Author William Jay Taylor
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Explore Timeless Tales of Vikings
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Chapter 1
840 A.D., Hoyanger, on the Sognefjord, Norway
The sun rising over the mountains to the south across the fjord on this early May morning suggested a hint of spring, its soft rays casting their light gently across the landscape. Seventeen-year-old Bryan Thorsen opened his eyes. Through the door of his family’s room, he could see the first sunbeams streaming into the common room of the longhouse.
His young brother lay warm against him under the scratchy woolen blankets and, not far away, breathing softly in their sleep, his mother and sister. Bryan watched his own breath drift up into the icy air as he slipped from under the blankets, the cold stinging his bare skin, and quickly pulled on woolen trousers and tunic, the material coarse but warm and comfortable. He would much rather have stayed under the blankets with his brother.
In the common room, he stirred the coals in the fire pit, rekindling the flames.
“Good morning,” his uncle said, coming from the opposite side of the longhouse.
“Good morning, Uncle. How are you this morning?” He didn’t expect an answer. “Is Ari coming?”
“He’ll be along as soon as he dresses.”
“All right, I’ll be getting ready then.”
From a half dozen horses standing peacefully in the corral, he picked out one, Freya, a mare too old to do field work, who still had enough left in her to pull a cart-load of fire wood.
He was nearly done hitching her to a two-wheeled cart when Ari arrived, and the two finished harnessing the horse, without a word passing between them, and headed for the foot hills.
Sounds of the waking forest surrounded them – breezes drifting through newly emerged leaves overhead, pine squirrels chattering, looking down from their high perches, the call of birds a cacophony of noise swirling about them.
Toward the hilltop where trees had been burned years ago, thinned from harvesting as far back as Bryan could remember, a large stand of dead wood remained to be cut. In the panorama of the valley below, a stream fed by melting snow, cascading down the other side of the valley, tumbling on rocks below, rumbled in the distance. A road – a footpath really – meandered along the valley floor, the same road running past the clan’s homestead. Out of sight, it continued up through the hills, over a high mountain pass to the east toward the next village. The only road running east, its frequent use kept it free of vegetation.
“We better get started,” Bryan said, “if we don’t want to be here all day.”
“As slow as you are, it’ll probably take that long anyway,” Ari said.
Though nothing more than a tease, Bryan accepted the challenge. “We’ll see about that,” he shot back.
They set to work, attempting to prove who could cut the most wood in the shortest time, a sibling rivalry filled with competitive spirit, preparing them for battle, the Norse culture of war. The two grew up learning to fight with wooden swords and throwing axes in spirited competition.
They felled the dead trees, cutting them into lengths and loading them onto the cart for the better part of the morning. They stopped short at the sound of voices – angry, far away – from the valley below.
Rushing to the edge of the clearing, they peered down. On the road below, four men, one, by his size, Bryan’s Uncle Gunner, arguing with Skjolden, the Danish Jarl. Two other men, Skjolden’s thugs, stood by.
“What’s he doing here?” Bryan exclaimed.
“Don’t know, but it doesn’t sound like Father is very happy about it,” Ari returned.
The conversation on the road was animated, arms and heads gesturing in every direction. A long way from the boy’s perch high on the hill, the words were unintelligible.
Suddenly, the Dane’s guards moved behind Gunner, grabbing his arms, and in the Jarl’s hands, Bryan saw he metallic glint of a sword flash.
Bryan heard Ari suck air between his teeth.
Skjolden plunged the sword into Gunner’s belly.
“Nooo!” Ari’s voice rose in a crescendo from a whisper to a scream, as he lunged toward the road as if to breach the distance.
Bryan tackled him, landing atop his cousin, pinning him, clamping a hand over Ari’s mouth, and muffling the scream. With his mind reeling in disbelief, he was unable to take his eyes from the horror below, watching the Dane stabbing Gunner, over and over, until he fell to the ground.
Bryan closed his eyes, shutting out his shock and terror, trying to stop the tears already flowing. Searing stabs of grief, terror, and panic gripped his chest as reality forced itself into his brain.
Ari’s face was wet with tears, smeared with dirt, pain, terror, sorrow, helplessness, and devastation. Bryan, having difficulty with his own grief, could only imagine the sorrow his cousin felt.
Speaking in a low, deliberate, shaky voice between sobs, he said to Ari, “We must be silent, less they hear us and kill us too. We must remain alive to tell the others so that vengeance can be done – our way.
They lay arm in arm for a long time, their bodies heaving with sobs of grief and shock. Finally, Bryan said, “Come, we must tell the others.”
Their descent off the mountain seemed forever long as if slogging through deep mud, the cart heavy with logs, the pony slow. Bryan’s head was throbbing, his thoughts stunned and sluggish. Tears burned his eyes, and his throat was parched. He wrestled with his thoughts: What could the Dane possibly want? What was he up to? How could anyone avenge this deed? How could they possibly tell the others the horror they just witnessed?
The longhouse finally came into view. They stopped in their tracks, dismayed at what they saw. The Dane and his men stood in front of the longhouse, Gunner’s body on the ground, family gathered around, the Jarl telling them who knew what, gesturing profoundly, throwing his hands wildly in the air.
“For the sin of gods, I swear,” Ari cursed, “The filthy dog has the nerve to defile our own home. By the honor of Thor, I’ll take an oath to kill the motherless swine if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“We’ll both kill him when the time is right, and Thor will be our witness, but for now, we’ll not let him know what we’ve seen, nor give him any hint of what we feel toward him. We must go down there, grieve for your father, bare our true feelings at our loss, and when he’s gone, we’ll make plans for vengeance. That is what Gunner would do and what we must do.”
“I understand…, I do understand, but I don’t know if I can hide my feelings that well,” Ari confessed.
“Me neither, but we must.”
“Then let’s get on with it.” Ari nudged the horse, leading the way down the hill.
Bryan understood his cousin’s outrage, feeling it gnawing at his gut too, his skin crawling with the heat of rage. What they had to do, a fate almost as bad as death itself, they must do. Garnering all his strength – his bravery untested, not sure he had the guts – they moved on. The family, gathered tightly around the Jarl, was listening to him as they approached.
“Bryan, Ari!” someone called out.
They stopped short.
The clan turned as one to face them, followed by an awkward moment of silence. Ari’s mother emerged from the group and ran up the hill to him.
“Son, your father’s…, been killed,” she said, her voice shaky, tapering to nearly a whisper, “murdered on the road over the hill.” She paused before finishing. “The jarl found him dead and brought him home to us.”
Ari looked across to Bryan, the rage on his face terrifying. Bryan let his jaw drop open in a feigned surprise. He and Ari stared at one another for a long moment.
“No,” Bryan said quietly, then, “NOOO!” at the top of his lungs.
Both turned and ran to the circle of people, pushing them aside until they stood over poor Gunner’s body, motionless, skin pale and cold as snow. No need to hide their grief any longer. Kneeling beside him, they sobbed. Bryan wrapped his arm around his cousin’s shoulders and pulled Ari to him. Together they wept.
When Bryan was able to open his eyes again, two booted legs stood on the other side of his dead uncle’s body. The Dane stooped down and reached across to the boys, putting a hand on each of Ari’s shoulders.
In a deep, soft, gentle, soothing voice, he said, “If there is anything that I can do, please let me know. I am so very sorry. My heart aches for you.”
Bryan turned away in revulsion and vomited. The lying, sanctimonious hypocrite! How could anyone be so audacious? Hatred seethed deep in his being, and it took all the self-control he could muster to restrain himself from trying to kill the motherless bastard right there. His arm remained around Air’s shoulders as his cousin shook with sobbing, trembling rage. Under his breath, Bryan swore an oath to his dead uncle, to Thor, and to everyone on earth that this soulless dog would suffer the rage of the gods.
Neither Bryan nor Ari were able to say anything, and the silence became awkward. The Jarl stood, resuming his speech to the clan. He would leave his body-guards with the clan to ‘protect’ them in Gunner’s absence.
“We don’t need them,” Bryan said in a low, barely audible voice as he stood, his rage thinly disguised.
“Surely Gunner’s absence will be felt,” the Dane said.
“Yes. He’ll be missed more than words can describe. But, we have men here who are capable, and without doubt your guards are needed more sorely elsewhere.”
“Don’t tell me that you couldn’t use the help of a couple extra hands to tend your crops, and bring in the fish,” the Dane replied.
Looking at the guards, he doubted they’d ever seen the back side of a plow, hauled in a wet fishing net, or bloodied their hands cleaning fish or butchering pigs. If so, it had been a long time ago.
“We won’t need them,” he said firmly with no doubt in his mind these men would never lift a finger to help.
“What about the rest of you,” the Dane said turning to the clan. “Is there anyone here who disagrees with aaa-.”
“Bryan.”
“With Bryan?”
No one answered.
“Very well, as you wish,” he said, turning to the side, his hands on his hips, looking annoyed. He turned back. “You, uh – Bryan, yes – Bryan,” he said, reassuring himself. “You’re Thor’s son, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“A very brave, courageous man, your father.” He paused. “I would be pleased if you would join my court. You would be an excellent addition. You’d be educated and trained to fight like a true Viking, an opportunity to follow in your father’s footsteps.”
Bryan’s Breath caught. The Jarl just handed him the opportunity to get close, to gain his confidence and kill him.
“I would be honored,” he said, bowing his head as rumors rippled through the clan
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“Wow! I didn’t know you had all that in you. Wooyaa!”
Tamera W.
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