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Legends Never Die: The Honored One (ch. 1)
🕑 Added 2022-06-15 14:53:48 +0000 UTC“Pot licking, foul-assed, bitch,” I cursed, getting Havi into a chokehold. He was my least eldest brother, though still three years older than me. We didn’t share a mother, but no one really cared about that. In response, Tormond, one of my other older brothers at fifteen, got me in a chokehold of his own with a laugh. I should have never taught him how to do a proper one, because he put me in a good one. Havi flailed in my grip as I refused to let go, while our third brother, Halfdan, took advantage of the fact that I was otherwise occupied to squat over us and start slapping me in the face repeatedly, not wanting to be left out of the fun.
Having brothers sucked. It wasn’t the first time I'd had that thought, and I suspect it wouldn’t be the last.
“Give up!” I wheezed, taking the hits like an absolute champion. I had to get at least one of them. At least one. For my pride. For the rewards from the gods!
Havi, that absolute dullard, shouted, “Never!”
To punctuate his proclamation, he started to roll around, trying to break my grip. It wasn’t pride that motivated him. It was self-interest, because if he gave up now, then our moron brothers would turn on him and he would become the new whipping boy. Which, arguably, was a fate worse than death. Couldn’t blame him for struggling against his fate, but I could and did find it annoying.
“Watch your hands, Halfdan. He’ll bite them off,” Tormond said, as I also struggled to escape his chokehold while trying to do exactly that. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I felt a sharp sting in my cheeks as Halfdan continued to lightly slap them -- just hard enough to be humiliating rather than deal any actual damage. There was a great big smile on his face while he did it.
Entertainment was tough to find, leaving us boys to entertain ourselves by beating the ever-loving shit out of one another. Not sure what the girls did.
“Boys! What are you doing over here? You have chores to do!” I heard a familiar voice call out -- Ida, Father’s concubine.
I looked over at her as I obediently let go of Havi. She was a woman in her late twenties to early thirties, her auburn hair cut short. The mark of a thrall, because all freemen wore theirs long. It was to make it easy to identify an escaped slave. There was a slight smile on her face as she looked at us fondly. She wasn’t my real mother, but she practically was one to me at this point.
However, I wasn’t happy to see her. As Tormond let go of me, I heard a familiar ping in my ears.
Quest Failed: Defeat one of your brothers.
Reward: 50 exp. 10 Martial exp.
Subquest: Last long enough that the fight ends
Reward: 25 exp. 5 Martial exp.
I failed the quest to defeat my brother and lost my chance to prove myself before the gods. I accomplished the lesser quest, but its rewards were lacking in comparison. I swallowed a sigh, wishing that I had a better way to earn the gods' favor than getting my ass kicked by my brothers, but that meant leaving the farmstead. The village of Ivarstead wasn’t too far away, but it was still a few hours walk, and the rewards there were just as meager as they were on the farm. Such a small village was largely beneath the gods' notice.
Ever since I had been born, the gods had showed a special interest in me, speaking to me through little images and screens that no one else could see. I didn't understand what they were at first. I had asked the others about theirs, curious as to what they were, only to find out that I was the only one to have them. Then I got beaten up for making things up and telling stories. Still, Mother helped me when I asked her to teach me what the messages said. It had taken some time for me to learn the runes inscribed upon the strange missives, but I did all the same, and since no one believed me, I never talked about what they said. About the quests the gods gave me, or the favor I earned for completing them.
That favor came in the form of what the gods called 'stats' in what I was convinced were the gods' various domains. Martial, Diplomacy, Stewardship, Intrigue, and Learning. Each of which was divided into three lesser realms, which the missives taught me were called subcategories, that had their own tallies and strange bars that filled as I grew and developed my skills -- Martial had Prowess, Tactics, and Physical Condition. Diplomacy -- Charm, Intimidation, Negotiation. Steward -- Property Management, Economic Management, Asset Management. Intrigue -- Plotting, Seduction, Networking. Learning -- Natural Knowledge, Theoretical Knowledge, Creation.
In my ten years, some of those stats had seen a lot more progress than others. Martial was developing nicely with incremental bumps -- an odd daily ritual, and entertain the gods by pitting me against my older brothers, helped me along. Learning was a close second as I learned the words for things, and how to read the runes through which the gods spoke to me. Diplomacy, Stewardship, and Intrigue hadn’t seen much use or improvement. There just weren’t many opportunities.
Upon earning a certain amount of the gods favor, they bestowed upon me a boon, which they fittingly referred to as Perks. For Martial, I gained the gift of being ambidextrous and gained a special attack called Power Attack. For Learning, I received Polyglot, which let me learn other languages with greater ease. That one had kind of gone to waste though, as I hadn’t actually used it yet since neither my mother nor anyone else in the family knew any words outside of our own language, but I was hoping it would be useful in the future. My other perk, Green Thumb, implanted knowledge from Thor in my head on how to make the farm more successful.
How to shift the soil, how to make sure the plants stayed healthy, how to spot blights early, crop rotation, and how to make something called a fertilizer. The results weren’t great, but each harvest was consistent and we didn’t have to worry about a bad harvest like we had before. Thor hadn’t taught me how to make the land fertile and plentiful. Instead, he taught me how to ensure that the land produced consistently.
It was left to me to uncover which of these stats belonged to which god. Allfather Odin sought knowledge, so I was sure that his stat was Learning. Thor was the god of might, so he was clearly the Martial stat. And if he wasn’t, then it was Tyr, the god of heroism and war. Diplomacy was likely the slain son of Odin, Baldur, since he had been so beloved by all the gods. Stewardship was probably his mother, Queen Frigg of the Aesir. Intrigue was obviously the domain of Loki, god of mischief.
So, I had to strive to succeed in all of them. I couldn’t disappoint the gods.
“I already did mine,” I protested, earning a shove from Havi. I shot him a dirty look -- don’t blame me because you couldn’t be bothered to do your chores. There was plenty of hard work to be found on the farm, and between everyone on the farmstead, there was a pretty even divide of who did what. I just did my work at the start of the day. It meant I could do what I wanted for the rest of it.
Ida gave me a knowing look, “Go check the traps, Eivor. You’re the one that insisted on placing them,” she told me. That was… fair. I had been pretty insistent on making traps, but it was mostly to better my skill with crafts. At first I tried to weave with my sisters and mother, but that really angered Father when he found out that I wanted to do ‘woman’s work’, so it wasn’t worth it. Making traps was considered manly, however, because I was killing something and providing for the family.
“Alright,” I agreed casting my brothers a look as I started to march. “Dickheads,” I jeered, getting in one final jab at them
“Asslicker,” was the retort they settled on. With that, we separated for now as I started down a well-walked path away from the house. One that was flanked by the fields of the farmstead. The plots were about a thousand steps long and about a fourth that wide. There were a number of them, each separated from the others with a small break to prevent the spread of disease and to mark out what was going where. In no time at all, I reached their end and made my way through the forest to check the various traps I had set.
I started making them a few years back, and it quickly became my responsibility to maintain and check them. I was happy to. Each catch was a meal for my family -- my parents, my brothers, and sisters that still lived, and even Ida, and I earned favor from the gods for my filial piety.
Ida was somewhere between a member of the family and a servant. She was a thrall. A slave. Even if at times it seemed as if she were my second mother. When I was younger, I had even boldly proclaimed that I would free her and make her a part of our family in truth.
Ida just laughed, kissed me on the head, and tucked me in while telling me that I didn’t need to. That she didn't mind her place as our thrall and my father's concubine.
She had been taken from her home when she hadn’t been much older than me, sold at a market, and bought by my father for a few coins. For twenty years, she had been our family's property, and she was… fine with it, as far as I could tell. She didn’t seem to mind her life. She seemed happy, even. To me she was every bit a part of the family as my brothers and sisters were.
I spotted a rabbit in one of my snares, and it must have been a fresh catch since it was still thrashing about as it hung above the ground with a noose around one of its back feet. With the ease of long practice, I walked over, grabbed the rabbit by the scruff around the back of its head, and turned its head sharply to one side. There was a sharp crack as its neck snapped and I got two exp for killing the rabbit as painlessly as I could. Tying him to my belt by his ears, I reset the snare and began to move through the other traps.
Three of them were empty, but I snagged another rabbit in the fourth. And with my handy sling, which was just a strip of leather and some flax twine, I snagged a few squirrels too. Each gave a little exp to my overall 'Level' -- though I had no clue what it actually meant -- and a little to my Martial via Marksmanship. After walking down a gentle slope, I found myself standing near the rushing water of a vast river. There was another stretch of land on the other side that was covered in trees, but I had never been there. The river wasn’t a white water rapid, but it was certainly chugging along.
A number of stones had been rolled out onto the beach, each with a rope tied around it. Rope that I made myself, and each one was a day's worth of effort. Pulling at one, I retrieved a heavy stick cage from the water that was filled with various fish. An invention of mine -- fish went in for food, but failed to get out when the opening proved too small for them to backtrack, trapping them inside. It was a decent haul, and walking along the beach, I found that the other two did well enough too.
Slapping the fish on the stones to kill them, I grabbed the sled I left near the river for this exact purpose and began piling up the fish. Then I rebaited the cages and threw them back out into the river.
It was a pretty decent pile of fish. They would be salted or smoked for preservation, and we would get a decent meal for the next couple of weeks.
“No one will go hungry,” I said, making a silent promise to myself and the gods. The land we lived in was harsh and our family reflected that. We had already had members of the family die -- one from a sickness during the winter. Another of hunger before I had been born. Two more went off to go iviking, only to die fighting.
Before Thor gifted me the knowledge of how to make the farm more successful, we had a few lean years. I hadn’t ever gone hungry, but I didn’t fail to notice that during winter some of my brothers' or Father’s bowls weren’t as full as they usually were. So, every ounce of food was precious. From wild game, to fish, to nuts and berries -- all of it was vital. The more that was caught and foraged, the more grain we could store for the winter so we wouldn’t go hungry.
The brother I lost to sickness had fallen ill because he had gone hungry. He ate less so the others could eat more. It made him weak. Then he fell ill. Then, on one winter morning, I realized that I hadn’t heard his hacking cough all night and saw that he had died in his sleep.
That, I swore to myself, would not happen again.
I was so lost in my head that I nearly missed a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I nearly dismissed it, but there was a sound that accompanied it. Looking over, my jaw dropped when I saw it was a boat coming down the river. A longship. Various shields lined the flanks of the ship as the people inside milled about, letting the river guide them downstream.
Vikings. When the thaw happened as winter lost its grip on the land, our men and women would jump on ships to raid their neighbors. For honor and glory, but also for their families. If they lacked food, raiding would feed their wives and children, either by letting them purchase it by bartering the goods they stole, or by stealing their neighbor’s harvest for themselves.
The ship was filled with about fifty men, all wearing various types of armor. Gambeson was the most common, with a helmet to protect the head, but the leader -- a tall man with broad shoulders and blonde hair, wore chainmail. He cut an impressive figure, and based on the smirk he wore as he and his ship sailed by, he knew it too.
“Four more years,” I told myself, turning away as they sailed on by. Their destination was an obvious one -- Alabu, the closest city nearby. It was under the control of Jarl Horrik, but I didn’t know anything about him. I just knew that we were underneath a guy called Jarl Horrik, and he was apparently friends with my Father. I had never been there despite it only being a half day’s travel on foot.
Four more years, then I would be old enough to be called a man. I could go raiding. I could earn glory and honor and prove my valor to the gods that had seen fit to grant me their attention, regardless of what form it took.
Then, I could make sure my family never went hungry again.
…
“Boy, you’re coming with me,” Father announced out of the blue, making me pause in the middle of my push-ups as I looked at him. I hadn’t heard him approach. Which was weird because the guy was practically a giant. Well, comparatively. He stood at around six feet tall, broad-shouldered with thick arms. He had a blood-red beard that dipped down to the center of his chest, while the rest of his hair was pulled into a single long braid. The sides of his head were shaved, with runes tattooed on the sides, and because of wash day, I knew they went down his neck and along his spine.
There were spots of white in his beard and hair, though, betraying his age. In his mid-forties, he was considered an old man. Not an elder, just old.
“Uhh?” was my intelligent response, tempted to do the last ten push-ups to finish off my daily quest. I didn’t know the purpose behind the odd ritual that the gods wanted me to do every day, but it couldn’t be denied that I saw the results physically. “Where are we going?” I asked, standing up as I wiped dirt off my pants. Father just grunted, not giving me an answer. Then I realized that he had a pack slung over his shoulder, which only intensified my confusion. “Is… it far?”
What was going on?
Father just started walking, heading to the forest. Everything was dark outside -- Everyone usually got up at the crack of dawn, so I woke up a little earlier to get my daily quests out of the way. No one questioned me about them anymore, but they didn’t understand why I did it, so I did them early in the morning before everyone was awake. It was easier that way. I spared a glance at the house to see my mom was standing in the doorway, looking at me fondly. Mom was a smaller woman, about a decade younger than Father. She had blonde hair and blue eyes -- she was a beautiful woman who looked like she wasn’t capable of pushing out six kids, nor that she had.
“Go with your father, Eivor. You’ll be back by tomorrow,” she informed me, making me perk up. Was… I finally going to see the city?! I offered a smile and a wave, earning a wan one in return.
“Bye!” I waved, bidding her farewell, chasing after Father. I caught up to him just as he reached the end of the farmstead. Out of my family, I had probably ventured the furthest from home if you didn’t count raiding, but rarely did I ever actually get to leave it. It was for the daily run -- one mile -- but beyond that…
It was like the farmstead existed in a void in a way. We got the occasional guest and saw the occasional ship going down the river, but that didn’t break the feeling of isolation that the farmstead had. Even the small village of Ivarstead didn’t help to break that feeling because I only visited it once a year for the celebration of Yule, and only recently.
I didn’t know why I was suddenly getting pulled to go on a journey with my Father because he wasn’t saying anything. He didn’t respond to my questions. He didn’t explain anything. He just marched on, forcing me to keep pace as we walked from the crack of dawn until the late afternoon. Eventually, I just gave up and drank in the sights. The forest eventually gave way to rolling hills that in turn gave way to a flatland.
Which in turn gave way to a completely separate forest, which my Father entered with me right behind him. That probably should have been my first hint that something strange was going on. This wasn't the way to Ivarstead. However, I only understood when we reached a rundown-looking hovel in the middle of the woods -- vines and moss having long since overtaken the old and dilapidated building. Hanging from the branches of trees around it were effigies of all sorts -- items of protection, and offerings to the gods.
I didn't know where I was, but I knew what it was. I was before the home of a witch.
Then, to make sure that I didn’t flee, my father put his hand on my shoulder. I was pretty fit for my age, far fitter than most of my brothers even, but I still hadn’t ever beaten my Father in a fight.
“Wise Woman, we seek your aid,” Father spoke up, calling out to whoever might dwell within the old house. He unslung the burlap sack from over his shoulder, “We bring you gifts -- food and wealth.”
He began to empty the sack, revealing some of the fish that I caught, then gold and silver. Where he got it, I had absolutely no clue. The how was obvious, but where less so. There was a silver cup, a handful of coins, but most notably of all was a gold necklace. A heavy one -- it was made of small and thin gold bars that were connected with a gold chain.
The necklace looked like something a king would be proud to wear.
“Erik Sigurdson,” I heard a raspy voice come from within the house, speaking my father’s name. “For what matter do you need my aid?”
What could he need the aid of a witch for-
“My son… he has either been blessed by the gods… or bewitched by some foul spirit,” Father said, and that was something that I never once considered. Could it be a spirit that had… possessed me in some way? A force of Hel sent to beguile me? I looked back at him to see that he was giving me an even gaze, his lips thin. There was worry in his eyes. And fear. I wondered what he saw in mine. “I know not which. He never cried as a babe. He fights like a man grown. He knows things that no one else does… his hands are too clever.”
All sounded like splendid things, but the god Loki often proved that not all blessings were as they seemed. Appearances were deceiving. Now I shared my father’s worry. I began to suspect that maybe I had been wrong. That maybe the quests I received were part of some evil entity's schemes.
… but that didn’t really make sense, did it? I was stronger and the farm was better. There could be no doubt that it was the gods that spoke to me and gave me their knowledge when they felt I deserved it. Could it be a foul and jealous spirit had taken hold of my father? It made more sense than me being wrong… but I also couldn’t see my father ever being bewitched. He as too strong!
And, surely, the gods would have warned me if such a thing had happened.
There was a chuckle from the house, “All things that men pray to the gods for.” she noted, sounding amused at my plight.
Father took in a breath, looking at me evenly. “Aye, they are. Since when do the gods answer our prayers so thoroughly?” he questioned, “I hope it’s the gods doing. I hope that the norns have weaved a great fate for my boy. Yet, I fear that darker forces are at work.”
“For when is a gift not a gift?” The woman remarked from her house. “Send the boy in. I shall look upon him and give you your answer, Erik.” With that, Father shoved me forward, nearly making me trip over the small pile of gold. I spared him a look, every muscle taut, ready to make a break for it if it came down to it. Looking away, I gazed into the pitch-black shadows of the doorway and, slowly, I walked forward.
Fear weighed heavily on me because I didn’t know what she would say. I didn’t know the truth.
I stepped through the threshold to see that the interior of the house was just as dilapidated as the exterior. There was a heavy stench of blood and herbs inside that seemed to have soaked into the old wood. Dried herbs hung in groups from the ceiling -- some I recognized as garlic, and lavender, but I was clueless to most. My gaze was drawn to a woman in the main room, in a bed tucked in the corner that was heavy with furs of all kinds.
The woman sat upright in the bed, her legs covered with the pelt of a wolf, was probably the oldest-old person in existence. There was no other way to describe her. She looked old enough to have supped with Ymir, the first giant, and instead of dying when her time came, she just got older and older and older instead.
Her hair was rough like it was made of gray straw, her face covered in deep wrinkles, and her eyes were sunken into their sockets. Her lips were dried and cracked, and her skin had a leathery quality. She sat with her in her lap, and I noticed that one hand was missing a pinky finger, half of her ring finger and the top of her thumb.
She looked at me like she could see right through me and into my soul. I froze in place, really regretting not booking it as I looked back at her.
I was so distracted by the absolutely ancient oldness of the old lady, I completely missed the other person in the house. A girl around my age -- raven black hair, sunken in cheeks that spoke of hunger, and a simple dress that was filthy. Most notably, however, were her yellow eyes. Almost like a wolf. An unnatural color, which stood out more given the black smudges of soot or something like it that framed her eyes.
The old woman chuckled, while the girl looked at me like she was deciding which ribs to bury her blade in, a statement that I wish were a joke. She had a knife in her hand and she was crouched low to the ground, ready to spring into action at a moments notice. “Ah… you look just like your father in color, but you favor your mother in the face,” the old woman remarked, “Come, sit down. My little cottage is a ways away from your home. I’m sure you must be weary.”
I purposely gave the girl a wide berth, eyeing her like a coiled snake. And when I sat on the offered stool near the bed, I made sure not to turn my back to her. The woman found that funny.
“Don’t worry about her. She’s just one of my daughters -- a skittish little thing. She made it this long by being cautious of the unknown,” she said, ignoring the girl's muttering of ‘I’m not your daughter’ under her breath. The old woman fixed me with a sharp stare, “What about you? Do you also fear the unknown?”
What was the correct answer there? “Yes?” I tried, the response coming out more like a question.
The woman gave me a mockery of a smile, “That was a lie.” she said, her tone so gentle it could be mistaken for kind.
“The old witch always knows when someone is lying,” the girl spoke up, her voice low. As if she were threatening me. I glanced at her, then at the woman. Right. Okay. That’s fine. I could work with that.
“I’m not,” I admitted with a small shrug of my shoulders, meeting the woman’s gaze. She was eerie and ominous in nature, but that didn’t necessarily make her dangerous. The biggest threat to me she represented was the fact that it was her verdict that decided whether I was blessed by the gods or beguiled by an evil spirit. Her age granted her wisdom, and as a seer, she would surely know the truth.
The woman gave a wan smile, “What do you believe I will say, hm? About your condition?”
What did I feel? How was I supposed to know? “I don’t know? Whatever fate decides? You’re a wise woman, so… you would know if I was cursed, right?”
The girl shifted at that, her eyes narrowing at me, but I only looked at the woman. “I see what your father means,” she noted, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “But it is not I who decides, but the gods. They whisper their words to me, giving their verdict as they follow the will of the norns that weave the fate of all men and women.”
I understood that, and I confirmed as much with a small nod. Fate was inescapable. From the moment you were born, the norns began to weave your fate, intertwining it with others, to form the tapestry of the world. And when your life came to an end, the three norns would sheer the fabric of your life. My entire life, and the lives of everyone I knew and loved, were simply a small part of that tapestry.
The day that we are born was decided by fate, as was the day that we died. There was no escaping it. Even the gods were subject to the whims of fate -- Odin’s death was preordained. He was fated to die to Fenrir. Thor was destined to die by the venom of Jörmungandr, the world serpent. Then the end of all -- Ragnorok.
“But, you did not answer my question. If you do not fear the unknown, then what do you feel about it? What does it mean to you?” The old woman asked me, tilting her head as if she were hearing my thoughts and found them curious. With her magics, she just might.
I paused for a moment, almost uncertain of the answer. “I… want to know,” I answered, clumsily putting my thoughts into words. A poet, I was not. “I want to learn the unknown.”
“Oh, you wish to emulate Odin, who gave his left eye for knowledge?” she questioned, leaning forward as if she found something curious about me. I shifted where I sat, offering an uncertain shrug. “Speak up, boy. There is no shame in wanting to learn. There is shame in the reason why, though -- so speak your reason, and be judged.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it for a moment, struggling to find the words. My learning stat was so low. So very low. I had no idea how high it could go but I understood that the number of the stat represented how little I actually knew. The same with Martial, or Diplomacy, or Stewardship. All the numbers were so low. What if they could go up to a hundred? Or a thousand? Or if they didn’t have a limit and they could go up forever?
I didn’t know what fate had in store for me. However, I knew what I wanted.
“I want to learn everything. I want to speak every language. I want to know absolutely everything about the world,” I started, the truth pouring from my lips. “I want to prove myself in battle! I want to be a great warrior- no, I want to be the greatest warrior. And I want to travel. I want to meet all kinds of people -- from… outcasts to kings. Even the gods, if I can! I want for my family’s farm to be successful… and I want for them to never go hungry. I want them to be fat, happy, and rich, and have exciting lives so they can impress the gods when we all feast in Valhalla. I want…” I trailed off, only now realizing just how many things I wanted.
There were more. So much more. So many things that I wanted to do, or see, or experience… I would need a thousand lifetimes to do it all.
“Ah, I see you now,” she spoke with a delighted cackle. “Very well then… Erik! Your boy is either blessed by the gods or cursed by them. Only time shall reveal the truth.” she spoke, looking directly at me. Then, in a softer voice, she continued. “Such a shame it is that I will die before I see what you become. I’m certain that it will be quite a sight.”
I didn’t respond, simply hoping off of my stool so fast you'd be forgiven for thinking that it had burned me. She didn’t need to tell me twice for me to get out of here. I spared a glance at the girl again to see that she was still glaring at me. I took a step away, only to pause when an idea hit me. I hadn’t thought of it before on account that I was worried about the potential hellish fate that awaited for me if this didn’t go my way.
“Is there something that you desire, child?” The old woman spoke as if she could hear my thoughts as I turned around to look at her.
This place was full of herbs and stuff. Medicine and magic. Who knew what she could teach me?
Looking back at her for a moment, I asked, “Can I come back here? To learn from you?”
“You may not.” Came the woman’s swift reply. “Only my daughters may learn my ways. You have many gifts, Eivor. Communion with the gods is not one of them.”
Well, I tried.
I walked to the door to see my Father on his knees, the expression on his face could only be described as relief. Like a huge weight had been crushing him for all of my life, and now it had been lifted from his shoulders. He reached out to me, tears gathering in his eyes, “My boy!” he said, expecting me to rush over to him. I did.
He effortlessly lifted me up, his good cheer clear as he led us back down the path we had taken. I turned to look behind us, my eyes meeting the gaze of the girl in the house, peeking over the corner as she watched us go. Her eyes narrowed before her head quickly dipped back inside.
There was no reason for it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to see her again.
Comments
CallOut4
Haven't we read this?
Akhjan Yerkin
Great fic. Really wanted to read a historical gamer type of story for a long time.
