“You
are sure that no hurt was done to you?” Marie asked Will, as she tightened the
makeshift bandage.
“In
the name of the gods, woman, leave me alone!” complained Foothark. She slapped
at his hand.
“No,
I’m fine,” smiled Will.
“Do
you have raids every year?” Will asked, sitting down with them. “Sometimes as
many as five in one year, although that has not happened for many years. Why do
you ask?” said Foothark.
“It’s
just that you people must fight them off each time, and I don’t see any serious
injuries. I mean no one with missing arms or legs.”
A
dark look crossed Foothark’s face. “Yes, to lose a limb is the worst way to
die. If one is lucky then he will bleed and die within moments. But if the
wound is held closed and he does not bleed out then he usually dies slowly, in
days, weeks or even months. Anyone who loses a limb in battle dies in agony.
For some reason, their wound goes bad and begins stinking worse than a rotten
carcass. It is a horrible way to die. It seems the gods do not see any use for
us if we lose an arm or leg.”
This
made sense to Will. He had initially thought that the lack of limbless warriors
was because the people of Ulfor were extraordinary fighters. But he knew that
soldiers died of gangrene infected wounds as recently as WWII, let alone a thousand
years ago.
“It
sounds like a horrible way to die.”
These
were a people who lived and died by the gods. A simple case of gangrene in the
modern world was very different to this, where a warrior’s death was foretold
by deities. Even so, Will explained to his hosts about the need for basic
cleanliness, constant washing, lancing pus, sewing wounds like they sewed
clothes, the need to air wounds occasionally, rubbing oil onto scars, using
mead as an anaesthetic and applying pressure to arteries in order to reduce
bleeding.
*
* * * *
Steve
was heading back to the house of Tharof and Sheelga. The villagers still seemed
wary of the Australians. One mother, leading her three children back home after
they had taken their gift to the great tree, gave him a tight smile and a wide
berth. It seemed no matter how many times they had denied it, people still saw
them as the Tuatha- Day-Dannan.
“Steve,”
called Thormdall through the darkness. “How goes everything?”
`“Yeah,
great thanks,” he replied. Pausing for a moment a concerned look passed over
Steve’s face. “Listen, I wanted to raise this at the council but I thought
enough had been said. They’ve gone through a lot today.”
“Yes
they have,” said Thormdall, waiting for Steve to continue.
“I
cannot help but think that we’re in some way responsible for the deaths of
those men today. We’ve brought the crystal into this world so it’s our fault
that all this trouble has started. I was thinking that if we have a small group
of Norse come with us tomorrow, then once we’ve got Berag out, they can take
him home to Ulfor. Meanwhile me and the boys, with the crystal of course, will
leave this place and search for the main portal Romeeros mentioned. That way
the crystal is gone and your village is no longer under threat. We may need a
guide to come with us though.”
“Nonsense
my friend! Do not think that you are responsible for this trouble. Everything
has its place, nothing happens by accident. Terrible as it may be, those men
who died today had fulfilled their skeen.” He hesitated, as Steve was clearly
confused. “A person’s skeen is their life story, if you will. It is a tale
woven by the gods long before they are born. No matter what they do, they
cannot deviate from their skeen. As they do not know what their skeen is in the
first place they could hardly deviate anyway. But those warriors, those heroes
who died today were intended to die even before their mothers gave birth to
them, strange as it might sound.
“Nothing
happens by accident. It is why you were meant to enter this world and come to
our village,” he said. “But there is a problem with your second suggestion.
Romeeros does not know exactly where the main portal lies. He has heard legends
of it being in a land called Badawark, but is not entirely sure. Even if it
were in Badawark, where exactly? We do not know. So until we know more, you
will have to bring Berag back and wait here until we can make a definite move
towards the gateway.”
Steve
was not sure he liked the sound of that. “But when will we know exactly where
this gateway is?” he asked.
“I
know not, however I spoke to Romeeros after the meeting and there is a man of
Byzantium, a warrior-cleric who is travelling here. He knows about the crystal
and where the gateway lies. He will be happy to guide you, my friend. But we do
not know when he will arrive. All that we know is that he is on his way.”
“With
any luck he’ll be here when we get back with Berag,” said Steve.
“That
may well happen,” spoke Thormdall.
“We
will need someone with us tomorrow who knows the lay of the land, which areas
or villages to avoid in case of robbery or attack and so on.”
Steve
was about to suggest Thormdall himself, but the Berserker cut in, “I have just
the man for you, my friend. I will speak to him now. His name is Tharkol. He is
an extremely good hunter and an expert tracker. He will be of much help to
you.”
“I
appreciate that, mate,” said Steve.
The
two men bid each other farewell.
*
* * * *
“I
say bring them on!” Korgoth roared, slamming his hand onto the table.
“That’s
your last warning!” said Leeka as she cleared away Scott’s empty plate. Scott
was billeted with this bull of a man called Korgoth and his wife.
“Sorry,
my dear,” replied Korgoth passing a hand through his beard.
Scott
thanked Leeka as she took the wooden dishes away. Their dinner of roast pork,
cabbage and corn had been exquisite.
“But
I agree with you there, mate,” he said to Korgoth. “We should go and wipe them
all out.”
“Damn
right!”
It
was obvious Korgoth felt passionate about teaching the Vikings a thing or two.
Scott was amused by the older man’s sudden outbursts.
There
was a sharp knock at the door.
“That
could be them, damn their eyes!” shouted Korgoth jumping to his feet and
reaching for his axe.
“Oh,
sit yourself down, you great oaf!” said Leeka. She opened the door to find
Steve and Will standing there with snow in their hair.
“G’day
there! Could we borrow Scott?” he asked.
“But
of course, my dear. Hang on.” Scott climbed to his feet. “You can’t go out dressed
like this, it’s too cold,” Leeka said disappearing into the end of the long
house.
“But
mum!” Scott said.
Korgoth
snorted. “Don’t worry lad she treats me like a child too.”
Scott
chuckled, grabbed his weapon and accepted the cloak that Leeka handed him. He
put it on and fixed the broach clumsily in place. He waved his hosts goodbye
and closed the door behind him.
“Reminds
me of my parent’s house,” said Will.
The
trio walked to the other side of the village where Matt was living with a
friendly young couple. They automatically walked in single file with ten metres
between each other. The stars were hidden from sight by the thick clouds above.
Once
they were all together, the SASR soldiers went to the Great Hall. The fires had
gone out. Matt poked around in the ashes. He re- stoked the fire with some
kindling to give them some light more than anything.
Will
brought the fire at the other end of the hall to life and within minutes, the
four soldiers were sat around the far end of the table.
“Right,
why are we here?” began Steve. “Okay, well tomorrow we set off on our mission
to get Berag. It shouldn’t prove to be too dangerous, but I still want you all
to keep your eyes open. No, there won’t be people shooting at us but we don’t
know what’s out there. The forests could be full of raiders for all we know.
This brings us onto the next point, we’re being assigned a guide and he’s also
a very good tracker apparently. He’s known as Tharkol. He will know the lay of
the land, where the local thieves are hiding, and so on. Should Berag have been
taken to one of these coastal Viking towns, Tharkol should know which area he
will be held and which areas to avoid.” Steve leaned back in his chair.
“I
also think we should prepare ourselves for the fact that Berag might not be
alive when we find him.” “Why d’ya say that?” asked Matt.
“Cos
Berag didn’t have the crystal, I did. I’m assuming Berag was captured because
they thought he’d be carrying it as the village chieftain. Once they find out
that he doesn’t have it, what possible use is he to them?”
“You
mean apart from holding him as hostage to make sure their demands are met?”
asked Scott.
“Fair
point,” grinned Steve. “But we have to agree that the fact he might be dead is
a distinct possibility. I hope that’s not the case, but we need to cover all
possibilities before we go in.”
“How
good is this Tharkol?” asked Will.
“Don’t
know for sure, but Thormdall swears by him. We’ll find out tomorrow I guess,”
replied Steve. “Now, any other questions?”
“Yeah,
I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” said Matt. “We’re the bloody pricks
responsible for what happened this morning, man. Those nine blokes who died,
we’re responsible for that!”
“I
don’t think you’re the only one who’s thought that, mate,” said Steve watching
the other men nodding.
“My
point is: wouldn’t it be logical to take the crystal with us when we go? That
way we can pull Berag out, let Tharkol take him back to Ulfor and that leaves
us free to go on to this gateway that Romeeros was talking about.”
“The
crystal is going to stay with me no matter what,” said Steve, “if it gets lost
or stolen we’re screwed. Having said that, Romeeros doesn’t even know where
this gateway is.”
“Say
that again?” Scott asked.
“Hang
on, hang on,” said Steve. “Romeeros said there was some kind of Byzantine
priest on his way over who knows all about the crystal and how to use it. He
also knows where the gateway is and how to use it.”
“When
does he get here?” asked Matt.
“Dunno
yet, mate, we’ll just have to sit tight and wait for him. In the mean time,
forget about the gateway or Byzantium priests. Concentrate on our mission
tomorrow, clean your weapons, and make sure everything is ready to go. You all
know the drill. Okay? Any other questions?”
The
men were silent. “Right then, well get goin’, try and get a good night’s rest
because we'll probably have a long journey ahead of us. Berag could be bloody
anywhere.”
The
other men left, leaving Steve sitting at the table with the light from the
fires flickering over his face and giving him a demonic look. He had not wanted
to tell the soldiers what Thormdall had told him for fear of taking their minds
from the mission. As the cold air closed in, Steve walked out of the Great
Hall, letting the fires at each end of the hall to die in peace.
He
quietly closed the door behind him. Tharof and Sheelga were already asleep.
They lay on an earthen shelf which ran around the perimeter of the room about
three feet off the ground.
The
earthen shelf was wide enough for two people to sleep side by side. Tharof and
Sheelga were snuggled together on the far side of the room under a thick
woollen blanket. Steve saw a blanket for him to lie on at the other end of the
room. At the end of the blanket a black dyed, thick woollen blanket had been
folded. It had been placed there for him to cover himself with once he retired
to bed.
Steve
held a cough back as the smoke from the fire irritated his throat. He gently
kicked off his boots and sat staring into the fire for some moments. Lying
back, he pulled the blanket over him and watched the fire slowly devour the
thick logs. Pulling the crystal out of his pocket he stared at the unremarkable
object. It felt warm in his hand, almost comforting. He carefully tucked it
back in his pocket.
Steve
wondered what time it was in Australia right now, and what Judy and the kids
were doing. Brent always enjoyed a story before bed. Spot the Dog was a
favourite, but most of the Mister Men books also received rave reviews from
Brent. Kathy enjoyed being read to as well. Before Steve had been sent on
deployment to Iraq, he had been reading The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe to
her. Judy's face filled his mind, he missed her, loved her, wanted her.
In
this ancient land, Steve had started to realise that as hard as this life was,
their family was everything to them. The Norse were good, caring parents with a
strong sense of community and loyalty. The men, and some of the women, were the
finest, most fearless fighters Steve had ever seen. But given a choice, they
would always choose family first. Family was everything.
"Stuff
this,” Steve whispered. It was time to retire, from the army anyway. He had
been working, training and fighting with the SASR for more than a decade. With
each passing day, he was beginning to realise just how much his family meant to
him. If he lost them, it would break him and he knew it. It was time to be a
father and a husband full-time. None of this part-time bullshit. Sleep
enveloped him in a gentle embrace and he dreamed of a family that needed a
husband and a father.