RuneWarriors

by James Jennewein

  In a flash of pure white light Dane saw what he must do.

  He tore from his body his mud-spattered tunic and, in one swift movement, flung it deftly over the Shield, covering up the Eye. Now covered, it could no longer see! Thidrek tried to shake the Shield to remove the rain-soaked tunic. But it stuck there, as if glued, the mud adhering it to the Shield. In a flash Dane was up and fighting again, surprising Thidrek with his speed, and before Thidrek could react, Dane had kicked the Shield of Odin from Thidrek’s grasp and grabbed it up in his own left hand.

  Now the tables were turned. Thidrek slashed away with his sword, but wherever the sword went, Dane’s unveiled Shield was instantly there, blocking the blow. And finally, when Thidrek raised his sword to strike, the very sword itself was swept out of Thidrek’s hand by the force of the cyclone and sucked up into the black hole above them.

  Thidrek panicked, defenseless now, and looked around for something to use as a weapon. His eyes fell upon the Hammer. He ran to it. In a desperate frenzy, he climbed up on it and clung to it, pleading with the gods to please unleash its powers again to defeat his foe.

  And then, as if in answer to Thidrek’s plea, Thor’s Hammer began to teeter upward, the handle end beginning to rise up into the sky. Seconds later, the force of the gale was so great that the entire Hammer, with Thidrek still astride it, lifted off the ground and was sucked up into the vortex, whipping in circles, tighter and tighter, and soon disappeared completely into the maelstrom as if gulped into the maw of a giant beast made of wind. And both Thidrek and the Hammer were gone….

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  MANY HAPPY RETURNS

  Dane lay there on the ground, slowly regaining his breath, feeling washed clean by the rains. Slowly the winds subsided, the rain abated, and the blackish clouds blew away, the dark and angry skies turning bright with golden light.

  “I guess Thor wanted his Hammer back,” said a voice. It was Fulnir, looking down at Dane and helping his friend to his feet. Then from the heavens they heard resounding claps of thunder. The booming rumbles were a welcome sound to their ears, for they meant that the Hammer was indeed back in Thor’s mighty hands and all was right with the world. All Dane could do was smile a big stupid grin as everyone came out from the rubble and gathered round him, hugging and kissing him—well, the women, at least—and his whole body, he realized, felt warm and good all over.

  His mother enfolded him in her arms and whispered loving words in his ear. “So good to have you home, Son. You’ve made us proud.”

  Dane and the villagers felt even happier when they spied Vik and Blek and Ulf the Whale, who’d stayed behind to fight Thidrek and his men, as they appeared, holding knives on Grelf and the last few guardsmen who’d surrendered. The ragged-looking Grelf wore a particularly sour look on his face, though it was hard to tell if this was due to the beating he’d received or the disappointment he felt over losing his potential real estate empire.

  Then Dane saw Orm the Hairy One and Rik the Vicious straggle up behind the others, Rik limping on the bandaged leg he’d injured. Happy to be reunited, Vik the Vicious and Rik the Vicious bumped chests and embraced, then broke out a cask of mead and began serving drinks to everyone. Fulnir and Ulf the Whale broke out their wood pipes and there was music. Drott the Dim issued a belch and there was laughter. And one by one, with an outpouring of affection, the villagers welcomed Astrid home.

  Even William the Brave, the boy who’d thrown the men the weapons, showed himself amid the merriment, asking for mead and grinning in amusement at Dane, who was performing a mime of Thidrek to the delight of the gathering. When the boy’s eyes met Dane’s, the warmth of the boy’s smile told Dane that William had found a new home in the village.

  Then from out of the crowd, a weary-looking Lut the Bent shuffled up to Dane. The expression in the ancient man’s eyes was grave as he gave Dane a long stare, as if he were about to share some long-held secret. Dane waited for him to speak. Finally, Lut crinkled his lips into a smile. “Well done, son,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they called you Rune Warrior someday.” Then, mumbling that the voyage had been far too arduous for a man of his advanced years, Lut the Bent excused himself and went off for a long-overdue nap.

  And before he had time to reflect on what Lut had said, Dane heard a voice he’d thought he’d never hear again.

  “Mate,” it said, and a firm hand found his shoulder. Dane turned to see Jarl there, his hair long and glossy and his grin as toothy as ever. The two men knocked fists, both feeling it was good to be home.

  New tears of joy were shed as the villagers gathered round Jarl the Fair, touching his hair and cheeks and welcoming him home. The men who’d seen him fall were especially moved to find him alive as ever. For, as Jarl soon explained to his awed friends and family, he hadn’t died at all. Yes, after losing his footing while fighting Thidrek, he’d fallen from the battlements. But as fate would have it, he’d splashed into the marshy waters of the moat below and a thicket of reeds had cushioned his fall. He’d come to, dazed. Without a weapon and knowing that Blackhelmet and Redhelmet would soon be fighting over who’d get to chop his head off, he’d quickly swum away to the other side of the castle and hidden amid the high grasses there, awaiting his fate. But he’d never been found. He’d heard the terrible explosion of the Hammer, the rumble of the avalanche, then all had grown quiet. And after a time he’d ventured forth, found a horse by the side of the road, and ridden home.

  Later that afternoon, everyone gathered in the home of Dane and his mother. It was there, in a solemn voice, that Dane the Defiant, son of Voldar the Vile, grandson of Vlar the Courageous, addressed his fellow villagers.

  “The gods have looked upon us with favor and given us victory…and our own dear Astrid,” he said. His eyes met Astrid’s, and she returned his look of love. Then, holding up the Shield of Odin for all to see, he said, “And I return to all of you the sacred Shield of Odin, the protector of our people.” Reaching up, he hung the Shield on the wall above the fire, and all stood in reverent silence for a moment.

  Jarl then stepped forth. He clasped Dane’s shoulder and said the words they all were thinking: “You’re our protector now.”

  And at that moment an odd thing happened.

  It began snowing. Great big fluffy flakes floated down, and everyone went outside to romp and play in the last snowfall of spring. Dane heard the scrawk! of a bird. Sure enough, it was Klint, his raven, circling the sky high overhead.

  “Well, I’ll be dipped in weasel spit,” said Dane, his heart lifting at this sight. The bird swooped down and landed on Dane’s arm, squawking a greeting. Dane said hello to his friend and held out his palm, and the bird dropped something into it: the Thor’s Hammer locket. And now both the bird and the locket were safely home once again.

  CHAPTER LAST

  HAPPILY ALMOST EVER AFTER

  The moon shone clear and bright that night and laid a blanket of silver across the newfallen snow. Dane and Astrid walked hand in hand through the woods, not needing to speak; they were together again, and the mere sound of each other’s breathing was enough to make them happy.

  Reaching the rim of the forest, they stopped and looked out over the frozen lake.

  After a moment, Dane drew something from his pocket and, pulling up Astrid’s hand, placed it in her palm. She looked down and saw it was the silver Thor’s Hammer locket he’d tried to give her not so many nights ago. At last he was to place it where it belonged: round the throat of his intended.

  He gazed down at her, so full of love, and when he heard her say the words, “I accept,” he could have sworn he saw the faces of his children in her eyes. He drew it up and clasped it round her neck. And then he kissed her…and she kissed him back.

  And as they walked back through the woods, Dane began to set forth what he called the “rules of their relationship,” telling her that wearing his locket meant she was his and his only and that she could not be seen walking alone with any other boy.
Astrid said that was fine with her. “That means no boating or horseback riding with anyone else, either,” he continued. “And at festivals you won’t sit or dance with anyone but me.” Astrid stiffened and stopped walking, not liking the sound of this. But Dane, too busy to notice, walked on, saying, “And if I want time alone or want to go out hunting or fishing with my friends, you’ll not complain and—”

  —Whomp! The axe she threw whizzed by his ear and embedded with a whack in the trunk of the tree right behind him. Dane’s eyes went to the axe and then back to Astrid. “On second thought,” he said, “who needs rules?”

  And then they heard a commotion, a clamor of voices coming from the village, and Drott the Dim came stumbling up to them, all in a tizzy, barely making sense, he was so excited.

  “You’re never going to believe it, c’mon, you’ve got to see—it’s the snow, the cold weather, it’s—well, c’mon!” And off they ran through the woods.

  He was sitting up and talking to the children when she and Dane came round the corner and saw him. It was Thrym the frost giant, alive and doing just fine. The snow that had fallen that night and the sudden freezing temperatures had refrozen his thawing limbs and brought him back to life. When he’d awakened and poked his head out of the rubble, the villagers reported, the first thing he’d said was “Astrid.”

  She came to him and touched his cheek. It made him smile to see her, and she smiled at him and told him how happy she was to see him again. She thanked him for what he’d done for them, for saving their lives, and he seemed to blush a darker shade of icy blue.

  Astrid introduced Thrym to all the other villagers, making a special point of introducing him to Lut, to her father, and of course to Dane.

  Dane apologized for stealing his porridge bowl, and the giant said it was all right, he’d already carved another. Thrym said he was sorry for having frozen Astrid to the floor, and she said she knew he hadn’t meant to harm her. Soon it was time for him to go. He had to return to the mountaintop or else he might melt for good. He said good-bye to everyone, and then Astrid walked off a little ways with him, wanting to be alone for a moment with the frost giant when she said her farewell.

  She patted him on the arm and kissed him on the cheek.

  “You’ll always be in my heart, Thrym,” she said.

  “And you mine,” he replied.

  And with that the frost giant turned and, stepping over the big pile of rubble, made his way back up the mountain, while Dane, Astrid, and the others silently watched him go. Just as the giant was disappearing from view, Klint the raven, circling high overhead, squawked a goodbye. Thrym turned and waved, and the villagers all waved back, their hearts too heavy to speak. Then the giant gave another wave to his messenger friend, turned, and soon was gone from sight. The raven flew down to where Dane stood arm in arm with Astrid and landed on Dane’s shoulder. Dane lifted his mead cup and let the raven dip his beak, and refreshed, the bird flew back to his nest atop the thatch roof of Dane’s family hut.

  And soon the crowd of people broke up, all returned to their homes for the night: Drott the Dim and Fulnir the Stinking and Orm the Hairy One and Vik and Rik and Lut and Jarl the Fair and Ulf the Whale and all the others, back to the warm and welcoming arms of their families. Dane opened the door of his home to let his mother in, as well as William the Brave, whom Dane had taken in as family. Then Dane walked Astrid, too, across the threshold, and there before the hearth fire, they came together for another kiss, each safe at last in the arms of the other.

  And so it was that a boy became a man, found love, and brought peace again to his people. As prophesied, he’d found wind, wisdom, and the thunder in his heart, and now life could go pretty much back to normal for this little village by the sea. The men hunted and fished, braving the dangers of sea and forest, and the women gave birth to children and did all the really hard and important work.

  And what of Thidrek’s fate? No one really knows. Some believe that, after being sucked up into the center of the cyclone, his body was no doubt torn to itty-bitty bits and the pieces scattered to the four corners of the world. Others say he was sucked straight up into the heavens and into the hands of Thor himself. And if so, what do you suppose Thor did to him? The answer, perhaps, is best left to the imagination, but whatever his fate, you can be sure it wasn’t pleasant.

  As for Blackhelmet and Redhelmet, an odd fate befell them. After Thidrek had released the Hammer and hurried off to have it out with Dane, his castle fell into chaos. The commoners rioted, setting the place on fire, torching the tapestries and timbers, cheering as the giant poster of Thidrek’s face took flame, looting and pillaging and tearing the place apart. Blackhelmet and Redhelmet, the only two guardsmen not killed or scared off by rioters, made it to Thidrek’s upper rooms, intending to make off with their master’s hoard of silver. But the Berserkers, who had been the first to desert, had already broken into Thidrek’s cash vault and carted off his entire cache of coins and art objects. People had stripped the rooms bare of most everything else, even the bedclothes and Thidrek’s knitting needles. Blackhelmet and Redhelmet went from room to room in mounting frustration, tearing through closets, rifling drawers, pulling up floorboards in a vain search for something, anything, of value, but to no avail. And then under the bed they found a wineskin, still heavy with liquid, and, knowing Thidrek’s tastes, they both assumed it was filled with fine wine. Unbeknownst to either, this was the very same wineskin Astrid had tried to poison Thidrek with, the one with the idiot water inside it. And so, being thirsty and desperate for booty of any kind, the two guardsmen fought over who would get to drink from it. Blackhelmet pulled it free and managed several long swallows before Redhelmet wrenched it away and guzzled down the rest. And though no one was there to see the initial effects the idiot water had upon them, it is said that they lived the rest of their lives in a comical state of abject imbecility, aimlessly wandering about, slack-jawed and drooling, suddenly laughing for no apparent reason, mumbling half words and bits of songs they’d learned as children, making no sense whatsoever.

  The Berserkers, duly impressed by Dane’s defeat of Thidrek and by his forgiveness, swore allegiance to the new village chieftain and promised to live in peace and harmony and not steal too many of the village goats. And although they were to keep this blood oath for many years, on nights when children awoke and were frightened by the eerie howl of wolves nearby in the forest, parents told them these weren’t wolves at all, just the wailing cries of bloodthirsty spirits who’d been cast out of the bodies of the Berserker warriors by Dane’s magic and now roamed the forest looking for someone to eat. Dane thought it strange that parents told their children these kinds of bedtime stories, and he vowed if he were ever a father never to tell scary tales after dinnertime.

  And speaking of nightmares, Lut the Bent never did tell Dane of the dream he had had so long ago, deciding there was no point to it, the young man having more than proven that it was possible to change your fate if you believed in yourself and got a few lucky breaks. Fulnir switched to a vegetables-only diet, as the smartened-up Drott had advised, and, lo and behold, it quelled his intestinal disquietude for a whole week. And whenever Jarl the Fair talked of his fight with Thidrek on the ramparts, which was as often as anyone would listen, he so embellished and embroidered the facts that in only a matter of days it became known as the Folkesagn av Jarl Fager og Fryktløs og Kjekk, or the “Legend of Jarl the Fair and Fearless and Handsome.”

  And Drott? Well, every once in a while, when the moon was full, he’d get a flash of the old wisdom and he’d amaze and astound the villagers with new insights about the world, like how to get bloodstains out of animal hides and how long after eating you should wait before taking a swim. But then, just as quickly, these flashes of knowledge would vanish and he’d go back to belching and laughing and drinking ale with his friends, the same old lovable dunce he had always been.

  And thus we leave these sons of Thor, each having gained the strength and cour
age to face death and the wisdom to greet each new day as if it were to be his last. Finally reunited with family and friends, they settled down, expecting to enjoy the long period of peace and prosperity the prophecy had promised would be theirs.

  But, unfortunately, that’s not what happened.

  One night just a few weeks later, Dane the Defiant awoke, his sleep disturbed by a dream of his own, a terrible dream that left him too troubled to sleep. He lay for a time in his bed-straw, listening to the night sounds and wondering what to do. At last he rose and put on his coat, intending to take a walk in the woods as his father often had, knowing the fresh air would help to clear his mind. But soon his footsteps took him past the hut of Lut the Bent, and there he stopped, somehow unsurprised to find Lut awake too.

  Invited in, Dane sat on the dirt floor and took the mead horn Lut offered him. The hut smelled of rosemary from the tallow candles Lut had lit. Dane began to tell the old one of his dream, Lut listening intently, the candlelight reflected in his eyes. And when Dane halted at the most disturbing part of it, not sure how to continue, he was startled to hear Lut finish the dream for him, as the old one described every detail, as if he had had the very same dream himself. Which, as Dane soon realized, he had.