Here Live Vikings!


Messengers came and messengers left. Always carrying the same message and never once had they been right! Lord Eadwine sighed and took the vellum handed to him. Vellum!  Vellum meant monks, who else could afford such expense? Sticking their noses into what was not their business once again. But then his dark brown moustache twitched. No, there had been a raid! Oh yes! Lindisfarne: powerful, wealthy Lindisfarne. And they thought they were safe on an island. These marauders came by SHIP for the God’s sake! Well, it would all come to those who did not hide their wealth! Maybe now the monks, feeling so secure on their little islands, would be more cautious. But folded vellum puzzled him. Odd! Monks usually rolled their messages. In the vellum lay a flat coin sized amulet, bearing the face of Woden. Beneath the face was written, elegantly for all that, two words. “THEY COME!”
Eadwine had laughed when the agreement had been made. Acca the quiet, the serious, and the down-right cautious: his beloved half brother: Acca. Eadwine had long lived with the rumours that Acca was half Norseman blood, yet had paid it no credence. They were close and had sworn to no lies between either. He returned his attention to the scrawled note. Acca was never one for a neat hand. The monk had beaten him often yet to no avail. Eadwine concentrated on the scrawl:

Yesterday, at dawn, they were sighted off the coast. I have sent young Torin to bring this to you. Treat him kindly for this work. Have the men ready! May the Gods protect you! Recall, if nothing else, I loved you!

He drew a long breath. He had been Lord for how long now? Twenty Years? Rarely put a foot wrong and killed them that had found out that he had. What more could a Lord want?
All those false letters and now this! He had to trust this. Eadwine gazed at the young lad, vaguely remembering him for one who had joined Acca for some adventure: black haired with tints of red: a gangly youth. Eadwine found the memory was hard to grasp. “Did my brother ask for a reply?”
“No, Lord!”
“Did he ask you to request anything other than this vellum?”
“No my lord!”
“Do YOU wish anything?”
“No my lord!”
Another bright one! What were they breeding these days? “Then go! -If you can still remember where your home is!”
“You burnt it!” and the lad was gone.
Eadwine swore he had not seen him move. “Find him! And get me my Chieftains! We need to prepare!”                    

Why had the lad bothered him? It had niggled as he had read again the short scrawled message by the flaring torch light. The light voiced accent was hard to place, but the lad had been away for nigh on a year now. Perhaps he had picked up Acca’s own? It was very similar whatever. By nightfall nothing had been found of the lad. He began to fade from Eadwine’s memory as yet another homeless squirt from a poor family or on the run from some irritated father. Acca was known to be a soft touch with unfortunates, always having a crowd of them around him wherever he went.
The night sat dark and damp though it was not raining. Even the torch flares were thin and unwilling to light the darkened corners. The light breeze was filled with the tang of sea, which was barely half a mile away, was seldom smelt above the stink of the village. The owls were quiet, as if the unease slowly edging about the land included the animals. No dog barked tonight. No cat screamed. Women did not scream: Men did not pass in a drink-addled state. Babies did not cry. It was as if the village had taken a deep breath and was holding it. Waiting: for something.
Eadwine laid his unsheathed blade against his bed. The sword had been a gift from Acca: once a Norseman’s blade. A long, large thing: a good bar at the pommel to stop the hand from slipping. The gift from Acca and it had served him well. He would see it would do so again!

Acca slipped through the cordon of watchmen using the agreed signal. They barely nodded. They knew him. To a point they trusted him. To some point.

No one QUITE knew what Acca had planned in that head of his but Ragnald clearly liked it; and was going along with it. That monk’s island, Lindisfarne,  could only be raided once and they had left no monk alive. Ragnald had pulled off a stunning raid and all had returned with something to see them through the long winter that was coming. And now there was another plan. A last minute raid before the sea and weather changed for the worse. Many had family and farms to see for. The raid would be highly contested. Yet, few would ever challenge Ragnald. He was a good and trusted leader.

Ragnald sat in his smelly and over warm hut as he heard out Acca. By dawn the news had gone out. The raid was in on Wodensday, seven days from today. Enough for all gods days to be acknowledged by all who wished to go.

In his small but comfortable hut Acca scratched something onto a small amulet, wrapped it in a small piece of vellum and handed it to Torin. “You will not be harmed on the journey but I do not think you shall be so in front of my half-brother. Get out of his sight and be off to York as soon as this is handed over. From there you can get a boat back here. Use this amulet as your pass. Here is enough British coin to see you set fair. You are a good lad, Torin and a brave one. Your mother was right. There are more wits in your head than the whole of Britain!” He had watched the small fishing boat go, not envying the cruel sea’s they were to cross. But then, a small fishing boat would not be quite as noticeable as a dragon ship. He turned back and looked at the village. It had been his mother’s. Ragnald had been her cousin. And he, Acca, accursed name that it was, sided with his mother’s kin. She had whispered many enticing stories to him before she had finally died at the cruel hands of his half-brother. He spat violently. Ragnald had long wanted revenge on his favourite cousin’s abduction and now the time was ripe. And that time was very ripe indeed!
And, if he were to live through it, what would he, Acca, want? Recompense of course. Gold: Naturally. Slaves: Maybe not. They had to be fed and therefore were expensive. Take control of Eadwine’s village? Now there was a thought: a safe, comfortable entry for the dragon boats. Only seven days to wait.
The first the silence knew were the darkness moving like rippling water. The small sounds of wood or the tap of metal was like a breeze fleeing ahead. The breeze should have screamed: the Norsemen – the Vikings, had finally come!

 The men had not even been spotted as they beached the five boats in the shingle bay! The moon was out though the scudding clouds were beginning to hide it. As the shapes of the helmets were seen on the rise, the cry from the village rang out. Women screamed, the rumours from other villages finally rang the bells of truth. Children too screamed and were impeding their mother’s flight, running and collecting what she could as they men grabbed the nearest weapons to hand and ran out. No good-byes, no pretended hope of living.

 At the first hut, an old couple near their end anyway, went killed with such silence that it did almost go an insult. As a sudden cry went up all Hell broke lose.

Eadwine felt the attack sink into his dream. The fraught dream had seen Acca mount a challenge to the right of Lordship: Something Acca would never have contemplated. The screams and yells, woke him fully and, pausing only to grab at the sword, he ran into the increasing melee. Feeling a sting on his hand he glanced down. The sword had cut him. First blood had gone to the Viking blade.                                                                  -

“Eadwine!” He looked round and saw Acca, resplendent in a fine half length cloak, uncut, clean and staring at him with meaning.

“Acca!” They were closer now. He was almost openly avoided as though the raiders knew him and were told to leave him be. They did not flee his blade but chose to veer off to choose another.

“Brother!” Acca replied with sarcasm as he raised his blade.

Appalled Eadwine countered the stroke. “What do you -?”

“It is time to leave your post – brother!” And Acca swung the long blade down to slice down Eadwine’s sword arm.

With amazement Eadwine watched as his hand let go of the sword and knew nothing of Acca’s pommel smashing into his head and the blade sinking into his stomach.

Torin watched his neck as the blades flashed about him. He knew where the gold went kept and he had the key for none ever took notice of so lowly a villager lad. He had gone unseen amongst so many eyes that he thought himself protected by Odin: he had picked the key from the lock without one comment being made. Now he took his chance and finding the hut empty he opened the chest and removed the gold and jewellery into two bags which he slung about his neck. The rope rubbed but it was worth the irritant. He helped himself to two long stout knives which were not far short of sword length. For a young lad they were a fair sized blade. He tucked them into his waist band. The hatchet he discovered by almost falling into it. It was weighty but it would do. Carefully using a hut for cover, Torin watched Eadwine fall to Acca’s swift attack. As Acca turned and met with some resistance Torin made his way through the fallen and the dying as he raised the heavy hatchet. It fell and Eadwine let out the last of his blood. “That shall teach you to misuse MY Mother!” and he made back to the ship.

Acca nodded as he saw Torin struggle down to the boat. He did not deny him the right of weaponry but would see the lad hand over some of that haul.

So quickly the raid was over. Few people were left alive: just enough to spread the terror amongst other villages.

Acca made for Eadwine’s hut where he ransacked it to such a degree that he had to carry the items out in a chest that had him stagger more than once. He saw the other men suitably impressed with their hauls.   By full dawn the boat was well underway.

 “You are cut, Acca!” Torin noticed as he willingly shared the agreed amount from the bags. Torin was known to be generous: even to a greedy friend.

“And do you know how?” Acca laughed ruefully, accepting his share of gold. “Got that from my mother’s old oak chest as I emptied it; all she had to bring from her home land. I remember it always had a rust hinge and it got me as always it always ever did! It is a nothing. I shall see a Healer on our return if it infects!”

“How did your mother get to Britain, Acca?” He stashed the bags into the box under his seat and began to manoeuvre the oar into place.

Happy to tell, he settled into his rightful place at the Dragon’s head, “She ended up as a bait prize. A promise, if you like, that the Vikings would not raid. She did not go her father’s favourite so was no loss to him. No loss other than to those who loved her. When I could take Eadwine’s idiocy any longer I sided with my mother’s blood as was my right to choose and took revenge on the Anglo-Saxon dog filth!”

“There must have been more than just that!” Torin was a bright lad.

Acca smiled at what was very possibly his son. “There was: ready for a tale to pass the time?”


 Long ago, afore your time, my lad, and I was not even thought of, aye, even before my mother’s time and possibly her mother’s time –.” he paused over Torin’s laughter. “Aye well, it is almost a myth. Let us own as I had a fore-bear. One Eeno and it was owned he came from the far, far North: a Finn. “Torin looked suitably awed. “Well, he turned from Reindeer farming to fighting and protecting the Chief, one Bardi. None knew why he appeared.

Bardi had a woman, from the Iceland folk, a Bodil. Ice-flow herself, it was said, but the strange thing was that she had four children: all reckoned to be from the four brothers who lived on the settlement bordering her father’s.

Whatever, none of the bairns lived very long and, if you ask me, her father saw rid of them. She was offered to any man who would take his daughter for a gold plaited torc and a female pig. It seemed this was enough to tempt Bardi.

Bardi took on Eeno as if he had been a long lost friend, so it was said, and the agreements appeared to fit all well. Four sons and three daughters were brought into the world and none took on the appearance or colouring of Bardi. However they all bore signs of Eeno: the red hair!” he tugged at his own. “Bardi let it be for some time, yet, as Bodil did not appear to the unfaithful and did not miss from his bed, he could not argue other than some-where in her or his line there were red haired folk.

The women openly laughed, having sense and the men kept tight lipped. Eeno was a popular man. Good with jest, good with ale and good with coin for many a cash strapped neighbour. All Odin demanded of a soul.

He also went a good leader.  Bardi must have known Eeno for a possible threat if not a true one. But he did nothing about it.

Then, one winter, Bardi took unwell. It took a whole winter to end him but pass to Niflhiem but he finally did.

Eeno was voted as the Head Man. For many summers over he ruled wisely and well until his oldest son was of an age to follow him and continue well at that. He himself returned to the reindeer for as long as was remained for him which was quite an age.

Bodil stayed with her son and advised him in all matters that concerned the care of the folk and continued her man’s orders as went the Village. Yet the son died not long after his thirtieth birth day. His three brothers followed suit in as many summers. The daughters had made good husbands due to their father’s diligence and they took amongst themselves to rule to a point where their husbands grew tired of the squabbles and ended their wives discord. None of them wanted the Chieftainship. It bore an oddly threat. Almost a curse, one Seer had said on passing by. Well, Bodil was at a loss how to mend the problem. Men began to fight each other or gain support to overthrow her, who had stood as Chief in the absence of her husband.

Then one morning as the mist was thawing from over the river water, a young man arrived. He looked strangely similar to old Eeno, called himself Eeno and acted like old Eeno, yet was far too young to actually be Eeno. Bodil greeted him politely and they sat many an eve by the fire talking. Late that summer, a babe was born to Bodil. This was amazing as she was considered well past child bearing; and as the bairn was a lad, men looked hungrily at what would go done next. This new Eeno was no lineage, no connection and giving the ever breeding Bodil a child did not make matters certain as to the ownership of the Chieftainship. The child was red haired. The new Eeno stayed until his death at a great age. Bodil aged gracefully and died in her sleep of nothing more than tiredness. The young lad’s name went Acca.” He grinned at Torin’s look of disbelief. “Did I own up as it was me, lad? No. This Acca lived four generations ago and ever since a woman’s first born son was an Acca. Where was I? Oh aye.

Well, this lad did outshine all save the first Eeno in who in behaviour and looks he followed almost to the exact. He raided in the long boats, he sent settlers to the fabled lands of Vinderland. He sent raiders out to capture ships or traders to discover new trading. Those who had thought to challenge him faded as their wealth grew as did his.

Acca became rich and powerful and he never once trod out of the villages stockade. It was only at his death that he was carried to his pyre and tasted the strange air of the ‘with-out’. Yet that was to come.

A great Chief Thorbold arrived at the near by Thing and Acca, never having travelled outside the village walls, failed to meet him so the Chieftain lowered himself by visiting Acca instead. Much was whispered and more was said when Thorbold was found left for dead, tied to his horse’s saddle days later.  Thorbold had been found wearing nothing save an old sacking tunic. They wondered what had occurred, as you would. Acca and all those about him swore that Thorbold had left the village hale, hearty, well fed and well honoured. Those who watched Acca’s face as this was owned up swore a flash went through his hair, his red hair: the red hair of Eeno. Those who looked for Thorbold’s murderer went away muttering and with the air of great suspicion falling on the village. Still the village prospered and Acca became ever richer and more powerful all the more and then – like a dream, all the wealth of the village vanished. Acca went at a loss. As well as this all his women and he had several, went barren and would produce nothing but daughters.

Some witless soul owned that Acca had crossed the generosity of his fore-bear Eeno. He should never have done so badly to Thorbold. To make amends he had to repay gold and jewellery. This he did almost too late as he began to falter and lose his wits. Then one day a young man entered the village who called himself -“

“Eeno!” cried Torin.

“Just so, lad: with the age old red-hair and by way of being a fair fighter. Acca knew his history and treated the man graciously. He had met the Eeno of his mother’s stories. There could be none other, all agreed it. This young Eeno had spent his life, he owned, tending the reindeer in the land of the Finns and yet could fight like a warrior. Acca took him in and treated him like a brother. That brother, lad, murdered Acca in his bed and took off for Britain. For many summers he lived quietly breeding like a horse and making certain of his lineage afore he died of old age and a grand history.

From this lineage grew the filth of Eadwine!”

“So you looked to right the wrongs made on your fore bear Acca!”

“After a manner!” he grinned.

“Yet you have not claimed the village!”

“No. there is one thing I must do that is far more important!”

“Shall you tell me?”

Acca paused. “Not here! Come to my hut once we are home. The tale is not full told and I need to think on some matters which are unpleasant!” He cast a glance at the oarsman nearest. The gaze was returned but nothing was said.

The waves rose and fell and three times they had to bail for all they were worth. The skies clouded with black edged storm clouds and the wind picked up, billowing into the cream sail snapping the cloth and making the mast groan.

It had been a good idea to make this a lightening raid. Acca held the wooden disc and let the circular top turn and dictate the direction. Then he took a search for the sun gazing through a precious Iolite shard given to him by his mother. There, behind the clouds, hung a small watery yellow ball. Aye they were on target. There was the sharing of sleep, yet few found the ability to close their eyes for long for fear of going over the side. Many were sea sick for all their sea going years.

By late afternoon they had sighted land between the rolling waves. Now would come the difficult part of running the coast and getting into the comfort of the fjord without upsetting the boat. With skill known to experience and many years at the oar, the men brought the dragon boat almost nonchalantly into the mouth of the fjord. A group of Orca’s circled her and this was considered a good sign and a small somewhat bedraggled cheer went up. They were near as could be to home.

As dawn rose, this they guessed this from the faint light spreading across the mountain tops, they had almost come to the head of the fjord with the sail lowered and the wind now dropped in the protection of the mountain. The sound of the oars dipping and dripping was soothing and a comfort to men who now wished to set themselves comfortably at home for the winter. Without saying a word all the men, at one time or another, looked at the snow capped mountains and wondered how long before the snow came lower. Not long, perhaps, if those bruised grey clouds were anything to go by.

Torin took the mug of ale and sat closer to the fire. Acca always had a good blaze. “You promised to continue the story.”

“Aye, three days passed. I thought you were bored!” The look though was piercing.

“Not bored. You have had many come and go that I bare got the chance to catch your eye!”

“You noticed the men did you?”

“Who could not? It is the talk of the village!”

“Is it indeed? And who talks for you can not count the women?”

“Tonsberg, Kalud, Ove, Alvis and his brother Ask, oh and Bjartr, well there do go others but they for the most part talk amongst themselves.”

“Now lad, would that be goodly or poorly?”

“Bjartr has always been for you and he speaks up for you often. The others,” he paused, what he had just admitted had hit him like a sharp arrow point. “Well, they speak of your successes!”

“What do they truly say, lad? Come, we have always trusted the other!” He poured more ale into the mug.

“We have, good Acca! Tonsberg appears to envy you. He becomes bitter after some ale. The others, save Bjartr, agree with him as they fear him!”

“That was very honest, Torin. God’s bless thee for it! No more of that ale or you will never find your way home and will end up in the Fjord!”

 The weak sunlight shone on the red hair of Acca as the bodies of Tonsberg and Kalud floated swiftly out into the current and dipped twice then submerged as tall black fins rose and blasts of great breaths rent the air. He said nothing and returned to his hut in apparent deep thought.

 Torin saw and heard the rumours. His brain began to work overtime. Yet any thoughts were kept to him-self. He had learnt a great lesson in a short time.

As the snow began to melt Alvis and Ask were again fishing as was their wont. The need to begin urgently bailing had begun not long after they had taken the rowing boat into the deeper fjord water. As usual the daily tide was never tardy and every evening there were those villagers who went looking to see what had been thrown up. When the two bodies were washed up onto the rocky shore, the only way to identify the bodies was by the terror-twisted faces and the bodies, or what was left, showed signs of long deep tooth marks.

Torin saw, yet still said nothing. He knew he now had to be very tactful: very careful, or his end would come via the Orcas. Bjartr also watched and wondered in concern. Even those Acca favoured could be killed off if he thought it expedient.

Kalud and  Ove chose to run. They did not need to see the remains of their friends. Acca was no fool and they knew the rumour that he had trained up the Orcas to take human flesh had been legendary and laughed at. Kalud and Ove did not laugh. Soon they were north after a cold and bitter journey.

The red haired man entered the village and those who had cause to see him, marvelled at his height, his manner and the un-nerving fact that he bore a considerable likeness to a certain Eeno. Even those who did not know the story well were soon in conversation with their neighbours. How could this be? Eeno had died many summers ago. He could not have lived THAT long surely? And they also watched with interest as the stranger entered Acca’s hut without request, knock or called announcement. There then followed a long silence that had the villagers wary of interrupting whatever was going on under that thatch.

 Torin, carefully opened the door at the urging of the villagers. The hut was in darkness and he let his eyes become accustomed to the dimness. He recoiled at the smell which reminded him of the time his mother had killed a pig.

“You and me son, need to talk!” said a pleasant almost unconcerned voice.

“Where is Acca?”

“Acca is long past all the troubles he ever started.”

“How do you know that?”

“Like I said, we needs talk, lad.”

“Not in here then! It smells like a butcher’s hut!”

“You feel so sensitive to a spot of blood? Call yourself a Viking? Come then, if you really wish to leave!” and within moments Torin stood next to the red haired man in a spacious well lit Hall. The walls were of pine and shone with newness. The candles were backed by brass plates that threw out the light. The benches that lined the walls were placed with folded blankets for comfort.

“Are you truly Eeno?” Torin asked stupidly.

“You have reason to doubt that?”

“How have you lived so long? Why had you killed Acca? You must have done otherwise there would not have been the blood…”

“What had needed doing has now been done. Do you truly wish to know why he had to die?”

“I think you intend to tell me!”

“Ah! A bright lad! So, to facts then! Drink from this mug and you shall never return home. Eat of this food and your fate shall mix with mine and you shall never die. Sleep on that bed and you shall never sleep again.”

“Whatever you needed to say that for, you can rest assured I understand you!”

“You asked if I was the real Eeno and why I had lived so long: I have just told you! I urge you not to follow my errors!”

“Such things you consider errors? You look well enough on it!”

“Yet you must have felt the need for rest: the need for sleep: the need for food and drink? I have not felt this for several centuries and it does begin to pall. And this I have done for I did not hear out an enemies curse! And I can not see it ended as he is long dead and in Valhalla no doubt laughing at my stupidity. Sit. You may sit, no spells upon that chair!

Once, Torin, I was an ordinary young man who farmed Reindeer and lived by the Viking rules. I cared for those without means and I looked after my family. I worshiped the Gods and yet, for all that, I was cursed by an enemy who was embittered that I had become so fair in all my dealings and so popular. He feared I would out do him in popularity.

When I had gone off to trade the skins and meat, so cursed me, wiping out my family and he took off down south. I returned to find nothing save the memory of a woman I had once loved. I discovered after much searching that Bodil, that was her name and the mother of my sons, had been carried off with the goodwill of her father.

I went after her and discovered her living with a foolish soul name of Bardi. Bodil knew me when we re-met and we settled back to our ways and she bore my children, not his. Then, when he had finally seen what went on before him, he tried to kill me but I ended him. All the folk wanted me for their Chief and this I did. It felt a fair reward. My sons took over in my place as I was needed back home for my reindeer were running to wild. An enemy had cursed me with the ills I suffer and he added that I would never die unless a kin called wrongly upon my family. And damned to all, each soul had been an Acca.  Therefore I ensured any Acca after a fair time was killed and a new soul rep-laced. It has taken me many years to ensure all Acca named souls of my kin or any others have been sorted. Now I look to an empty life with no sleep food or comfort. It has been too long, one Torin, and I want to trade.

The curse can lift if another agrees without pressure to take my place. Acca would not trade. He had his chance of choice and he refused it. I offered him fairly: death or long life. He chose death. I shall hand him that, he went with no cry at all.

I grow tired of this non life, Torin. I offer the choice freely to you. A long, long life with no illness, terror or pain but, in return, you must not eat sleep or rest. Granted, you can farm your reindeer!” This he found amusing enough to laugh at. “What do you say?”

“And if I say no?”

“Sadly I can not let you return to let others know of my existence.”

“I see. I am a young man, Eeno and I -.”

“Have not lived? Oh but you have, young Torin. You have already seen plans, battles and double crossings, have you not? You can not be above twenty if you are a day! Not bad going for so young a lad! Acca may well have been your father but he would have led you astray and into a path you had no right to tread and I would have had needs seen corrected. I but ask you to trade with mine and let me rest as I so desperately need.”

“You do not make it sound at all comfortable.”

“But you can control folk!”

“But all can go sorted. You only need a soul from your kin to call wrongly against your family.”

“My only kin does go yourself Torin, if Acca’s son you truly go. However, if you are then we may try it, “he paused, “but if you are not then I stay as I am and can not die – ever. If you Do go my kin, then I shall have the right to kill you and I SHALL kill you! Be sure of it. You shall be dead before I even fall to the ground.

Therefore I offer you life as if you were me – or you die!”

Torin felt the ground open up below him. “Was this what you offered Acca?”

“Yes, more or less. He requested death and I saw he received it. What say you, Torin? Dare you aid me?”

“But will you aid me?” he asked more desperately than his young wits should have allowed.

“It is your choice alone!”

“And I can not leave until I have come to a convenient decision for you?”

“Rightly owned!”

“I have a question?”

“Ask it then.”

“If I have no kin then I shall stay you forever and there will be no-one for me to correct or aid: I will go you for no reason at all: just sit here with the reindeer!”

“You look to refuse me?”

That was a dangerous weighted question. As Torin drew himself up, he thought there was a small smile on Eeno’s lips. He took a deep breath. “I shall trade with you, Eeno but let us be happy on both sides of the agreement. I swear to you, Eeno the Finn: that if I am allowed to wed and bear at least two sons, then when the elder son is of age I will gladly trade with you and continue in your work!”

Eeno considered the exchange. “I understand your views and I congratulate you on having some wits, Torin. If you swear an oath made by me, wherein I will agree to your decision and ensure it will not be broken, you will agree to abide by what you have decided?”

“Yes!” At least it got him some years as a free man, have children and a life.

 Finally Eeno nodded as if the thoughts made sense in his head: He cut his arm and let the blood drip into a circle on the pine table top. Some blood merged into Runes and others into strange symbols that Torin did not recognise.

“Torin, do you swear upon the blood in your veins, the blood of your future woman and the blood of her sons and any that follow them that, when your oldest son comes of age, you will accept inheriting my life willingly and abide by it willingly: behave as the curse demands – to aid and benefit and correct all your kin’s faults – whether by blood or not even if they are named Acca? You shall live for ever or as long as needs be before you can find a kin that will happily take your place as you have offered to do for me. This you shall  agree to do and do and with such good will from me that you shall feel no pain or trial at the change and all shall go in your comfort and benefit to you and yours for as you farm the reindeer and keep watch upon your kin.”

 Torin looked Eeno in the eyes. “I agree!”

“Then slice your arm as had I and let the blood mix with these runes!” came the command.

Torin paused. From here there was no way back. He sliced his forearm and watched as the blood mixed. Eeno handed him a piece of clean cloth to stop the blood. “It is all complete, Torin. I go proud to know thee!” and he grasped Torin’s arm.

Torin tied the rag about his arm. His fate was sealed. It was not until he looked up that he realised he was back in Acca’s smelly hut. He left before he could truly see what Eeno had done to his kin.

 (6016 words).

8 thoughts on “Here Live Vikings!

  1. OK Lady – this is wanted in the anthology :-D

    I’m hoping to start editing/reviews a.s.a.p in May so will be taking a copy of this into my ‘to be spruced’ folder – if you have any later edits/additions then PM/email me them in Word or similar or post them in here for me to pick up that way ;-)

    • Wow!. ok, I’ll give it another read through and see if there is anything I need to change, alter etc, though I was happy with it.
      Awaiting your comments.

      Will be away for two weeks though I may be able to get in on my cousins computer week after next.


    • Yay! No, thought I’d get a bit of playing in before I go open. So saying had a foreign comment this morning sent it to trash. Looked like eastern european to me!

      Downloading today. Fingers crossed. And I hope to type up a handwritten story cvoncerning your chum and mine Mr Sjoerd!

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