Krigsgaldr - "War Magic"
Tyr was the son of the leader in a small village of Southern Svealand. A faith that came with obligations he did not want.
Freke was a wolf shapeshifter, a descendant of Fenrir some would say, and they were both loved and h...
This is a work of fiction, I mix Norse mythology, Swedish folklore, history and old Norse words/ names with fantasy. So even though some of things that are mentioned are historically correct, most of this is created by me and my imagination as a result of what influenced me throughout my upbringing here in Sweden, what I've learned in school, from books, movies and television.
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Prologue
"I need you to leave," he said with a demanding voice and I forced myself not to look at him.
The ice cold and salty water washed over my toes, feet and ankles only to withdraw and come back to do it all over again. It was the rhythm of nature, of life.
I gazed at the horizon where the sky met the sea and wondered if the Gods watched me from there. The sky was grey and dark, perhaps a reflection of their mood. It made me realise it had been a while since we showed our gratitude towards them, maybe it was time for an offering to please them.
Our shore was rough and raw, just like the people living here. It was covered in layers upon layers of grey toned gravel and sharp stones, piercing the bare souls of my feet as I walked along the foaming waterline. It was the end of summer but the chilly northern winds made it feel like winter had come already.
My home was beautiful and untamed, though the fjord was unusually calm this year, all because of the unusually warm summer and lack of rain. An uneasy feeling spread through me as I wondered if we had ourselves to blame for it. How could I have missed the signs of the displeased Gods? I needed to speak to our priestess about it, I thought, and suppressed the weight of responsibility that kept pushing me down, deepening my footprints.
This day, the air was crisp and it foretold the upcoming cold that would soon be upon us. Winters were harsh here, but we had lived off this land for generations and we knew it well, hence we were prepared for whatever amount of snow, ice and cold they were going to throw at us.
"Did you hear me son?" My father's voice vibrated through the silence, drowning out the gentle sound of the waves touching stone.
"I heard you, father." I answered him too hesitantly for his liking, I knew, but I was still searching for a good reply to his question, and even if a good amount of time had passed, I could not seem to find one within me. "We are simple farmen*, that does not simply change because uncle Brokk arrived," I finally announced.
The older man nodded as he eyed me over. He was a good Jarl, my father, strong and wise, but most importantly, he was fair. On the contrary to his younger brother Brokk whose only goal in life was to gain riches and fame, as if we were in some sort of competition against the other clans.
"That is true, Tyr." My father said with an all knowing smile on his lips. "But you are my son and I want you to keep your eye on him, and maybe gain some new experiences."
