They led him to the center of the long house, facing the gathered council with the fire at his back. The flames highlighted the sharp planes of his face and teased over the distinctive scares scrolled on the curve of his left cheek. Irons on his wrists dragged on his posture, hunching his shoulders. His tongue darted out, tasting the air like a curious serpent. An apt comparison, since he'd slithered out of Forseti's hold thrice over. Not this time, not when they caught him up to his elbows in entrails.
The skald leaned forward, apprehensive what sentence the Ting would deliver the murderous whoreson.
"If they were smart, they'd remove his hands before exiling him," said a gruff voice beside him. The skald looked askance at his companion, refusing to divert his complete attention away from the prisoner.
"If they were smart, they would send him directly to Hel."
The other man snorted, his reply withheld as Raevil stepped forward to address the gathered men.
"Jokul Grundison, you are guilty of unwarranted slayings. By judgment of the Ting you are banished from these lands. Your fate shall be decided by the sea. Pray to the gods for mercy."
Acquiescent murmurs rose around them, but the skald did not withdraw his scrutiny from the prisoner. It was he, and he alone, who caught the smile twitching at Jokul's chapped lips.
***
Most prisoners stood in stoic silence or choked sobs as their vessels were made ready to cast them to the open water. They certainly did not whistle a jaunty little tune. It made the men nervous, casting a speculative eye at Jokul as they loaded the sparse provisions on a boat little bigger than a faering and about as seaworthy.
Further up the beach, the skald and his companion also observed the spectacle, the surf teasing the sand at their feet.
"There is something amiss," he whispered to the salt air, "We are playing into the hands of a power greater than one man."
His companion laid a massive hand on his shoulder. "I've not had enough drink for talk of the gods this early. You worry too much my friend. That slip of a boat will sink at the first shift in the wind and that will be the end of it."
"Then why is he so bloody confident, Hamal?"
The big man shrugged, and absently flicked a biting fly from his arm. "I'm certain he'd remain confident if you set him on fire. Can we be off before I'm nibbled down to my bones?"
The skald spared a rare smile for the man. "All that mead yesterday has sweetened your taste." The two turned to go as the whistling tapered off.
"Leaving without saying goodbye, Eadric?"
The skald tensed at his name, turning to the man who used to steal sips of ale from their father's table with him. The one who'd shared so many secrets, except for the darkest one.
"Farewell, brother, may the gods spit on you when you meet them."
Jokul grinned, wisps of his unwashed hair caught in the sparse patches of beard on his chin. He'd lost a great deal of weight during his confinement, leaving his skin gaunt and gray. The image of a true madman where his elder brother once stood.
"Ah, but my god is always with me," he said, his eyes large and luminous in his sunken face.
Two of the shore men grabbed Jokul's shoulders, escorting him into the craft before releasing him from irons. It only took three of them to launch the skiff from shore. Eadric looked on as the ship was caught up in the off shore currents and swept out to open ocean. He kept watching until his murderous sibling was nothing but a speck on the horizon.
***
Twelve years later...
He stood in a world of whispering shadows. It was a world he'd visited many times before, he waited to see which god would whisper in his ear this eve.
Silence fell. The skald frowned; this was different. The shadows curled away like morning fog. It was a slanted space, a swaying space, he could hear the groan of wood against water, and a faint rhythmic drum beat overhead. A ship's hold, one he'd never seen. Woven baskets, high as his waist, took up most of the space, filled to the brim with strange fruits. The skald frowned. A hold of spoiling fruits couldn't be all he was meant to see. He made his way to the rope ladder, pulling himself up into the brilliant daylight.
The deck crawled with dark skinned men, clad in poorly scraped skins and bright feathered armbands. The sun shone off their sweat slicked black hair and lent a feverish gleam to their dark eyes. Their grunts and calls joined the low roar of the surrounding ocean, all secondary to the ever present drumbeat. He followed the discordant rhythm, as it beat against his bones, to the rear of the ship. Beside the drum stood the figure, covered in bloody skins, face obscured by the preserved head of a massive snake, only the scarred hands were visible, pale as his own. The figure paused, lifting his head so the sun lit on the side of his face including the tracery of all too familiar scars.
Impossible.
Behind the ship, the ocean burst upward, an explosion of froth that continued to boil towards the sky until the creature broke the surface, rising high overhead. A serpentine body thicker than the great oaks of his homeland towered over the ship. The skald felt the weight of ancient eyes on him. A dripping crown of feathers lifted as its great mouth opened wide. He felt the roar in his soul.
***
Eadric threw himself onto the bench beside Hamal, downing the waiting tankard of ale in an unbroken chug. The blacksmith slid another full mug in front of him when he came up for air.
"So how did your meeting with the Ting go, then?"
The skald paused long enough to glare at the man, downing another hearty gulp. "I think you knew how it was going to go better than I did."
Hamal shrugged his shaggy shoulders. "You may be the voice of the gods, my friend, but their purses speak louder." He tossed back his own ale. "Sending ships to scout the waters for your giant bird snake and a boat of little dark men is far too costly for our glorious leaders."
Eadric grimaced. "I know how it sounds, but I'm telling you it was a warning from the gods. I saw his scars. It has to be him."
Hamal gripped his forearm, his blue eyes abnormally serious. "I believe, most of the people would believe you. The gods don't take their warnings lightly, but for your brother to have survived in that spit of a boat is damn impossible."
"Perhaps he had a god on his side," said Eadric, recalling Jokul's final words on the shore all those years ago. The idea of his mad brother garnering the attention of any god was shudder some, though few answered a call so violent. "The Ting have become godless men, and men who do not respect their gods invite disaster..."
His companion wasn't listening, his attention on the stream of patrons rapidly exiting the door. "What's this then?"
Eadric attempted to sharpen his ale muddled senses, catching snippets of shouts and bellows outside. "Something's washed ashore." Both men swayed to look at each other before scrambling to their feet, using each other as a brace to join the growing crowd on the beach.
A group of men were dragging a skiff to shore, its battered pennant whipping in chill wind. The small vessel slid onto the sand a few feet away from Eadric's unsteady feet, revealing a bloodied blue lipped unconscious youth on the bottom.
"Fetch a healer!" Hamal bellowed, dropping to his knees to place a hand on the boy's pale forehead. Eadric could hear the whispers of disbelief and horror surrounding them.
"A mere boy..."
"That's Melnir's shield sign, he's a Jarl in Greenland..."
"He must have been out here for days..."
"What's he got there in his hand?"
Eadric knelt beside his companion, attempting to gently uncurl the boy's clenched fist. The youth's eye fluttered open, emitting a weak cough. His mouth moved, the words inaudible, his voice lost to the sea. Eadric leaned in, lending his ear to the boys final words. The skald sat back on his heels, stunned, fingering the object he retrieved from the dying boy.
"What did he say, Eadric?"
"Greenland has fallen." The skald held up his hand, revealing a band of brightly colored feathers, flecked with dried blood.
***
It was the dream again. Eadric paused as he found himself in the hold of rotting fruit once again. What could the gods be trying to show me, what have I missed?
The Ting finally cracked, presented with a dead body and evidence their skald spoke of more than feverish nightmares. A scout ship was launched with the purpose of illuminating the unfortunate boys last earthly claim. The Ting proclaimed the idea of Greenland falling to the likes of his dream invaders preposterous, yet here he stood again.
The serpent was waiting for him when he emerged topside, displaying not a coat of scales by feathers, ranging in vibrant greens and deep hued blues, to astonishing reds the exact color of fresh blood. It hovered over the hooded man like a watchful guard dog, weaving against the ocean breeze. It peered down at him with an ancient reptilian intelligence. The weight of its gaze called to a fear old as time that made his bowels clench and his eyes water as stared without blinking. He was so focused on the serpent he almost missed the movement to his right, out over the water.
Don't take your eyes from it, his instincts screamed, but the draw was too strong. Eadric's gaze rotated until he saw the woman. She stood, still as stone on the surface of the water, unmoving as the wind tangled her pale tresses, tugging at her simple woven garments. Her grey green eyes watched him, the exact color as the roiling waters beneath her feet. She raised a pale slender arm, beckoning him toward her.
A hiss sounded in his ear. Eadric whipped around, confronted with the snake helm of the hooded man. The man titled his face upward, revealing Jokul's mad eyes, and something else, something twisted and vile, reflected in the edge of the raised knife.
Eadric woke when the blade plunged into his heart.
***
"It's been too long," said Eadric, staring into the frothy surf as it beat against the rocky shoreline.
"They've only been gone a few weeks."
"Nearly two months, Hamal, they should have found something and returned by now."
Hamal snorted into the wind. "I think you are over estimating the capabilities of our fine scouts." He glanced sidelong at the skald, noting the deep smudges under his friend's eyes. "Still having those dreams?"
"Every night." Eadric absently rubbed his sternum, wondering how many more dreams of death it would take to drive him mad as his brother.
"I have chores that need tending," said Hamal, clapping a hand on Eadric shoulders. The contact told him the skald was losing too much weight too fast. "I'm sure they will return soon..." His fingers tightened on Eadric's shoulder as the vessel floated through the rolling fog, a bobbing mass of charred wood inexorably making for the shore.
It was not the scout ship, but something worse, another warning, another blood soaked passenger. This one was still alive, tumbling from the boat into the surf as he screamed for help. A jagged cut ran down his face, gangrenous from lack of treatment. He collapsed to his knees in the sand, vomiting bile and salt water. Eadric bolted down the shore for him, catching the man as he fell to the sand, his whole body trembling.
"Where do you come from, tell us what has happened?" Eadric asked gently as he could, worried exhaustion would win out before the man passed along his message.
A pair of well-made boots came to a halt beside them. "Yes, tell us what has happened." Raevil frowned down on the pair, as if the carcass of some deep ocean monster washed up on shore rather than a man.
After a bout of wracking coughs, the man spoke. "Reykjavik has been destroyed. They appeared out of the morning fog, no warning, no war drums, and no purpose beyond death. They slaughtered all and any in their path. They showed no signs of stopping there." His raspy voice fell on the silent folk who gathered on the beachhead.
Raevil reacted first. "Ready a Knarr!" He bellowed. "Who among you will seek out this enemy and send his ship to the bottom of the sea?"
Many stepped forward, including Hamal. The skald climbed to his feet and stepped forward.
"I'll go."
***
"If it is your brother, what does he want?" Hamal's question was a needed distraction. Eadric kept watch on deck for nearly two days straight, sleeping spare hours and eating little to nothing. The blacksmith worried the gods were shouting too loudly in his friend's ear.
"If I could answer that, mayhap I could answer why he killed two innocent families all those years ago." He pinched the bridge of his nose, the salt soaked wind caressing his weary face. How he longed for this all to be over. "I would give all the ale in the storehouse for one damn solid answer to any of this."
"I think you're about to get your wish."
"What?" Eadric followed the blacksmith's line of sight. "Oh, this does not bode well."
They floated toward the wreck. The scout ship had scraped itself into a wreck on a shoal of rock, its sails shredded, the deck listing on its side. It offered a display of the horrors on board.
"By the gods," Hamal whispered. His sentiments were echoed as the others came to join them, drawn to the carnage like curious flies.
The scout ship's crew was on display, hung by their wrists, throats slashed open in a grim smile at odds with the ragged holes in their chests. Their hearts were missing. All of them dead, Eadric noticed the movement; all except one.
"There!" he called. The men scrambled into action. Lashed against the mast, one man was still alive. They drew close, preparing to board the stranded ship when the man snapped awake with a scream.
"He's coming! He's coming!"
The men hesitated.
"We need to get him aboard, the man is witless." Eadric urged, appealing to them. It took only two of them to extract the raving man, laying him on the deck of the knarr. By this time the screaming abated to wide eyed babbling.
"He's coming, the scarred one, disciple of the Dark God, bringer of Ragnorak, he's coming, he's coming."
The scarred one. Eadric closed his eyes, clasping the man's hand. He wasn't long for this world. Possibly neither were they.
"It's him, isn't it, it's your brother," It wasn't a question from Hamal, but Eadric answered him all the same.
"Yes, against all odds it appears Jokul survived."
"What does he want? Did he truly sack the colonies? What is his aim?" This came from Thorstein, the knarr's burly navigator. The skald's expression turned bleak.
"Didn't you hear the man? My brother seeks Ragnorak. He plans to destroy us all."
"There can't be one ship, Eadric," said Hamal, his expression grim. "Something is missing, the gods didn't show you everything."
Eadric nodded, weary to his bones. "They showed me enough. We need to make for home, and pray we reach its shores first."
***
He didn't know when sleep claimed him, not until he looked down to see the ocean swirling beneath his feet. The moment he raised his gaze, he saw what he'd failed to see on the deck of Jokul's ship, so caught up in his stare down with the feathered serpent.
Hundreds of ships floated around him, filled with the chatter of the foreign warriors, each deck lit by brazier of red flame that drew their bloody path across the water. Their direction was unmistakable. Eadric opened his mouth, to shout, to call out, he wasn't sure; only to find the action halted by a slender hand on his mouth.
The woman's blond curls caressed his cheek; she kept her cool hand against his lips until the ships passed. When she released him, he turned to her, stunned by her beauty and her height; she had several inches on him. Her grey green eyes brimmed with sadness. She placed her palm to his cheek, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her lips burned like ice, and left the after image of swirling snow.
***
The shore was burning.
Eadric emerged on deck to find the crew silent, staring at the rising smoke. Hamal noticed him first.
"We couldn't wake you. They passed us in the night. Eerie as hell but somehow they didn't see us, or they ignored us."
He could still feel the woman's lips on his forehead and wondered if there was a mark to show for it. "A goddess protected us," said Eadric. He turned to Hamal's snort.
"What?"
"Our world is crumbling around us and you look like you got the best night's sleep in weeks." He cast a sneer in the direction of the shore. "What do we do now? Can we really beat them home?"
"Yes, we must."
***
Perhaps it was due to death nipping at their heels. The knarr reached the shores of the village half a day ahead of the invading fleet. The air was thick with fear. A messenger beat them there, delivering news of the attack on their neighbors up the coast. As soon as the skald and the other volunteers touched the shore, they were whisked into a war council.
Raevil was talking as they entered, laying out their defenses. "We will hold this town to the last and break these dogs on our blades," he proclaimed, punctuated by a fist on the table. "We have the advantage here, the foresight of their coming." His eyes flickered to Eadric. "We will not fall."
"To stay would be a mistake," said the skald, holding his ground as the collective stares of the room weighed on his shoulders.
"What madness do you speak?" Raevil scowled at him. "This is our home, our livelihood; it must be defended to the last man!"
"And the last woman? The last child?" He met the Jarl's scowl. "This is not a conquering invader; it is the force of a destroyer. They care nothing for riches or resources, their aim is Ragnorak. They will slaughter everyone down to the last defenseless infant and raze our livelihood to the ground." He touched his forehead, brushing his fingers over the chilled spot where the goddess laid her lips on him, evoking a memory of snow. "The gods themselves wish us to flee, not fight."
The Jarl scoffed, "Gods or not, if we break them, we can end this."
Eadric looked up, his expression cold. "Perhaps you don't remember my brother, Raevil, but I do. Most of all I remember his madness. He will send an army of blood thirsty men against us until he shatters us because their lives are nothing to him. He will not stop."
A tense moment passed between the two, witnessed by a room of silent desperate men, before the Jarl's shoulders slumped. "Where do you propose we run to?"
Eadric could feel the kiss of snow on his skin. "North, we'll retreat further into the land of ice where their sun drenched warriors can't follow us."
Raevil nodded, addressing the room. "Prepare your families. I still need able bodied men to cover their escape. Who will defend the retreat with me?"
The skald was the first to stand.
***
After numerous arguments, Eadric convinced Hamal to go with the rest of the villagers. Great friend that he was, he wished to stay by the skald's side to the end, but Eadric knew Hamal's wife would never forgive him. They would need the skills of a blacksmith where they were going; they would need every craftsman to aid in their survival. A skald was expendable. Another would rise to take his place.
Armed with the knowledge Hamal was on his way to relative safety, Eadric stood with the others waiting on the beach. They watched their deaths sail toward them on jewel toned boats, patiently braced as the horde of dark skinned half naked men threw themselves into the surf, slavering for the first kill.
The fighting began with the clash of metal against metal and the slick give of flesh to blade. Blood ran into the ocean, dying the surf red. The invaders came at them in an endless wave, undeterred by the piles of their dead surrounding the Jarl's forces. Eadric could see why when the first of the defenders were overwhelmed, driven to the ground, pinned down, a blade inserted through their ribs. The sound of breaking bones and death cries filled the air. Some of them were still screaming when their hearts were pulled from their chests. The skald watched in frozen horror as Thorstein's heart was ripped from his body. His killer raised the heart to the sky with a wild yell, reveling in the blood that rained on his face.
They fought on, determined to give their people as much distance between them and these monsters as they could. Eadric watched his comrades die around him, wondering when it would be his turn. The answer came striding up the beach, parting the swarm of fighting as he made his way to the skald.
Jokul stood before him. He'd stripped down to only the snake head hood and a wrap around his waist. The attire revealed his heavily scarred body, further gnarled and twisted by whatever dark contracts his brother made to bring him to these shores. He spread his arms, one hand clutching the same shining black knife he'd used to stab Eadric in his dreams.
"Aren't you going to welcome me home, brother?" He leered, a moment before he brought the hilt of his knife to the skald's temple.
***
Eadric woke in a make shift cage. He wasn't sure what roused him until he saw the flaxen haired goddess fiddling with the locks. A dark cloak covered her shoulders, the hood concealing her in shadow but for the wisps of blond hair that flit about her beautiful face. A shift of posture cast a dull shine to her cloak, enough for him to make out the interlay of raven feathers.
"Great Frejya," Eadric whispered fervently, dropping prostrate to bow. The lock gave way. Delicate hands lifted his face, bringing him eye to eye with the mournful goddess.
"Do not kneel, dear one, you are my servant no longer. I can only hope to ensure you're part of my legacy."
"Goddess?" Eadric followed Frejya as she led him through the ravaged great hall, blood stains and shards of wood the only signs the battle raged from beyond the shore. "How long have I been out?"
"Long enough for the Toltecs to stake their claim."
The skald blinked at her, hearing the name of their enemy fall so carelessly from her lips. "Is that who Jokul ensnared to do his bidding?"
She nodded, her features tight. "He had help. The great betrayer, one who has succeeded in bringing our children to their demise." They emerged outside, the air thick with acrid smoke and the dueling scents of burnt wood and meat. Eadric looked out on his decimated village and caught his breath, his steps faltered.
They hung from hastily fashioned spikes, their bodies left in the same grisly manner as the ones they found on the scout ship. His breath soured in his throat, tinged with bile as he looked on men he'd known all his life skewered like animals for slaughter. My brother has done this, my mad brother and his dark god.
"The feathered serpent, is he the one who stole my brother's mind?"
Frejya drew up short, her grey green eyes wide with shock. "He revealed himself to you?" She looked out over the carnage of his village, a silvery tear traced down her flawless face. "No, my skald, what you saw was merely another god paying for the mistakes of his children. Now he has become a herald for the end."
Eadric remembered the massive serpent, that ancient anger wafting down on Jokul's vessel. Not directed at me. "Then who?"
Frejya cried out, arching toward him. Jokul loomed behind her; his black blade plunged into her side. He held the goddess like a lover, cradling her to him. He leaned his mouth to her ear.
"You were always so beautiful."
She shrieked as he twisted the knife once, throwing her to the side to catch Eadric wrists as the skald jumped at him.
"What have you done?" Eadric screamed, wresting for control of the bloodied blade. His brother's strength was shocking for his brittle frame. Jokul's face was calm as he watched the skald's despair.
"You think you were the only one chosen by the gods brother? I too was chosen, for a far greater purpose than listening to their blather in dreams."
"Who," Eadric choked out, "what god dripped such poison in your ear?"
Jokul smiled, his teeth a blackened mess. "I told you once; my god is always with me." His eyes shone a bright poisonous green, the pupils slit like a great cat.
"Loki." Frejya's angry hiss reached him a beat behind his own recognition. The great trickster, the betrayer, the god who would bring Ragnorak. Bring it he did.
Jokul, vessel of the dark god, turned to give Frejya a flattered grin, nodding his head in a bow of acknowledgement. Eadric took advantage of the distraction. He shoved his brother, hooking a foot behind Jokul's ankle to send them both rolling on the ground. The skald could not tell up from down, pouring all his concentration into keeping the knife from his innards while trying to yank it free. Pain flared in his ribs from a stray punch. Jokul bashed the skald's nose with his greasy head. Grimly, Eadric held on, until a dip in the ground changed their positions.
It was a second, only a second when his brother's fingers slackened on the knife, but it was enough to twist it back on its wielder. Jokul's body shuddered, seizing up as the blade slid between his ribs. The skald didn't realize he was dead until Frejya pulled him from beneath the corpse.
The two supported one another, goddess and skald, using the other's strength to remain standing. With a pained huff, Frejya kicked Jokul's slack body over, his vacant eyes staring at the heavens. His expression was serene in death.
"Is it over?"
The goddess shook her head, bending far enough to close Jokul's lids. "Your brother was an unfortunate tool. His death freed him, but what has been set in motion here cannot be stopped by the loss of one man. The Toltecs will continue their path of madness to its end. You must flee into the North, my skald, flee where they cannot follow."
"What will you do?" Eadric eyed the wound at her side, which continued to sluggishly bleed. Frejya looked out to the ocean, a flash of lightning in her eyes.
"We will do what we must, fulfill our roles," her cool gaze met his. "All of us."
Eadric looked out to the waters, catching sight of the great feathered serpent rising above the waves. He turned back to find his goddess gone. The skald sagged, feeling the depth of his wounds as the spirit of battle left his body. His temple throbbed incessantly, joined by various aches and bruises all over, but he was alive and he had a purpose to complete. He looked down at his brother's ravaged visage, unable to recognize the boy who grew up by his side in that torn up face.
It was a monumental effort, the strain almost too much for him, but the skald dragged his brother's body through the village to the shoreline, heaving him into the surf until the ocean reclaimed him. The undertow snagged Jokul's body, drawing him further out into the ocean. The great snake watched the procession, until the body began to float further out into the open water. Then it vanished beneath the waves. Eadric knew his brother's body would not visit these shores again.
The skald staggered from the beach and began his long journey North.
Glossary
Skald-a bard, storyteller, prophet.
Jarl- Viking aristocracy
Knarr-long boat, warship
Hel-Goddess of hell and the underworld
Ting- a council of twelve Viking males, typically jarls who dispensed the law.
Forseti- Norse god of justice
Frejya- Norse goddess of love, beauty, fertility, war, and death
Loki- Trickster god, the one who kicks off Ragnorak
Ragnorak-the Norse end of times, the great battle at the end of the world
Reykjavik-the only city of Iceland, settled in the 9th century A.D.
Quetzalcoatl- the great feathered serpent was a deity in favor of life, opposed to his brother Tezcatlipoca, the god of night, magic, and destiny.