder once more. The old man shook his head and spoke, “God. The one true God. The one who rules everything. Who created everything. Your gods are all false. Betrayers. False ideas.” He looked throughout the crowd, they were shocked he could speak their language too. “My name is David. I have come to change your lives forever.

From this day forward, you will all bow to Him. And become people of God.” David rubbed his short beard gingerly and his disproportionate teeth were showing once again. He nose was very elongated and he had nearly lost all of his hair. There was a huge bald spot on top of his white scalp. This time it was Leif’s turn to spit. “Fuck off.” Leif spoke again, “How do you know our tongue?” David looked graciously to Ezekiel, “My pupil taught me. It took some time to master, but learning new languages is always a pleasure.” Leif turned to Ezekiel with a saddened glance, “Where do you come from boy? Originally? You look like us.”

Ezekiel glanced to David, who nodded, then went on, “I come from down south. Past the 47

Great Sea. I was a foolish sinner as a boy. But then David and his men found me. They saved me and my people. They liberated us.” Leif looked on puzzled, “Saved you from what?

Being a man? Worshipping our own gods? What happened to the rest of your people?”

Ezekiel shook his head solemnly, “They didn’t survive. They didn’t embrace our Lord. They chose to be barbarians and sinners. So, they were killed.” Leif looked to David, “LEAVE.

NOW.” David only laughed, “And go where? This is our new home! We have people willing to change their ways and begin proper worship.” David looked on at the sea of people. Gylve saw a rush of ecstasy in his brown eyes, like a man about to do battle, or one that has just killed. David took two steps forward and placed a hand on Leif’s shoulder, “I will give you until tomorrow, to realize you’re making a terrible decision. You, your people, are about to be saved!” Men screamed and raised their weapons to the sky, women screamed too.

Children cried. Leif stared directly at the man’s ugly age-spotted face, “NO.” David took two steps back. He smiled one last time with crooked teeth, turned his back, and went back into the row boat. They sailed back out to sea where the large wooden fleet was docked. The sun was still shining.

The great hall was as quiet as a dead man. Barely any food was touched. No words were spoken. Gylve rubbed Gull’s shoulder to lessen her anxieties. Leif stood at the top of the dais and looked over his people. Gylve wondered if that would be the last time he did.

“What should we do?” Gull said as she clutched baby Asgeir to her breast. He was already a six-month-old. “Who were those people?” Gylve grabbed her hand. “It’s fine. Father will take care of it.” Leif banged his fist upon the oaken table. Food flew down into the crevices of the floor. Leif rose and stated quietly, almost a whisper, “I think…I think we give them 48

what they want.” Men roared and bellowed beneath him, “FUCK OFF. I’M NOT GIVING

UP MY FREEDOM TO THEM!” and even louder from a woman, “IF WE SURRENDER,

THEY MAY KILL US ANYWAY!” Leif looked conflicted, “I’m sorry. I cannot change your opinions. But I can change the outcome of your lives. If we allow them to come here, they will keep us alive. Your children will still be alive tomorrow. If we don’t do as they say…” his voiced echoed off the walls of the great hall, and drifted off into infinity. Gylve rose and yelled, “NO!” Leif turned towards the hearth, shocked, “Son. Now is not,” Gylve slammed his fist onto the table, his cup of wine spilling onto the floor and forming a puddle like blood, “I SAY WE KILL THEM. FIGHT THEM OFF. ALL OF THEM!” His was gritting his teeth in anger as he spoke, with spittle flying every which way. Leif said sternly,

“THEY HAVE THREE SHIPS FULL OF MEN. THAT’S TOO MANY.WE FOLLOW MY

ORDERS. NOT YOURS. YOU’RE STILL TOO YOUNG. THIS IS OUR VERY

EXISTENCE. REMEMBER WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT,” Leif grimaced, “blood and soil.” Gylve sat down, saddened. This time, Gull put her arm around him. “Let us all get some good needed rest. And await tomorrow.”

Gylve went to bed angry. The shadows creeped across his room and blinded his vision. He only saw the foreboding blackness. He wondered why his father wouldn’t fight.

He wondered what would happen to his sister. Would giving up your freedom truly be the same as protecting your own blood? People? Soil? Gods? His head was pounding like a storm of a thousand swords. He cursed into his bed of straw and wool. Eventually, he shut his eyes, and drifted off into the realm of violence and mayhem that plagued his dreams. He dreamed of using a sword and chopping a man’s arm off. The man screamed like a dying 49

raven and blood spurted from his missing limb. He rolled and the ground and convulsed violently. Gylve had blood smeared on his face. He was fighting at a great castle. The walls were made of grey stone and had watchers posted on every tower. He was storming the gates.

The wooden door was breaking under the force of a war hammer.

Suddenly, he awoke to screaming. His door was barged open and he heard his father screaming. Half-asleep still, Gylve wondered whether or not he was still dreaming. He rubbed his eyes as a torch was shoved in his face. Gylve covered his eyes and cursed loudly.

His father, with torch in one hand, grabbed Gylve’s arm with the other, and hoisted him to his feet. “W-what’s wrong? Am I dreaming?” Gylve muttered, trying to shake the night webs. “Son, they’re coming. Grab your axe. NOW!” Leif’s bellowing voice bounced off the walls. Gylve finally came to. He grabbed his favorite axe and a spare shield that was buried under some blankets in his room. He fastened the band onto his left arm and raised the shield.

It was crafted from oak and painted forest green with a black hexagonal pattern. He raised his axe with his right hand and they both dashed out of the room. As they ran down the windy corridors of the great hall, Gylve yelled to his father, “Who is after us, Father?” The shadows of light from the dying hearth lit their way to the front door. “It’s them. From yesterday. I guess they couldn’t wait to take us. When my family and town is asleep.” Leif drew a sword from behind his back and pushed open the large doors of the hall. “What do we do?” Gylve asked rhetorically. Leif looked puzzled, but then smiled faintly, “We fight, son. For blood and soil.”

Outside it was still dark. Day had yet to break. Screams were coming from every direction. Gylve had trouble seeing without the torchlight. He heard men dying left and right. 50

His father ran towards the shores. Gylve followed. As he was running, a fat man in dark clothing charged towards him and swung an axe. Gylve bent backwards, dodged, and swung his axe across the fat man’s face. This time, it was the fat man’s turn to dodge. His father continued running down towards the shores, leaving him to finish his duel by himself. Gylve charged the portly brute with a quickening speed. He jumped on top of the obese fighter and fell on top of him before the fat man could swing his axe. They wrestled at first, but then

Gylve slammed his axe down into the thick neck of the invader. He spits up blood but continued to squirm. This time, with as much leverage as possible, Gylve rose to his knees and slammed his sharpened axe head in between the eyes. The portly invader let out a last gasp and died. Blood was pouring out of his nose and his lips were curled in a grotesque deathly spectacle.

Gylve saw a fellow townsman fighting with a sharp farming tool. He was punched in the face and fell to the ground. Another invader raised his sword, but before he swung down violently, Gylve ran up behind him and struck his axe deep into the back of his skull. The invader collapsed instantly on top of the farmer. Pushing the body off of him, the farmer ran down towards the shore with only a faint smile in Gylve’s direction.

Gylve followed the flock of townsfolk down to the beckoning waters. He saw a woman smacking a skinny religious invader with a small hammer. She slammed the iron against his jaw and he fell to the ground, with a few less teeth. Suddenly, Gylve remembered his sister. He had last seen her the night before. He looked down onto the shore and saw the

Christian invaders marching through the waters like a flock of ravens approaching a dead carcass. He heard the waves crashing against the shoreline as men from his village were 51

howling war cries and defending the Christians from marching up the hill. He saw his father, torch in hand, sword in the other, hacking down a group of three skinny invaders.

Gylve stood watching the melee. He heard a mighty bell ringing deep within the center of the village and repeating out across the vast expanse of the seas. Blood was pouring out across the sands and men were even slipping in it. He saw axe heads plunged deep into skulls and watched as brain matter flew in various directions. Spears were finding their homes in people’s intestines and broken bones could be heard echoing out through the darkness. Gylve was mentally torn. He stared out at his father. Everything felt like slow motion. The screams of the dying men sounded like the ancient’s gods applauding an enjoyable battle. He heard ravens cackling in the summer trees, watching for the great banquet they were about to have for free. He even heard a wolf howl from deep within the great northern forest.

Gylve turned around and ran back up the hill. He rushed with axe in hand to the great hall where he last saw his sister. As he made his way back, he noticed a plethora of bodies along the ground. Men and women, he had seen just yesterday at dinner. Many of them he knew their names. He also saw invaders he never knew. There were so many bodies beginning to plague the roads that Gylve almost tripped once or twice.

As he saw the mighty roof of the great hall, Gylve realized that the doors were closed. The last he remembered, they were swung open when he and his father left. He clutched the intricate wolf incrusted handles and pushed open the doors. He could barely see at all. The hall was as black as pitch. The dying embers of the hearth quietly hissed to mark his return. He ran towards Gull’s room, down a windy blackened corridor, and saw her door 52

was open. He heard a loud scream, followed by a yell. Pushing his way to the entrance, he saw Gull slam a hammer across the face of an invader dressed in black mail. He was wearing an iron helmet, but it didn’t cover his jawline. The man hobbled over, knocked down a cup and grasped his broken jaw. He then spits out blood and a few teeth. Gull then grabbed a dagger that was placed under her pillow and slid it into the Christian trespasser’s neck. Now he grabbed his neck, the blood congealed around the open wound and leaked out like a waterfall. He fell to the ground like a heavy sack of straw.

Gylve stared at the entrance of the doorway at his sister. He knew she was strong, but had never seen her fight to the death. Gull stared back at her brother with a serious glance,

“What took you so long?” she spits on the dead man’s body. “Father took me to the shores.

But then I remembered you.” Gylve ran across the room and hugged his sister. They embraced warmly in the darkness. “Where’s Asgeir?” asked Gylve. Gull smiled, and lifted up a small blanket and showed the baby sleeping. “How can he sleep with all this screaming?” Gylve chuckled, walking over to pick him up. Gull listened cautiously for any unwanted visitors. Gylve clutched the baby firmly to his chest proudly, “You’re going to be like your father. One day. Stronger than he was.” Gylve smiled and put Asgeir down. Gull looked over concerned. “How many are there?” she said as she sat next to the baby. “I don’t know. Too many,” he spoke gravely, “I have to go back. To help father.” Gull nodded her head, grabbed the dagger from out of the dead man’s neck and pointed it to the door. Gylve looked on worried, “If more come, you won’t be able to fight them all off…” Gylve scratched his head violently. “I’m going to find someone, anyone, who’s outside fighting and 53

tell them to come in and protect you.” Gull nodded once more, “Okay, but hurry.” she swallowed deep, “Father needs you.”

Gylve closed the door behind him and rushed out of the great hall with a fury.

Outside, he saw more bodies pilling up. One man was crouching in the darkness with a spear in hand. He was standing on top of the body of an invader. Gylve recognized his bald head and thick black beard in the darkness. It was Igor, a farmer who planted potatoes. “IGOR!”

Gylve shouted. Igor stood up and charged towards Gylve with spear in hand. “STOP! IT’S

ME IGOR! ITS GYLVE!” Igor squinted, then chuckled, “Gods, is that really you Gylve?

Why aren’t you with Leif?” Igor looked around cautiously, “More are coming…” Gylve nodded, “I need you to go to the great hall. Gull needs company. She has to protect the baby!” Gylve pointed behind him towards the great hall. Igor shook his head, “I-I can’t leave.

I have to protect my crops.” Gylve shouted, “FUCK THE CROPS. PROTECT MY SISTER.

YOU WILL BE REWARDED I PROMISE. YOU HAVE MY WORD.” Gylve had a firm hand on Igor’s shoulder. He nodded, “Okay.” He watched the brave farmer step over the bodies and enter the great hall. Gylve prayed.

As he ran down to the shoreline, he truly saw the enormity of their dilemma. There were dozens and dozens of wooden rafts carrying Christian soldiers parting across the black murky waters. He heard their shouts over the breaking of the revolving waves. Charging down to the beach, he found his father, gasping for breath. Beneath him lay the bodies of at least twenty invaders. “Where were you son?” he wheezed. “Protecting Gull.” Gylve drew his axe and placed his shield across his chest. Leif chuckled, “She’s stronger than you think,” he coughed up some blood, “She’s just like your mother. But, but even stronger.” They both 54

smiled. They both looked out across the darkness. They saw their deaths in their eyes. But they still continued to fight. The Christians waded through the waters like undying corpses.

Their golden cross like trinkets hung from their necks, wrists, and ankles. They screamed violently and charged relentlessly.

However, they had never met the fury of Gylve’s people. One invader charged at him with an iron sword. Gylve raised his shield and chunks of oak splintered everywhere. The sword was lodged in the wood and as the invader drew it free, Gylve slammed his axe head down into his clavicle. The man toppled over and Gylve kicked him in the mouth. He stopped moving. Hordes washed upon the shoreline carrying torches and iron. Gylve and

Leif screamed as his fellow villagers did the same. A Christian came marauding up the shoreline with an iron hammer. Gylve met him head on and stopped him from running up the hill towards the town. The raider had an iron cross hanging from his neck. He yelled in a language unintelligible and smashed his hammer down onto Gylve’s raised shield. The impact was like breaking a bone. Gylve wondered how his arm remained intact. The marauder slammed down again but Gylve sidestepped. He circled to his right to avoid the right-handed axe wielder. Annoyed, the Christian assailant tried to swing his hammer down for a third time. As he lifted his arm, Gylve charged and smashed his green wooden shield into the man’s face. The man fell to the sands and Gylve took his axe and struck downwards onto the man’s face. His nose was split in half and he fell backwards onto the sands, bloodied and lifeless.

Gylve looked to his father who was out of breath and cursing. Suddenly, a mighty man tackled his father to the ground. Gylve screamed something incoherent. The heavyset 55

invader was swinging punches down onto his father’s face. Leif couldn’t lift his arms to protect himself due to fatigue. The fat man rained punches down as Leif began spitting up blood. Gylve ran towards the man but was abruptly clotheslined by another assailant. Gylve fell to the bloodied hard sands and turned his neck sideways. He watched as his father took more furious punches. The man on top of Gylve swung down an axe but Gylve lifted his shield and blocked the blow. He used his knee to hit the attacker in the groin and he toppled from him. Gylve grabbed his axe and plunged it into the back of his head.

When he turned to his father, he saw a sword in between his chest. Gylve rushed towards him, even though he realized he was too late. His father’s eyes were still open. As he looked out across the great black expanse, he saw the relentless horde still coming. He wondered what his father would have down. He wondered if he was going to die on the shore, like his father. Would he enter Valhalla? Would the gods be proud? Did they enjoy his fighting? Gylve shook his head. He didn’t want to die just yet. “FALL BACK!!” he yelled to the remaining Scandinavian warriors. They all ran across the red sands and made their way up the hill towards the town. Gylve knew this would be his last battle. This was probably the last time he would swing his axe. He was proud. Of himself. Of his father. Of his sister. And of his land.

They charged up the sandy hill with all their remaining strength. They crushed reeds growing from the sands and passed over sandy pebbles beneath their feet. The last band made their way to the top of the hill. Gylve looked behind him and saw his father’s town. His town now. His town, now that his father had died. Gylve glanced at the remaining men he was dealt with. There were only about forty left. It wouldn’t be enough. He saw the invaders 56

rushing up the hill. The sands were breaking beneath their heavy feet. He heard their incoherent shouts, and drifted off to another time. He thought of the tall tales the elders of the village would tell. He thought of their adventures to the south and the bloodshed they would spill. Was this the gods way of taking revenge upon them? Gylve stared up at the remaining stars. He could hear them whisper. They were calling for death. He heard ravens squawking.

They were calling for blood. Gylve screamed. His dying men did the same.

The strangers charged up the hill. Their numbers were relentless. Gylve wondered if their god allowed them to have such brutish strength. Two invaders came close and hacked down a man who was only holding a shovel. Their crosses jingled in the wind. Another had lost his weapon and was tackled to the ground. An invader grasped his throat and began squeezing as tight as a knot. Gylve heard the shouts of his people dying. Suddenly, he saw the droves passing by him and storming the village. They were bursting into homes and grabbing women and children.

Gylve turned and ran, but almost immediately, he felt a mighty impact on the back of his head. He fell to the ground like a dead man. His vision was failing him. He felt liquid pooling behind his scalp. He saw fires burning. He saw women being dragged from their homes. Children were being thrown to the ground. The strange language of the invaders echoed throughout the catacombs of his consciousness. Then, darkness. The sun was beginning to shine.

57

Chapter 8: Depressive Silence

Gylve woke up to some dogs barking. His stomach was aching. He felt the back of his head. Dried blood. He turned over on his back. Looking up to the skies, he saw the summer sun was out. He wondered if he should have been happy to be alive. Or cursed. Pushing himself to his feet, he felt the dirt beneath his fingernails. He spits out some dried blood. The bodies were everywhere. Mostly townsfolk. But there were many invaders lying on the ground as well. Gylve hobbled down the hill and back to the shore. The three titanic fleets had left. The only boat remaining was Leif’s favorite treasure. He saw the bodies on the beach becoming bloated and unsightly. Rigor mortis had begun. Gylve squinted and tried to find his father. There were too many bodies to count. Maybe the waves had washed him away. The sands were stained red with blood. Ravens and seagulls were poking and prodding into the bodies of the dead. Their happy monotonous shrieks repeating relentlessly across the waves.

Gylve wandered back to the village. He heard no voices. No sounds of people practicing swords in the yards. No children laughing playing tag. He saw dogs licking the blood off of corpses. Chickens were wandering back and forth as if nothing had ever happened. Gylve limped down to the great hall. It was then he finally remembered his sister.

The great wooden oaken doors had been cracked into a dozen different pieces. The intricate wolf handles were buried under the rubble. “GULL!” he shouted out in hope. He ran down the hallway to her room.

The door was closed. As he opened it, an unshakeable dread befell him. He wondered if he was going to see his sister and her baby dead. The pressure almost made him not open 58

the door, but after a few minutes, he pushed the creaking wooden door open. On the ground, the body of Igor the farmer. A pool of blood surrounded his body as he lied face down. His weapon still clutched in his hand. Gylve looked across the room and saw the bodies of two invaders. Both were lying on their backs, piled on top of each other. Then, a whimper. He saw Gull in the corner of the room, holding a large dagger and mumbling to herself. Gylve ran up and embraced her. She did the same. “What happened?” Gylve touched her arm. She was shaking. “They took him.” her face was covered in dry tears. “They took Asgeir.” She screamed. Whether in sadness or fury Gylve did not know. He held her now. She looked up at her brother, who now resembled her father more than ever, “You have to bring him back,” she said sternly with tears welling up in her eyes, “You have to.” Gylve looked down at his sister. She killed two invaders in order to save the baby, but it still wasn’t enough. He had no men. He no weapons. He had no father. He looked at Gull, “I will.” He picked her up to her feet. They stepped over the bodies. Gylve looked down at Igor solemnly, “You will be remembered and never forgotten.” Outside of the great hall, the bright yellow sun was shining down on the corpses.

The putrid smell of death permeated their nostrils. It almost made them vomit. Gylve and Gull walked throughout the town. They saw a small farm and walked across the crops.

He saw a villager lying on the ground. They went over, thinking he was dead, and then realized he was breathing. Gylve shook the man violently, “WAKE UP! HURRY. WAKE

UP!” The brown bearded man opened his eyes. There was blood caked on his lips. He was missing a front tooth. “Oh-O-oh,” he groaned. “Fuck. They almost killed me.” He felt his ribcage. “It’s all right, brother. You’re alive. What’s your name?” The man looked around 59

puzzled. “Hris.” His brown eyes looked around anxiously. “My boys. Where are they?” he shuffled to his feet quickly. The man turned around and pushed open the door of his small home.

Gylve and Gull followed him inside. The home was in ruin. Pots and pans were scattered across the floors. Beds were overturned. The fire of the hearth was dead. Hris put both hands on his head and shook his head back and forth. “Gods. They killed my sons.”

Abruptly, they heard a bang in the walls. Hris went alongside a small crevice in the wall and began to peel it back. Gylve and Gull helped. The tore back the wood and found two boys, twins, about sixteen years old, covered in dust and spider webs. Hris was ecstatic, “Baldur.

Bard.” He pulled them out of the wall and hugged them uncontrollably. “Father. We couldn’t save her.” Hris looked confused. Baldur spoke, “Mother. They took her.” Hris balled his hand to a fist and slammed the ground. Bard spoke now, “We wanted to protect her. But she told us to hide. They couldn’t find us in the wall.” Hris hugged them both again. “Were going to get her back. I promise.” He looked to Gylve. He nodded.

The group of five, Gylve, Gull, Hris, and his two sons, Baldur and Bard, walked through the town. The corpses plagued the roads and stepping in blood was unavoidable.

They walked and searched for hours. In total, they found almost twenty men who had survived the onslaught. Most were injured or had trouble walking. Some had passed out due to fatigue. Others were thought to have been mistakenly slain by the invaders. A few cowards hid. By this time, night was upon them. The remaining survivors met in the great hall once more. All the tables and chairs had been smashed to pieces, so they had to stand. Gylve stood with Gull at the top of the dais. He overlooked his surviving Scandinavian brothers. He 60

cleared his throat, “THEY KILLED MY FATHER! THEY KILLED YOUR SONS AND

BROTHERS. THEY KILLED YOUR FRIENDS. THEY STOLE AND RAPED OUR

WOMEN.” The mighty band of survivors watched on, rage slowly rising. “WE’RE GOING

TO GO SAVE OUR PEOPLE. I WANT EVERY ONE OF THOSE CHRISTIAN HORDES

DEAD!” The survivors echoed with voices of vehemence.

Gull touched her brother on the shoulder, “How? Look at our village. Look at our people. Our soil. There’s barely anything left. Gylve smiled faintly and whispered, “I think I know where we can find some more men.” The burning fire was raging in the hearth and cackled at the violence that was yet to befall the Christian invaders.

61

Chapter 9: Into the Forgotten Forest

The mighty band of villagers gathered up the remaining supplies they could find.

Most food was still safe and frozen. Men hobbled to and fro picking up weapons from the decaying carcasses left in the village. Gylve and his pack were ready; however, something nagged at the back of his subconscious. He turned to Gull, who was holding a spear, her blonde hair blowing in the lofty summer winds, “What’s wrong?” Gylve bit his fingernails,

“Once we find Blackthorn and his men…” he squinted deep into the forest, “How will we know where to sail to?” Gull was taken aback, “I hadn’t thought of that.” She too looked inquisitively into the woods, then turned towards the shoreline. Gylve suddenly smiled while

Gull watched on, “What are you thinking?” she said apprehensively. Gylve slung his axe to his hip and placed his oaken shield across his back. He began walking the opposite way, towards the beach. The remaining survivors looked at each other confused, but eventually followed. Gull ran up to her brother, “What are you doing Gylve?” she grabbed his arm,

“TELL ME!” Gylve looked down. “Well, I have a plan. However, it’s going to take a bit of luck. We have to find an invader,” Gull looked puzzled, “But they’re all dead!” Gylve nodded, “Probably. Maybe. But if we can find one that’s still alive…” Gull smiled, her pearly teeth gleaming like the moon, “He could lead us south. To where they live. Then we can rescue Asgeir!” Gylve glanced downwards onto the corpses he was stepping over.

All dead, unfortunately. The band of brothers behind him followed clueless. Gull spit on a dead man, “Even if we find one that’s still alive…How will we communicate with him?” She stepped over another dead man, this time a farmer. Gylve walked up the sandy hill overlooking the shoreline, “Good question,” he kicked up the sand as he walked down the 62

hill, “We will make him talk.” Gull tip toed down the steep sandy hill, “How, brother?”

Gylve cackled, “Persuasion.”

The heaps of bodies let out a deathly pungent odor. Ravens were flocking amongst the bodies and singing in a joyful cacophony of death and pleasure. The survivors looked to

Gylve, “What now?” they covered their noses and spit on the Christian corpses, “We find a survivor.” The fellowship nodded and spread out across the shore. The waves pushed the decaying corpses back and forth like a ship docked at a port. To and fro the bodies moved in a symmetrical metronomic rhythm. Gylve and Gull headed east across the shore, while the rest of the band headed west. Gull looked on solemnly, “Do you think we will find one? An invader. Everyone here is dead, Gylve.” Gylve agreed, “Yes, but, we have to have ho..”

Suddenly, they heard a groan. They both ran over towards its direction.

Two men were piled on top of one another. It was a Scandinavian brother with a thick red beard and fiery long hair. He still held his axe in one hand. There was blood streamed across his face and he had a mighty gash across his forehead. Gylve and Gull looked on as the warrior pushed an invader’s body from him and he rose to his feet. Gylve looked on happily and relieved, “Bjorn,” Gull ran and hugged him. “Thank the old gods you’re still alive.” Bjorn blushed from Gull’s touch, “Well,” he smiled and cleared his throat. “I killed as many as I could. But I couldn’t protect your father, Gylve. I’m sorry.” Gylve looked down amongst the corpses, “I couldn’t protect him either. It’s my fault. I should have.” Abruptly, he heard another groan. This time beneath their feet. The Christian invader Bjorn had heaped over was groaning and coughing up blood. Gylve began to laugh, “Well, we found our lucky little bird.” Bjorn looked on confused, he clutched his axe and raised it, “One more to add to 63

my tally!” Gull stood in front of the invader, grabbed Bjorn’s arm, and yelled, “No! Stop it!

We need him!” Bjorn looked even more confused now, “For what?” Gylve spit and smiled.

They tied a rope around the captive’s neck and yanked him along the way. He spoke in a language unintelligible. It sounded like swords clanging and coals crackling. Not like the beautiful language spoken by Gylve’s people. The gang gathered up at the peak of the forest.

The remaining twenty men were armed with iron blades and sharp axe heads. Gylve carried a brown oaken shield and his favorite large axe. Gull had a spear. Bjorn had a potato in his mouth and was reminiscing about all the invaders he had killed, recalling it as if it was a battle long ago, and not the night prior, “Two charged me at once in the darkness. I could barely see. But I was given the sight when I was younger. I could smell enemies from a mile away. I smashed my axe across the jaw of one of them. He went flying down into the depths of the waters and was washed away before I could see. The other tackled me to the ground and tried beating me to death with his fists. I grabbed his throat and squeezed as tight as Thor grips his hammer. That was only two!” Gylve laughed proudly, “How many did you kill in total?” Bjorn looked to the skies and counted in his head, “I’m not sure. Dozens probably. I would have killed one more if you would have let me kill him,” he grabbed the rope, which a farmer was carrying, and yanked it hard.

The invader fell to the ground and mumbled something incoherent, “He laughed as your father was dying!” Gylve looked on, “We need him. For now.” They began walking past the pine trees, their green leaves rippling in the light of summer. Gylve stared up at the mighty pines. They created a canopy protecting them from the burning light of the sun. They stepped over pinecones and crushed twigs underfoot as they made their way deeper into the 64

forest. Wolves howled mightily, and their voices echoed deeply into the recesses of the

Forgotten Forest. Gylve stared up and saw ravens watching them, hoping for someone to fall ill and die. As they continued deeper into the woods, they noticed that snow was beginning to build up upon the ground. Gull turned to her brother, “We are approaching the misty mountains. We should be getting closer. But when? How do we know we are going the right way? If Blackthorn lives more to the northwest, how will we know?” she said concerned.

“Gylve shook his head and looked at Gull, “We don’t.” He continued on.

The snow began to crunch regularly underneath their feet. The slush seeping into their boots and freezing their toes. As the sun began to set behind the icy mountains, they noticed their breaths forming in front of their faces. They saw melted snow and icicles falling from the oaks and pines. Gylve turned around to his friends, “It’s getting dark. Let’s set up camp.”

Bjorn looked on annoyed, “What if we can’t find them? What if we get lost out here in this fucking freezing forest?” He spat. “I hope you’re right about this, son…” Gylve looked to his tribesman who were cold and hungry. “We will find them. I promise.” They set up a small fire from the dry sticks and twigs they carried on their backs.

All they had to sit on was the snowy ground with some cold wool blankets. The band was chewing on cold deer meat and murmuring under their breath. Gylve sat patiently, watching the reverberations of the forest. Gull touched his arm, “What are you looking at?”

She chewed some meat as she spoke. Gylve shook his head, “Nothing sister.” The two twins,

Baldur and Bard had already fallen asleep, their weapons lodged in their fists. Their father

Hris watched over them. Bjorn was snoring loudly next to the crackling fire. The rest of the group sat shivering on the icy ground. Gull looked to her brother, “We don’t have much food 65

for a long journey. The snow will freeze us to death if we stay here another night or two,” she looked to and fro for wolves, “We need to find Blackthorn…quickly.” Gylve stared patiently into the flames, “We will find them. We just have to be patient.” A wolf howled in the deepest pits of the forest. Gylve saw an owl, black as the night, watching their every move.

As he shut his eyes, he heard the break of a twig echo through the woods. He turned to his sister, grabbed his axe, and stood.

Three figures appeared out of the trees. Their shadows growing larger as they came closer to the light of the fire. Gylve kicked Bjorn in the back, “GET UP.” Bjorn awoke instantly, squinted, and then grabbed his two axes. The three intruders were wearing black leather garments with wolf fur cloaks. The leader only had one eye. The other two were fat.

They were armed with bows and arrows, drawn and ready to kill. The one-eyed man spoke up, “Who are you. Why are you intruding on our land?” Gylve looked down to his group, then his sister, he smiled, “My name is Gylve Leifsson. I’m Leif’s son. I’m here to kill

Blackthorn.” The men looked at each other incredulous. The one-eyed man let out a large sigh, “Follow me, then.” Gylve awoke his band, and they followed the three henchmen deeper and deeper into the Forgotten Forest by the shadows of midnight.

66

Chapter 10: The King of Oak and Snow

The one-eyed man led them through the darkened forest. Even with one eye, he saw every nook and cranny of root and twig underfoot. The snow was becoming thicker as they edged closer to the mountains. Gylve walked calmly behind the two other henchmen. Gull followed anxiously behind. The way was very dark and each of them lost their footing at least once. They touched the tall pine trees growing with slick icy ferns to lead them towards their destination. Bjorn sneezed in the cold and other men began to spit up phlegm. Even though it was still summer, the frigid air of the mountains was permeating their lungs and began to slow them down. Gylve began to find it hard to breathe. He noticed they were slowly ascending through the trees and reaching the base of the mountain. After what seemed like hours navigating through the darkness, they finally saw fires in the waning distance and what looked like an encampment. As they edged closer, Gylve finally realized what Blackthorn had seemingly built singlehandedly.

There were large wooden homes built within a small radius. They weren’t as tall as the great hall or as intricate in their design, but they seemed to provide enough space and apparent insulation for the villagers to survive living so close to the base of the mountain. Peering up to the night sky, Gylve saw the massive behemoth of stone and snow overlooking them all. They walked pass monstrous hairy dogs that barked loudly at their entrance. A few people came out of their homes and watched as his rag tag group made their way father into town. Chickens were clucking back and forth in the snows and pigs were squealing in their muck. Dawn was breaking. 67

“Well, here we are…” the one-eyed man turned and smiled. He scratched at his eyepatch and coughed. “Is this where Blackthorn lives?” asked Gylve, staring up at the wooden building covered in snow and icicles. “No, you fucking idiot. This is where I live,” The one- eyed man spat while the two fat men laughed. “Of course, this is where Blackthorn lives. Do you see the size of this place?” Gull looked up and realized it was only about the same size as a small farm house. The great hall nearly tripled it in size. One of the fat henchmen began pissing on a nearby oak tree. “If Blackthorn saw you do that near his house he’d cut your tongue off and make you eat it.” Said the one-eyed man. Gylve turned to him, “What’s your name? Do they call you one eye?” The black-haired man scratched at his eyepatch once more.

“I have a lot of names. No point of sharing my name with a dead man though.” He whistled at the man pissing and opened the oaken doors.

They creaked loudly in the cold and Gylve stepped inside. He was met with a delightful burst of warm air that thawed the leaching cold from his body. Gull was close beside him. She grasped her spear. Bjorn sneezed once again, dispelling the demons of the mountain from his essence. The rest of Gylve’s men gathered behind him, waiting for their cue on what to do next.

There was a massive fire crackling in the hearth. Piles of dried wood were tossed in the corner, waiting to be used at a moment’s notice.

They found Blackthorn sitting upon a large wooden throne. At least, one could call it a throne. It was only a chair slightly larger than the rest in the room. Blackthorn picked at something stuck in his teeth and sighed. He stared at them incredulously, “What brings you to my land? My soil. My kingdom.” He grasped the hilt of his iron sword firmly. Gylve’s men whispered curses under their breath. Gylve raised a hand to silence them all, “I do,” he began. 68

“I’m Leif’s son. I’m here to kill you.” The one-eyed man chuckled in the corner. The flames making his shadow dance and frolic like a monster from the depths. Blackthorn smiled faintly, then squinted, “Is my old friend too lazy and slow to kill me himself? He always said he wanted to do it,” Blackthorn scratched his greying hair. He had a large scar across his jawline where no facial hair would grow. He continued, “But instead, he sends his boy to do the killing for him,” he laughed boomingly. His voice bouncing off the walls, “Unbelievable. Come back when you bring your father, boy.” The two fat men beside him clenched their spears and chuckled softly.

Gylve only stared seriously at the king of the forest. The one who made the forest his throne. Blackthorn grew troubled by the silence, “Where is your father, Gylve?” He sat back proudly, awaiting an answer. Gylve didn’t blink, “He’s dead. The Christians killed him.”

Blackthorn let out a sigh, “Then where is his body? You buried it at least I presume? Maybe I could visit my old friend.” He let out another chuckle, this time, with sadness at the tip of his tongue. Gylve looked to the fire, “The sea took him. He’s in Odin’s Hall, feasting with the rest of my people.” The fire crackled back, as if that was the proper answer. Blackthorn sat up in his throne, “Christians? I’ve heard of their ilk. I never thought they would be so brazen to touch upon these shores…” his voice trailed off into nothingness. “Who else did they kill?” Gylve turned behind him and smiled, then faced the king, “This is all that’s left. These men. My sister.

That’s it.” Blackthorn studied his words, “Why didn’t they take your sister?” Gylve turned to her, “She killed two of their men. Maybe they didn’t want any more trouble. They blackened her eye pretty good though.” Gull smiled proudly, “It doesn’t even hurt.” Blackthorn rubbed his hands through his beard, “So why do you want me dead, boy?” Gylve smiled, “You killed 69

my best friend. So, I challenge you to a duel. My father always wanted you dead too. So, I’m giving justice for both. Even though they are fighting with Odin now. Battles so great we couldn’t even imagine.” He stared back into the fire. He saw visions of warriors with spears fighting serpents made of flames. Blackthorn cackled, “No. This is what’s going to happen.

I’m going to kill you, take what’s left of your village, marry your sister, and become king of these lands and the ones your father didn’t allow me!” Gylve shook his head. “No. That’s foolish thinking.

The Christians will come back to my lands to resettle. They will begin worshipping their God on our gods’ land. Our gods’ soil. They can’t find us here, however. For the time being, this will be our new home.” Gull looked at her brother anxiously and touched his arm.

She whispered under her breath, “But I want to go back home. Like before.” Gylve shook his head, “Times are different now. We can never go back to yesterday…” Blackthorn peered down at them, “What are you two mumbling about? Fine, have it your way. I wanted to kill your father, but I suppose the son will do. I hope he’s watching.” Blackthorn stood to his feet.

His mighty body stood nearly the same height as Leif’s. His long, muscular arms were covered in black ink designs of intricate markings. His legs were as thick as tree trunks with scratches from spears and iron daggers from years past. He pushed back his throne and took a spear away from one of the fat men. He pushed by Gylve, brushing shoulders fiercely, “Follow me.” Gylve did so.

The sun had finally risen over the peak of the mountain and its light was illuminating the small village Blackthorn called home. The mountain stared over them. Watching.

Motionless. Eternally. The one-eyed man blew a large horn crafted of cow horn and bone. 70

There were already plenty of men and women out farming and tending to their crops, but those who were still asleep were now awakened and rushing out of their homes to see the duel. They found a small clearing and the townsfolk formed a large circle around the two combatants.

Gylve heard cheers as Blackthorn twisted his spear every which way. Gylve had his axe in one hand and a white circular shield in another. Blackthorn roared, “IF I KILL YOU,

I’M TAKING BACK ALL THE LAND YOUR FATHER DENIED ME!” Gylve said sternly,

“If I kill you, I take your land for myself. Everything you own…becomes mine!” Gylve smacked his axe against his shield violently. He screamed. Blackthorn screamed. Gull screamed for her brother. They danced. Blackthorn took a huge step forward with his lead right foot. His iron tipped spear pierced Gylve’s wooden shield, but it did not break. Splinters were sent to and fro as onlookers jeered and pumped their fists in ecstasy. Gylve pushed the shield forward back into Blackthorn’s direction. He smiled. Gylve backed him up for a moment, but then Blackthorn swiped his spear at an angle downward in a smacking motion. Gylve raised his arm above his head and blocked the blow. The spear careened off into another direction.

Gylve charged him again. He swung his axe downward and Blackthorn back stepped, narrowly avoiding death. They circled each other like wolves fighting over the same carcass. The shouts from the crowd were drowned out in their bloodlust for each other. Blackthorn poked again but Gylve side stepped. He edged closer to his opponent. Gylve swung again, this time slashing through the leather and thick wool garments. Blood began to puddle underneath them. They both smiled. “You’re just as strong as your father. But, he still couldn’t match me. In this life and the next.” Blackthorn swiped his spear to the right clipping Gylve’s cheek. Blood ran down his face. Gylve shouted, “My father is, and was, and will always be stronger than you. He’s a 71

part of me now. He lives on in me.” Blackthorn spit, then charged. His spear pierced into the hard-wooden shield.

Gylve ran towards him and launched both apparatuses into his face. Blackthorn fell to the ground. His lip was cracked, and blood was seeping from it. Gylve lifted his axe and swung down. Catching the blow with both hands, he twisted the weapon out of Gylve’s arm. It fell to the snowy ground. Gylve threw two, then three fists down on top of the man who calls the forest his throne. Blackthorn’s eyes were dazed but he was still aware of his surroundings.

Lurching up, he grasped two hands around Gylve’s throat. He couldn’t find air to breathe.

Stretching his fingers as far as he could, Gylve scratched at Blackthorn’s eyes. He tried his best to rip them out. Blackthorn squealed and released his grip.

They toppled over each other once more. Blackthorn grabbed his spear and Gylve his axe. Both men had blood dripping down their face. Both men were near to death. Both men were having fun. Upon the ground, Blackthorn thrusted his spear up into Gylve’s waist.

However, the angle was not long enough and the fall of Gylve’s axe met first. Gylve pierced

Blackthorn’s chest point blank with an axe. The crowd was silent. Gylve stood up. He saw

Blackthorn’s eyes start to glaze over, “Do you think that’s enough to kill me, boy?” Gylve grabbed the fallen spear and plunged it into his stomach. “That’s for Niklas.” Blackthorn let out a final sigh, eyes rolling back to his skull, and died. The townsfolk cheered. Gylve screamed.

72

Chapter 11: Heading South

“I KILLED YOUR KING! THE ONE THAT MADE THE FOREST HIS THRONE!

NOW, THROUGH RIGHTFUL DUELING SUCCESSION…I AM YOUR KING. I WANT

ALL ABLED BODIED MEN AND WOMEN TO COME FIGHT ALONGSIDE ME!”

Gylve shouted down from a small make shift podium. The townspeople watched on eagerly.

One middle aged farmer rasped, “Why should we fight for you? We barely know you?”

Gylve peered down, “I am Leif’s son. Heir to all the lands north of the Lost Shore and spreading out through the Forgotten Forest. This is my land. The Christians,” he shouted to everyone and no one in particular, “they killed my father. And my tribesmen. We are going to go get my people back, and take revenge so the gods can be proud. If you don’t fight with me, soon, they will come here too, and kill your family and friends.” His people began to boo and jeer. They clenched their fists and raised shovels and spears. Gylve looked on proudly,

“We leave at dawn.” He turned, and walked into the small barn Blackthorn once called his throne room, and slept.

Gylve awoke in the throne. He rubbed away the crust in his eyes and looked out across the small hall. A small fire was slowly dying in the hearth. It whispered tales of valor and bloodshed on the battlefield yet to come. Suddenly, he felt a hand across his arm.

Turning to his right, he saw his sister. Her look was stern, “I want to go south with you. I want to fight them too.” She tightened her grip around his arm. Gylve looked around and saw no one was in the hall except his sister. He shook his head, “No.” Gull clenched harder,

“Why not!? I killed two of them already,” her nails began to dig into his skin, “I want my son back!” Gylve looked on concernedly, “You will have him back, sister. However, if I don’t 73

make it back, he is next in line to be heir of our old soil. And our new soil here. He is your son. So, if I don’t make it back, he will be king one day. In the future, you must raise him and govern in my stead. Watch over him. Teach him. He will be stronger than Niklas.” Gylve stared into the flames. They echoed his words. Gull released her grasp, “Fine. I’ll trust you once more, brother.” She sighed, “Just bring him back. Please.” Gylve touched the top of her head. They smiled. Gull looked up, “So I will rule when you have gone south?” Gylve sat up in his throne, “Yes. I will leave some men around for protection. However, I don’t think anyone will find you out here.” Abruptly, they both heard a loud knock on the doors. “Come in.” Gylve bellowed.

The wooden doors were pushed open and in came Bjorn holding a rope, dragging the

Christian slave by the neck. The man had black curly hair and his facial hair had grown out since Gylve had last seen him. Gylve smiled at the man, “You are our ticket to the southern lands. You will guide us there.” The man was shaking violently from fear and fatigue. Even though their language was different, he nodded his head in agreement. Bjorn straightened and spoke up, “There’s something you need to see outside. As soon as possible.” Gylve raised an eyebrow. He followed Bjorn outside and saw a massive crowd of men, some women, with weapons of iron raised to the skies. They were screaming deathly battle cries and shouting for the gods to watch them. Proudly, Gylve clapped his hands, “How many are there?” Bjorn began doing mental math in his head then bumbled out, “About two hundred fifty. Maybe a little more. Can your father’s ship hold all these men?” Gylve rubbed his fingers through his long brown hair, “We will make due. It might be tight, but we will be fine.” He yelled down to the crowd, “WE LEAVE IN A FEW HOURS!” 74

The army gathered their supplies as the sun began to creep over the monstrous mountain. Gylve saw snow melting in the dew and icicles falling from his hall. Men were carrying circular shields, painted with convoluted designs of wolves, dragons, and boars.

Women had spears and bows and arrows. Young children remained in the village, although they were desperately eager to go and join their parents to fight. They yelled and cheered as they saw their heroes embark. Dogs barked, and chickens clucked at all the commotion.

Gylve waved to Gull and smiled as he left her at the doorway of the hall. Four old white- haired men guarded her with axes and two female servants were behind her. She smiled faintly and waved back. Gylve led the rag tag band with Bjorn at his side. A fellow companion was dragging the Christian guide. They began their journey through the forest once more. They hoped to reach the Lost Shores by mid-day.

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Chapter 12: Gullaldr (Golden Age)

They reached the sandy shore before the sun was at its highest peak in the sky. Gylve smiled warmly. The air was much warmer now that they were farther from the mountain.

Flies were buzzing every which way and maggots were feasting on the corpses of the

Christian invaders. The funeral pyres were burning brightly for the bodies of his brothers and sisters. It took an hour to finally collect all the bodies of his tribespeople, but after they did, they built the massive wooden ritual fire pits and burned the bodies of the slain warriors. The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh. The smoke rose from the grounds and pierced through the skies.

Gylve saw his father’s boat wafting left and right in the tide. It was untouched, and its bright mast of a fierce dragon lay imprinted on the sail. He walked down to the docks and jumped onto the massive ship. His father’s war ship was his inheritance; he was always told.

The wood was crafted from a thick dark oak and was smooth as a baby’s skin. He waved his hands and Bjorn walked over with the Christian slave. Bjorn yanked him onto the boat and to his knees. The slave muttered a curse under his breath. Gylve grinned faintly, then looked out to the Great Sea, “I know we sail south. But how far do we sail? For how long? Do we go southeast or southwest at all?” Gylve pulled out a small dagger and held it to the man’s throat. His knife was lost in the thick beard the slave had grown. Shaking, the slave spoke hoarsely and pointed straight south.

Gylve nodded to Bjorn, “We head straight south then,” he stood, “ready the sails! Get the rowers on board! Cram as many people onto this boat as you can.” He walked off the boat and waved his new people onto the massive titanic war ship. Men grabbed the hundred 76

oars at the bottom of the boat. Others stood on top of the deck and stared out into the abyss.

They were unsure of where they were sailing. Possibly to their deaths. But their king had ordered it. So, they obeyed.

The ship held over two hundred men and women ready to do battle against the

Christian invaders. Gylve had yet to tell them that the main purpose was to rescue Asgeir.

The future king of all the lands north of the Lost Shores. They were sailing fast across the seas, faster than any fish and more elegantly than any bird. Men rowed in a monotonous motion and hurled the boat forward across the southern waters of the Great Sea. Seagulls were flying high above the clouds and cawing downward at the passing ship. The winds were on their side and pushing them farther south with each passing row. Gylve went under the boat and saw the thick burly arms of his men rowing the boat in a circular jovial motion.

Their arms looked like tree trunks and their hands had the force of a falling mountain. He smiled faintly, “Keep Rowing!” Making his way back on the upper deck, he saw his crew staring out across the vast expanse of the Great Sea. Blue waters met their eyes and the sun reflected beams of shimmering light across their faces. Waters burst every which way as the ship marauded forward across the sea. The ripples looked like blood diluting in different directions. The wind tasted like salt.

Gylve saw Bjorn had his arms crossed as he watched the boat gradually approach their destination. He went up to the fiery bearded warrior, “How do you like the boat?” he asked, hoping for a compliment. Bjorn smiled, “Magnificent. Fierce. Powerful. It shows the true force and purpose of us Norsemen!” he grasped the hilt of his axe, “We are going to get our people back, Gylve. Or die trying. I’m going to kill even more of those Christian scum.” 77

He spits into the sea. “I’m going to bring back our people.” Gylve nodded happily, patted his shoulder, then walked away.

He came across the Christian mumbling to himself. He was shaking slightly as the salty seawater splashed upon his black leather tunic. He grasped a small wooden cross to his breast. Gylve looked on cunningly, “Are we heading the right direction?” The slave pointed straight down, the same direction they were headed and mumbled, “S-So-Suth.” Gylve smiled at his attempt to speak their language, “Good. Your people killed mine. They enslaved us. Now we’re going to get them back. Your god will not win.” He left him wet and cold by the breaking waves.

Soon, it was time to change rowers. About four hours had gone by and the men below had gotten tired. They had plenty to spare so those on the top deck went below, and began the process once more. The wooden dragon head that was carved at the front of the ship gleamed south and warned that any land once reached will hold the force of over two hundred angry

Norsemen. A fate worse than death. Gylve chewed on some dry fish and stared up at the blackening sky. The clouds began to turn a dark grey and the waters became murkier. The waves began to pick up some and the men onboard began to look worried. Gylve sensed the apprehension in the air. Running across deck to the Christian soldier, he grabbed the noose around the neck and pulled, “How much farther, Christian?” The man was drenched and had spittle running down his lips. “S-South.” He stared out across the darkness, he eyes became as bright as the moon. Gylve yanked him once more and yelled, “How much farther!?” The slave pointed and rambled something incoherent, and let out a faint smile. 78

Gylve saw land. “LAAAANNNDDDD” he shouted to his fellow people. The crew of

Norsemen began to bang their shields with their hands and weapons. Some shouted at the skies and praised the gods for sending them the right way. As they approached the massive piece of land, Gylve saw a large beckoning fortress made of stone and earth watching their every move. It reminded him of the mountain in the Forgotten Forest. It was nearly pitch black as they sailed onto land. They saw the three titanic warships that had carried the hundreds of Christian soldiers to attack their lands. Gylve’s boat was dwarfed in comparison when set beside those behemoths.

Gylve waded his way through the waters and guided his men onto land. They screamed mightily to mark their arrival. Bjorn turned to them, holding an axe to the sky,

“Let’s charge. Break down the doors and get our people back!” Gylve looked up to the ramparts and saw men with bows and arrows looking down on them, “No.” Bjorn looked shocked, “Why Gylve? We’re finally here and you want to wait?” Gylve lied down on the soft sands and closed his eyes, “We have been traveling a long way. For now, we rest.

Tomorrow we will do battle.” Bjorn looked to the fighters, “You heard him. Set up camp!” he turned to Gylve, “What do we do with the slave who brought us here?” Gylve opened his eyes, “Show him the wrath of our people.” Bjorn nodded. The slave was decapitated on the spot. His head was thrown in front of the large wooden gates barricading the intruders from entering. Archers above the ramparts stared down in disgust. Gylve stared up at them defiantly. Then suddenly, he saw a shadowy figure walked along the ramparts. The man was dressed in the shabby black cloak with a golden cross hanging from his neck. He turned down and looked out across the army of Norsemen in dislike. Gylve realized it was David. 79

The man who had ordered the attack on his people to begin with. The old man nodded to him and made his way back to the shadows.

A few moments later, the wooden gates were opened and David, cloaked in black, made his way down the sandy beaches with a fierce entourage of fighters. Gylve stood up and his men did the same. David raised a hand and his men readied their weapons. The two men stared at each other for quite some time. The sky was black, and the air smelled like seaweed. The cook fires helped get the distasteful smell out of the air.

It was nearly pitch black even though the torches were lit. David’s men were carrying their weapons. The priest spoke, “What do you pagans want?” The kindness and patience in the old man’s voice was long gone. Now, all that was left was impatience and anger. Gylve looked on with a cunning smile, “We are here for our people” He looked behind at his men. “The one’s you didn’t kill of course. The women and children.” Gylve took a step closer, his lips were near the priest’s ear, “I know they are captured behind these walls. I want them back.” David chuckled slightly, then coughed, “They are to become Christians.

Their savage pagan fears and lifestyles will be no longer. They have sinned. And soon, they will become people of God.” Gylve turned his head in impatience, “I’m going to tear down those stone walls and bring my people back. You do not scare me priest.” David’s foggy eyes stared up at the Norseman, “Well,” he smiled, “You leave me no choice but to eradicate your pagan ancestry off the face of this world. God cannot forgive you or your souls…” He patted

Gylve on the shoulder and turned back towards the castle. The wooden walls shut with a loud bang and Gylve and his men were left in the darkness. They set up fires to warm themselves out in the darkness and made up small beds on the sandy beach. They knew tomorrow could 80

be their last day. Gylve knew tomorrow determined the outcome of his people. Of his blood.

Of his soil.

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Chapter 13: Hvis Lyset Tar Oss (If the Light Takes Us)

The sun had risen, and his men were ready. Gylve wondered if this would be the last time he would see the sun. He knew dying in battle was the greatest pleasure; however, his sole goal was to rescue Asgeir and his people, and to preserve his culture. Chicken bones and apple pits were scattered across the ground. The small makeshift tents were torn down and the cook fires were all extinguished for the men and women who had eaten possibly their final meal. Gylve stared up at the cloudless sky and wondered whether the gods were looking down on him. He hoped they were giving him strength to succeed in battle against the

Christian combatants.

He turned to his army for approval, and they all nodded proudly. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “FORM NOW!” His army did as was told. Most had shields in one hand and an axe, mace, or iron sword in the other. The shields were multi-colored with red and whites and blues. Many were circular, but some were square. Few had artistry of dragons and wolves on their round wooden interlays. The men and shield women raised their shields to the skies and pounded their weapons against their protectors made of oak. Their shouts echoed across the summer skies and paraded down upon the ramparts. The archers realized this was the beginning of the final push.

Gylve saw a small skinny priest run to and fro above the ramparts warning the archers to get into position. There must have been at least fifty armored men with bows and arrows overlooking his army. Gylve nodded to Bjorn. Bjorn firmly grasped a horn made of cow horn and bone. He blew deep into the mouthpiece, and signaled the beginning of the end.

Someone rang a loud bell from the pits of the monastery inside the castle walls. Its bells 82

ringed repeatedly across the seas and echoed into the catacombs of Gylve’s mind. These were the bells of the Christians. Gylve turned to his army and yelled, “This will be the music they will hear when they die!” He heard shouts of ecstasy and fanaticism. They were ready for war.

Gylve stared up at the archers. He spits. In unison, the archers pointed their weapons to the cloudless day and fired. Fifty arrows were sent flying through the air like Thor’s thunder. The thrum of the arrows sounded like heavy rainfall. Gylve shouted, “SHIELDS!”

Together, the band raised their shields and blocked the falling arrows. Their pointed iron tips stuck deep into the oaken wood of their shields. The arrows fell heavy like mountains falling.

However, Gylve avoided any casualties. He heard shouts from above once more. The archers reached into a nearby bucket and pulled out another handful of arrows. Gylve shouted,

“CHARGE! TO THE GATES! QUICKLY!” They ran at top speed up the sandy shores and closed in on the wooden gate. Before they could make it, another round of arrows rained down upon them. “SHIELD WALL!” He heard people shouting to brace themselves and guard. Unfortunately, arrows found their way between the shield wall and a few men fell to the ground, impaled by the iron pierced tips of the arrows.

Gylve looked below his feet and saw a young boy, possibly sixteen, shot through the eye socket. His blood was staining the sands. “CHARGE! ONCE MORE TO THE GATES!”

They charged one final time and made their way to the large barricaded wooden gates. The doors were twenty feet high and could even fit a giant inside. Gylve and his men kicked with all their might, but it wouldn’t budge. He turned and shouted, “BRING THE RAM!”

Suddenly behind him, six burly titans ran full speed with a battering ram and slammed it 83

against the doors. They creaked and screamed at the force of the blow. Another push and he began to hear the wood breaking. Above, archers couldn’t acquire the same angle as when the invaders were on the beach. They bent awkwardly across the ramparts and did their best to fire downwards. This time, they were met with arrows themselves by brave accurate shield women.

One Christian was struck through the mouth and fell off the ramparts to his death. A stray arrow flew down from the skies and struck one of the men using the battering ram through the skull. He collapsed instantly. Gylve grabbed the ram and heaved it into the doors.

Shouting was intensified from all angles. He heard incoherent shouts from the Christian soldiers above and vehement war cries from his own people. Massive wooden splinters ejected out of the door as the battering ram’s success intensified. “PUSH! PUSH!” The men shouted together. Gylve hugged the ram close to his chest and slammed it harder into the protective door. The only door saving the Christians from the wrath of the Norse horde.

Suddenly, the wood finally broke apart and he could see inside the castle. “ONCE MORE!

ITS BREAKING!” He heard shouts of triumph and death from the men behind him.

Gylve looked up, and quickly side stepped, as a giant rock was thrown down on top of him from above. The Christians had begun throwing stones now and they had already taken out a couple Norse warriors. With one final push, the wooden doors careened inwards.

The castle was now open. Gylve charged in first and raised his bloodied fist to the skies. His men followed emphatically behind him. They had only lost about eight or nine men storming the gates. They still had plenty to rescue their people. The courtyard was divided up into two 84

pathways. Looking left and right, Gylve lifted a hand and pointed for half his men to search on the right and the other half to follow him leftwards. “KILL ANYONE ONSIGHT!”

As they descended down the windy corridors, they passed by small homes with chickens running about. They clucked anxiously as the Norse invaders made their way into town. The dirt path was rattled with stones and weeds as they passed over foot. Gylve walked with a supreme swagger and confidence as he descended past the homes of the Christian civilians. There were no people about. Most were hiding somewhere in the town. A break in the road led to a massive monastery. There were dozens and dozens of guards standing outside its gates. Gylve roared and smiled. The warriors charged shield first into the guards and smashed them to the ground. The Christian soldiers were impaled with spears and their brains were disintegrated by maces. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the town and the

Norse war cries were most dominant. Gylve burst into the monastery and found priests, women, and children huddled behind golden goblets, crosses, and artwork. “Where are your men to defend you? Where are my people?” A priest spoke, “B-below. B-below in the prisons. Underneath the monastery. They are learning to worship…” Gylve pushed his way through the crowds and his men began their revenge.

He took a windy set of stairs down to the dungeons. Below the monastery, it was thick with mold and dampness. He could taste moisture in the air. He opened up some cages and found his people, mostly women and children, with a few injured men, captured. They sprang to their feet when they realized it was Gylve. He opened dozens of cages and more people began to be freed. In one cage, he saw a nun holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. She was feeding the child milk. Gylve ran up and snatched the child from the nun angrily. He 85

looked down, and realized it was Asgeir. Gylve ran to the group of people now gathered underneath the monastery, “We will run for the ships. We must return home. Not to our land, but to the land past the Forgotten Forest. I will have someone go with you to show you.”

They darted up the stairs and made their way out of the monastery. Gylve ran with

Asgeir at his breast and fellow warriors in front of him killing soldiers left and right. He whistled loudly, and it trailed out across the town. His men came running towards him. Bjorn led the charge, “We lost many men, Gylve. They took us near the barracks. There were too many. We must leave. To the boats.” Gylve nodded.

They ran back outwards away from the town. The path was covered with bodies and blood. Suddenly, a rain of arrow fire fell down upon them all. Men and women collapsed beside him. Gylve turned to his remaining men, “GO KILL THEM ALL! BUY US SOME

TIME!” Most of his remaining men turned around and charged into the arrow fire. They braced their shields and drew their weapons. The men began to engage the soldiers with some ferocity only wild animals could know. Spears were entangled with rib cages and swords with spines. Gylve turned and ran towards the boat, leading his captives towards salvation. Again, from above, another wave of arrows filled the air.

This time two struck Gylve in the back and leg. He fell to his knees in agony. Blood was seeping out of him now. He stood up slowly, and began hobbling to the boat. The sandy shore was drenched in blood. The waves pushed the red liquid up and down the shores in a symmetrical fashion. Another wave of arrows from atop the ramparts rained down upon the rescued. Many fell to the ground dead. Another arrow struck Gylve in the spine. He caressed

Asgeir tightly to his breast. The rescued captives were running onto the boat. He looked up to 86

a woman and her child, “Return him to my sister. To the Forgotten Forest. He will be King of

Oak and Snow one day. He will rule all lands north of the Lost Shores.” The woman was in tears but took Asgeir proudly.

The fifty or so captives began rowing the boat steadily. Gylve saw Bjorn punching a soldier repeatedly yelling something at him. Gylve stood one last time, and saw a sea of

Christian soldiers running down the beaches. He drew his last sword one last time. A mighty

Christian soldier ran towards him and swung his sword down heavy across his chest. Gylve was too fatigued to dodge. Then black.

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Epilogue: Morgondagen (Tomorrow)

*******16 years later in the Forgotten Forest*******

Asgeir sat with an apple in his hand. He watched over the hall with a keen perception.

Gull sat by his side and touched his shoulder. The boy who was rescued within the grasp of the Christian invaders, was now King of the Forgotten Forest. His hall had expanded from a small farm house, to a much larger building with tables and a crackling hearth. A small man burst into the hall, disturbing all the visitors. He shouted to the King, “They’re coming. I saw them! They’re near the Lost Shores.” Asgeir stared inquisitively into the fiery hearth, bit into his apple, and smiled.