When they carried her broken body in, through the gate, I decided to do the same. I would throw myself over the wall. It was quick and no Union Doctor could do anything. Even though our teacher said they could bring the dead back to life, strict laws prohibited that. I'd had enough of the beatings and the humiliation.
It was fast and I would be in the land of Hel where mother was and perhaps she even waited for me. So, long after midnight when everyone, even the gate man was asleep, I rushed across the yard, climbed the solid Duro Crete steps and pulled myself up between the battlements. Nilfeheim had no moons unlike I had learned other worlds had, but we had a beautiful star filled sky.
The stars above me twinkled and Earthers had called them the Pleiades, of which Solken our own star was one. This region of space was more commonly known as the Xunx reach. Of course there weren't any Xunx left today, and the next day would come with one Neo Viking less. Almost 120 meters below, dark waves smashed into the rugged teeth like rocks and turned into white foaming surf.
"Thor and Odin, you have forsaken me, punished my mother and cursed me with a father who hates me more than anything in the world. I know you hate cowards but I am not strong enough. Today, he killed the Nubhir puppy Greifen had given to me this morning. He stomped the little animal to a gory pulp and made me clean it up. He promised he would do the same to me as soon as I turn sixteen. What can I do against that?"
There was of course no answer, the Gods were too busy drinking and celebrating to notice the perils of a Viking boy. I jumped, but I did not fall! A leather clad hand held me by the collar and pulled me back. A shadowy figure, a hooded cloak around his shape said to me. "Who will avenge your mother if you kill yourself? You must endure and grow and learn to fight and then kill Isegrim and cleanse this Burg from all its filth."
"Who are you?"
"It matters not, Eric. I cannot reveal myself to you for now, but if you will come to me every night, I will teach you the way of the sword and how to fight. Find me in the lowest basement, where the old hidden passage ends. "
The shadowy figure let me go and stepped back without making a sound melting into the truly black shadows of the battlements. I stepped forward, still at the edge of my nerves, my mind still reeling from the death decision I had made only moments ago, yet there was no one.
Did I just dream? The very next night, I sneaked down past the under croft and storage basements, deep into the roughhewn narrow and completely dark passageway that was chiseled out of the rock during the first
Clan wars, almost a thousand years in the past. It was never completed and ended in a little cavern like room, no one but me would come down here during the day, and certainly, no one would be here at this hour.
I was certain I had imagined it and was just a coward too afraid to end it, yet, as I reached the cavern a voice said, "I will not talk about anything except to teach you how to fight and you will never ask me any questions.
If you do, I won't come back. Do you want me to teach you?"
"Yes!"
A grinding sandy sound as if stone was moved over stone occurred and I could feel a soft breeze of wind. Something pulled on my mangy Fangsnapper fur cape and then lights came on, artificial Lumi plates bolted or glued to a rough ceiling.
The cavern room was spacious and there were swords and blaster weapons in racks on the walls, which from the looks of it, had not been moved or touched in a thousand years, caked with a thick layer of dust.
There was a bench, a table made of Dura Plast of all things and a stack of similar old looking crates at one end. The man in the black hooded cape seemed to have some sort of mask underneath it, as I could see nothing but black underneath. The man was at least as tall as my father, but had the muscles of a peak athlete underneath black leather and fabric. He made a gesture across the room.
"Yes Eric, the Ragnarssons were among the most vicious pirates back in the days and this is what is left from their spoils. This room and that past, have long been forgotten by all but those of true Ragnarsson blood. Now strip your upper body free of garments and take that Bokken over there."
"I take what?"
"This is how a wooden Training sword is called at some other corners of the Universe. Just take it!" I simply called him teacher and from that night on, he trained with me every night for at least 4 hours.
When I was done, I was so tired, I had no energy left to dream...
Some of the things he made me do were strange and odd, something he called pushups and gymnastics. I didn't really think it had anything to do with fighting but I did it anyway.
Of course, I wondered who he was, and I figured he was someone like old Kveldulf. While we trained, he told me many things of the Ragnarsson Clan, but he had an odd way of speaking. He did speak the standard union like we all did, but on Nilfeheim we still used many of the old worlds and when speaking on any official business we made sure we talked the "old" way.
We pronounced the 'r' much stronger and had more 'n' sounds. I knew all this from our Union School teacher who always tried to make us speak the proper Union way.
My mysterious teacher, however, spoke just like our Union teacher, the proper Union Lingu and while he knew a lot about Viking ways and words, he never really used any of the old words. Then after many weeks, I climbed down to the forgotten pirate hideout and tonight he made me fight him with a real broad sword for almost an hour. He then stepped back and said. "The Union year is soon ending and with it comes Union Week celebrations and the end of this school year. You have learned much indeed, I wish I could teach you more but I must leave Your Grandfather is soon to arrive, when he is here, I must not be, but the day you become Chief, I will reveal myself to you. Until then, tell no one of me, no one, not even him."
"You commanded me never to ask questions and even though they burn on my lips, I have not, but I am far from the warrior I need to be to face my father."
"I promised someone who loves you very much to teach you the craft of war and skills of fighting. No worries, Eric, I have opened your eyes to the way of the sword and I am certain you will find others to teach you. We will meet again and then I will tell you who I am
He took my hand, squeezed it and then without another word left. I rushed after him through the secret rock wall door but the narrow stairwell was empty.
***
Only two days had passed since my mysterious teacher had left. Greifen sat in the Kitchen nursing a tankard of warmed ale with a generous helping of Midril's secret herbs and spices that she gave to those who got the cold. Judging by his bright red nose and the numb voice, Greifen was very sick or perhaps had a tankard too much.
I was there as well, sitting in a corner scrubbing the big kettle, because it was Wednesday and Midril would make Fin Stew. Greifen snorted like a pregnant Fangsnapper into a huge kerchief and with a suffering expression and Nubhir puppy eyes stared at Midril.
"Only I catch a cold in Shortsummer. Those Northern winds are really stubborn this season, seems the Frost giants are not giving up as easily this Shortsummer."
She stemmed her left arm into her wide hips and shook her ever present wooden spoon at Greifen.
"It's not the weather that has made you sick. You were drinking with the Peerson fishers till the wee hours and one of them had the cold and infected you."
"Oh I am sure it was the wind and I am certain I'll feel better soon with another helping of your good herbs with a bit of that good ale."
Midril snickered, "Alright, I'll fix you up." He got another tankard and took a deep drought. His face turned as if he had bitten into a rotten fish, but his red nose turned color almost instantly back to normal. "What in Loki's name was that? This was not ale with herbs." "It was hot water with two anti-cold pills and a Tox Neutralizer floating in it. Traditional herbs won't cure a cold. The meds from the Union Clinic, however, will."
He looked sober, bright, alert, completely flabbergasted and a tad angry.
"That was a rotten thing to do Midril.
I was just about in the prefect zone and now I've got to start again."
"Go peel the seaweed stems and I'll get you another tankard."
She plopped a big tray with thick ten inch long seaweed stems before him and handed him a peeler. Once the tough outer skin was removed, the soft mushy inside could be cooked and squished.
He immediately started and then pointed the peeler at me. "It's a shame how our Old Sire treats his first born!" Greifen gave her a thankful nod as she put a tankard of ale next to the tray. To me she said. "Eric, leave the kettle it's clean enough, go get some fresh air."
I pushed the clean kettle to its spot and left the kitchen. To make sure no one would catch me idle and give me another, usually bad chore. I went outside beyond the walls. Except for the small, leveled gravel area right outside the gate, where floaters could land, the rest of the island consisted of sheer cliffs and titanic ragged boulders.
Climbing down the south side, right past Olle's Tooth, a particular tall and rugged rock, said to resemble the rotten tooth of one of my forefathers, there was a small, perhaps twelve meter deep and twenty meters wide pebble beach known by the Clan as Sigrid's Secret. It was well hidden from sight on each side by tall cliffs and an overhang from above.
It was one of my favorite spots. Legend had it that the first Ragnarsson family landed here claiming this rock. Another story told about Sten Ragnarsson, who had killed himself here about 500 years ago and that one could still hear his screaming as he lamented his dishonorable death. Ingibjorg Ragnarsson, his daughter, supposedly buried a tremendous treasure here. Of course, no one believed that.
Where on Nilfeheim, would a woman gain a treasure? All her possessions were her dowry and it was given to her husband. She too was said to haunt these cliffs as her spirit was searching for whatever baubles she had lost.
As isolated as Nilfeheim tried to remain from the rest of the Union, we were part of a technological advanced culture, yet, many Neo Vikings believed in the supernatural and stories of the Gods and tales of haunting and ghosts were never far from our mind and lips. Midril claimed to have seen ghosts before. When I was younger I believed her when she told about the one legged Gunghir Ragnarsson, who supposedly haunted the storage cellar but now I was convinced, it was a mere tale to keep me and the other kids from the pickled fish barrels. I sat down and watched a pair of Toe Pincher crabs as they scurried over the dark pebbles and enjoyed the wind and the weather.
I would have loved to go for a dive but I did not bring my wet suit or fins. I didn't want to go back all across the yard to get it as there was a good chance, I would run into Bjorgolf the Yard Master who tended the subs and hunting gear of the clan. That fat bastard was a favorite of my father and enjoyed giving me lots to do so he did not have to do it. Father had given him explicit permission to beat me anytime my work was not as expected. He always found something wrong and a reason to use his heavy leather belt to thrash me.
Even though my father had moved the Olafson Clan, this rock was still known as Ragnarsson Isle and had been the traditional home of the Ragnarsson Clan ever since Nilfeheim was settled by Terran Colonists. Now during Shortsummer and on a clear day I could see the Oseberg Island from my tower window. It was where the Osebergs had their Burg, but down here, all I saw were the churning ocean waves. The Osebergs were mortal enemies of the Ragnarsson Clan and until about 500 years ago, there was open war between these clans. It was still forbidden to even speak the name Oseberg within these walls. Many of the older Clans, including my father lamented the fact that piracy, clan wars and the raids on other Burgs were no longer permitted. He often claimed that he would rather take the wealth of another clan by axe and sword than by fishing, working and marriage, as he put it.
That this was only empty bravado was apparent even to me, as he did not openly challenge the Elhir Chief. Using a whip in a Challenge was only permitted if the opponent would also choose it, going against a man as wild and strong as the Elhir Chief and a master of sword and axe was something completely different than beating unarmed servants.
I was watching two crabs fighting over a dead Silver Flicker Fish; it probably went too close to the surge as the waves broke against the cliffs and got smacked too hard against the rock. Almost too late, I heard footsteps in the gravel and more out of instinct I ducked, still something hit me pretty hard on the head.
I jumped back and turned to see Lothar, my half brother brandishing a wooden practice sword. He was only ten but had inherited all the Olafson bulk and was almost my equal in terms of strength and body size. His eyes sparkled with delight as he laughed and screamed. "I made you bleed, I will tell father!" He played with his sword making its tip circle before my face. "I could also kill you right now and there is nothing you can do. Raise your hand against me and I tell father and he will break you."
"I've had it with you and your arrogance! I am sick and tired of your petty games. This is Ragnarsson Rock and you and that father of ours are here by the grace of my grandfather and my mother!"
I stepped inside his reach, twisted his wrist with my left and smacked my fist as hard as I could right into his blabbering smiling mouth. I could feel something break as my fist connected, he was flung back; stumbled and fell. For some reason, time seemed to slow down as I watched him fall, the back of his head hitting one of the bigger rocks. He didn't move or make any sound as he lay there and I was certain I had killed him! I spat out and said.
"Go tell that to father!" The realization of what I had done hit me the very same moment. Fear and guilt made it impossible to even think one coherent thought. He stirred and opened his eyes, he was not dead! A voice in me urged me to finish him off, the crabs would make short work of his remains and the surge would take whatever was left.
He would simply be missing and one problem of my life would be solved! He deserved to die! He was the son of a woman who replaced my mother! The woman was the reason my father had killed her in the first place! I was the rightful heir not he! Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement. Four men, wearing dark wetsuits and armed with spear guns and swords waded ashore, two of them dragging a limp body of a man between them.
While the man they dragged ashore, had his head slumped down so I could not see his face, I recognized one of the men, Hilfheim, the brother to Leif Elhir and the man Greifen had beaten in a brawl. The situation was instantly clear, the Elhir had retaliated and whoever they were dragging between them wearing Olafson red was the latest victim in the escalating feud. They had of course seen me and Hilfheim barked.
"What a fortune, now our revenge will have more meaning, the Loki cursed spawn of the Olafson coward." Not that I would have minded them to beat up my father and not that I had any chance against four armed men, I was still Olafson and they had invaded our rock. They were perhaps the same who dropped the Fangsnapper.
"Four men against an unarmed boy? It appears the Elhir have defined cowardice to new perfection." Hilfheim threw his sword. "Here, take this sword, so you are armed." He gestured at one of his companions.
"Gansbaf, go teach that whelp a lesson." I knew of Gansbaf, he was only three years older than me, I had seen him at school a few times when he talked to Sigvard. He was a cousin or something like that and was more man than boy. He had the bulk and muscles of a full-grown warrior. I grabbed the sword and rushed forward, while I was still an amateur when it came to fighting, the sword felt good and like an extension of my arm.
Gansbaf swung his sword in a wide arc as soon as I was in range. It was about as clumsy as an opening attack could be, instead of using my sword to block the swing, I ducked, felt the sharp steel parting the air close over my head and then as the blade was past I hacked my weapon deep into his shoulder. I saw a spray of blood and heard Gansbaf screaming. I also heard voices of alarm up from the Burg.
Then something hit me hard against the head and everything went dark.
Chapter 15: Clan Feud
I could not have been out for very long, as I could hear the
yells and shouts of alarm from our rock while I was tossed onto a hard surface.
The wild and angry face of Hilfheim was the first thing that came into focus as my blurred vision subsided. He was bent over me."Don't move Olafson scum!"
I did anyway by kicking him as hard as I could between the legs, whatever I was on moved, my kick and the moving floor made Hilfheim stumble back, while it gave me a precious few moments to orient myself.
I was on the deck of a boat, from the looks of it a sixty footer with harpoon gun and a wheel house.
Two of the other men tended to the wounded Gansbaf.
Not giving them any time to react I catapulted myself forward and hit Hilfheim with a shoulder tackle. The man still fighting the most likely unpleasant sensations caused by my kick in that quite sensitive region, was a full grown Nilfeheim viking, but perhaps the rolling deck added to the momentum of my rage filled attack. Hilfheim went overboard.
In all this madness that had given me no chance to really think, I had to laugh, but the other two men had dropped their wounded friend and what they would do next was not hard to guess.
Whatever possessed me not to jump over board myself was certainly not the smartest thing to do, but I ran and with four or five strides I reached the Harpoon gun swung it around. It was the same model as our boats used. While I never was along fishing, I had scrubbed decks and greased the mechanical parts of these guns. Left lever down floated the magnetic rails. It took only a heart beat and the light became green.
The two men were close, but not close enough to prevent me from pointing the razor sharp point of the barbed harpoon at one of them. "Come closer and I spit one of you."
Eric Olafson Series Boxed Set: Books 1 - 6 (The Galactic Chronicles Series) Page 166
