Legends Never Die: Embracing Change (ch. 85) (Patreon)

There were other buildings I should probably start with, I knew, as I hammered away at a chisel, taking chunks of stone with every strike. What Lay Within was guiding my hand, showing me what the marble wanted to be and it was up to me to bring it out of its excess. I wanted to build a bathhouse. I had seen them in Constantinople, and I thought it was a good place to start. Though, I couldn't bring myself to copy the Roman design.

The water they bathed in was dirty. Bathing in it was certain to cause sickness, as sure as bathing in a dirty river would be. So, I was tinkering with the designs to find a way to cycle the water so that it always remained clean. That was my excuse for why I wasn't building a bathouse first but the truth of it was…

I really wanted to build a library. One dedicated to Odin. An equal to what I found in Constantinople. Equal to the Library of Alexandria, one of the lost wonders of the world. But, it was easier said than done. And I was learning that even a basic library was a costly thing to make, much less maintain. The costs of translating every text, making copies, procuring ink, and the payment for the scribes… I was one of the richest men in the Roman Empire at the moment. I possessed several cities worth of treasure, and a fleet of trade ships. And the cost of what I wanted to build still made my purse strings balk.

“T’is unnecessary, you are aware? We shall leave this land in but a few years. T’is not as if you can take the whole building with us,” Morrigan remarked from her position, overlooking the grounds that were being worked on by dozens of men. They dug into the soil, laying the foundation that the building would be built on. First the ground would be dug, then it would be leveled, and then a slurry of ‘concrete’ would be laid. The same material that a number of Roman buildings were made of.

I instantly understood the value of the material for my plans, but it too was another secret of the Romans. A far less dangerous secret, but a well kept one all the same. The ingredients were already known to me, but not their portions. And if I asked a dozen Roman architects how it was made, I’d get a dozen different answers.

“I'm aware,” I replied as the figure in the stone began to reveal itself in the form of an outline. A rough one. “I don't intend to take it with us. We'll leave the copies behind and take the originals with us. But that's not why I'm building it.” I explained, reaching a point that I found… difficult.

Morrigan sat on a slab of marble cradling in her hands a baby raven that she was feeding a smashed worm. “Then for what reason are you wasting perfectly good money on this?”

“It's the prototype for the library I'll build in Denmark,” I replied, setting the chisel aside to pick up a smaller one meant for detail work. “It'll be bigger. Better. But, I know it's going to have issues getting off the ground and I want to get that out of the way beforehand. So, I'm making the mistakes here.” As I spoke, I inclined my head to my men that were watching the architects. Learning from them.

All of them were wounded warriors that could no longer fight. They were missing hands, or a foot, or a wound simply didn't heal well enough that they could fight like they used to. It was those men that I had learning from the Romans, and it wasn't a small expense. There were precious few people who could serve as translators between Greek or Latin to Norse or Germanic.

Which led me to another project that I was working on, which had expanded and tied into the library itself.

“The library will become a place of learning overseen by an order- or orders- of scribes and teachers,” I continued, tapping away at the statue with far greater care. In the months since I started sculpting, both with wood and stone, I found that detail work was what I had the most difficulty with. Especially when it was so much slower and more deliberate than knocking out the outline. “They'll maintain the texts and teach others from them.” After all, there was little point in me gathering such knowledge if others didn't learn from it.

I was tempted to do something like the university, but my own experience there had soured me to the idea. I had yet to think of a good replacement for it, but I was looking for one. “Translators, architects, mathematicians, philosophers, historians… they will all find a home in my library. To learn from my hoard of wisdom, and to add to it.”

Morrigan hummed, curious about the project but not as invested in it as I was. And I was invested. The groundwork was already being laid as I stumbled towards my end goal. My crippled warriors would reposition themselves to a more supporting role. First, they would become translators. Architects. People of learning that would learn everything that they could from the Romans. That would form the foundation for the order of scribes that would oversee my library.

It wouldn't be for everyone, I knew. Most were trying merely because I asked and they wished to make themselves useful. But that didn't mean that they had the aptitude for what I was asking of them. And that was fine. I needed a way to sort out who had a talent for what anyway.

It was clumsy and wasteful, but I was here to learn from my failures.

Taking a step back, I looked at my current project -- a raven that would be perched over the stone doorway to the library. Its wings spread out wide, its head looking down at those who passed under it… it would be another long term project. My first large sculpture since I have been practicing with smaller stones for a few months now. I wasn't that good yet, much to my chagrin. There was too much for me to do and simply not enough hours in the day for me to practice constantly.

Especially when it came to detail work.

“An order dedicated to Odin, hm? Like those Christian monks?” Morrigan questioned and out of the corner of my expanded vision, I saw her smiling lightly as Huginn and Muninn hopped into her offered hands before she deposited the birds on her shoulder, who then nestled themselves in the raven feathers of her dress. She named the birds for Odin's ravens…

And I wondered if Odin looked through his ravens like Morrigan did. The thought was enough to make me jealous and regret that I didn't take the boon when it had been offered some time ago. Almost at the very start of my journey.

“Maybe. Perhaps not in so many words, but something similar? I want to build a place of learning where anyone can come. To do that, I need dedicated teachers.” I'm uncertain that making it a religious order was the wisest choice, mostly because of what I had experienced at the hands of Christians.

My frustration got to me and I carved too deeply for a feather. Instantly, I saw the shape of what the stone want to be shift, becoming what it could be. It was a minor difference, but it was a stark one. What Lay Within felt like a burden as much as it did a blessing when it came to this -- my hands weren't yet clever enough to bring out what the stone could be. It was frustrating.

However, I took a breath and continued my work. Getting over the desire for perfection was the most difficult part of art, I found. Even if the pieces I had sculpted earned some praise, I could only see the mistakes I had made. A leg too skinny, a wing longer than the other, or in this case, a feather that wasn't like the others.

“Whatever it will be, I want to get the bones of it ready now,” I said, continuing to carve away at the stone. Even if the detail work was far slower than carving the outline, I found that I was much faster than others I had seen in my visits to the University. In the time I struck a dozen times, another would strike once. Or less.

Morrigan hummed, “There is a lot of that going around,” she noted.

“This was what I meant to happen when we arrived at this land. Until now, we've been distracted,” I pointed out, knowing exactly what she meant. With war no longer on the horizon, or my problem, I could finally work on the projects that I wanted. Slowly making progress on a dozen different things and trying them out to see what worked and what didn't.

Olek brought a concern to me recently -- the recruits that Gerald brought back would be a mixed bunch and I saw enough of the immigration to Norland to agree with him. For every second or third son we saw from someone of relative means who were attempting to make their own way in the world, we had a hundred desperate people seeking a new start. I imagined the people Gerald brought back would be no different.

As such, he wanted to impose much higher standards for entry in my army and I was inclined to agree with him. Precious few had slowed us down or proven unworthy, but it couldn't be denied that some were simply more suited to war than others. With another influx of warriors, Olek feared that those with talent would be drowned out, so he was looking for a way to weed out the hopeless cases. We hadn't settled on anything yet, but Astrid had started working with him to help establish a system that would enable her to use her blessing more effectively.

If I had to describe everything at the moment, then I would describe it as a state of change. My army was changing. Norland was changing. Jill, Astrid, Morrigan, and even I were changing.

I was looking forward to the next steps, I decided, finishing off the beak of the raven. It would take me weeks to finish the piece. Fast by most standards, but slow for me because I had so little time.

“Hm. In that case, I prefer being distracted,” Morrigan replied, stroking the baby bird on her shoulder that snuggled with his brother. “It… vexes me that you bend to their wishes.” The ‘they’ in question was easy to make out. And I knew what she was hinting at. A point of contention that had been slowly brewing.

“Norland will endure our departure,” I replied, moving up from the beak to the eyes. “It'll be too valuable to tear down. And…” I trailed off, finding myself agreeing with Morrigan silently. “We are building this place. It's an experiment, but that doesn't mean that I don't value it. When we leave, I want the transfer of power to be… non destructive.”

To that, Morrigan made a dismissive scoff. “Your responsibility to this place ends when you leave. Everything that comes after is the will of the gods and the people who made choices. Informed choices.” She pointed out as a raven's eye slowly took shape. A gentle layering of stone to give depth to the sculpture.

“By the time we leave, most of the people that live here will be Romans and Abbasids,” I replied. Most. I expected some would stay behind. People that found the weather favorable, those that found a life. Those willing to convert to the Christian God or the Muslim Allah. Then there would be those that were not eligible to join my army -- the families of soldiers, or those that wanted to fight but didn't make the cut. “Odds are that as soon as we leave, this city will be the spark that sets off another war between them.”

Immigration was slower than I would like, but about what I expected. Word had spread that I was developing the island of Crete. Villages were being established while industries to process the goods they produced were up and running. Those goods were in turn being sold to the Romans and Abbasids via a trade network -- Michalis in Rome, while Hadi- or, rather, Hadi’s wife Sheba, worked in the Caliphate. It was a time of opportunity for many. People that had few prospects were pulling up stakes to move here where they hoped to find a future.

However, what I was… was a constant reminder. I was a pagan. An outsider. Neither Christian nor Muslim, so only the most desperate found themselves willing to come to my lands. Them, and spies sent by either the Romans or the Abbasids.

“Building churches and temples and mosques is a way to deal with that? When we cannot even build a temple to our gods?” Morrigan shot back, an angry edge in her tone that I knew wasn't entirely directed at me. “You risk the wrath of the gods, Siegfried. Even you.”

I didn't think she was wrong. The citizens of Rome wanted a church to worship in. The citizens from the Caliphate wanted a mosque to worship in. The Christians didn't want the Muslims to have a mosque. The Muslims didn't want the Christians to have a church. The one thing they seemed to agree on was that the Jews shouldn't have a temple, and neither should we.

The way I was considering to deal with the brewing mess was just to build them a church, mosque, and temple each so everyone would be happy they got what they wanted and unhappy that their enemies got what they wanted. Which ran into an issue that the gods, so far, had been silent on. I would be building places of worship for everyone's gods but my own.

I lowered my hands, “I know. I'm working on it,” I offered because I don't think my original plan of a secret temple would work. I couldn't be seen building religious buildings for other religions and not my own, because that would be suspicious. My current idea was to continue with the secret temple, build an overt temple that I expected would eventually be converted into a church or mosque, while dedicating buildings to the gods. At the very least, it would increase the odds that something of my gods would remain.

Morrigan offered a noncommittal hum at that, accepting the answer for what it was. We lapsed into a more comfortable silence that was only broken by the ravens and my chisel. Slowly but surely, the raven was being revealed from the stone. My hands were steady, moving with purpose, and I let myself imagine what it would look like in all of its glory.

The raven would sit above the arch of the main entrance. Rich dark oak double doors. The grounds would one day be surrounded by statues and art, the halls decorated for the achievements of students that would learn and discover because of this library. The building itself would have a wide base, a deep cellar, and a tall tower in the center of it. It would lay in the heart of Norland.

As I imagined, I didn't fail to notice Olek approaching us. His face was set in his usual glower, though he did seem particularly annoyed at the moment. He came to a stop, waiting for me to finish, and with a few more taps, I inspected the eye. It was almost perfect. Not quite there, but almost. “More mercenaries?” I asked him, looking at one of my commanders.

“Aye. This one is a bit different. A woman for one,” he informed. “And from what I've seen of her crew… they're worth considering,” he said, and that was the highest praise that I had heard from him. Which meant this band of mercenaries was something special.

While the average citizen only came to Crete if they were desperate, every mercenary in the Mediterranean was coming to us in droves. I had sacked several cities, and word was slowly spreading of my deeds in Francia and at Ravenfeast Valley. I had earned a noble name. I had lands. And I paid very well. Many saw me as their ticket to success. Which is why I had Olek testing how we would sort out the Norsemen and the mercenaries.

“If you say she's worth recruiting, then I'll take your word for it,” I told him. “Her name?”

“Kassandra. Or so the boy tells me,” Olek replied. “She leads a band of fifty men. All who made the cut. She has an eye for talent.”

To that, I chuckled, “She must have really impressed you for you to compliment her so freely.” To that, Olek grunted.

“So long as she doesn’t do something stupid, she'll impress you.” He offered with an indifferent shrug. “Can't say how far they’re willing to go with us, but I can find a use for them in the meantime.” To that, I nodded.

I didn't expect there would be many mercenaries that would be willing to join me when I sailed back to Denmark. However, it did seem a shame to not take advantage of them while we were here. Some could join us, and if the majority didn't, then they could serve whoever took lordship over Norland after I left. Either way, they were useful.

“Do so. Also,” I spoke up, glancing at him. “I've spoken to Alexios about training. He pointed me in the direction of the gladiators and Spartans.”

Olek frowned, “The men we slaughtered when we arrived? They did not impress,” he pointed out. I agreed with him on that account.

“The Spartans were said to be the greatest warriors in the world at one point. They fell from grace because they got fat and arrogant, but they're still an example worth looking at.” Most of their tactics wouldn't be of much use, as the phalanx wasn't as powerful as it once was, but how they trained their soldiers was worth learning from. Parts of it, at least. How Rome trained gladiators was useful as well -- weight training, rest days, and eating certain foods.

The army was changing. I had already done away with the factionalism, uniting what had been dozens of mercenaries and second sons from two nations into a single unified army. Now, I sought to elevate that army.

“I'll translate the texts and give them to you. Tell me your thoughts on them,” I said, and Olek nodded before both of us caught a glimpse of someone running down towards us. I frowned, recognizing him as a messenger. “Is there something wrong?” I asked, seeing that the man ran until he was breathless.

“Lord Wolf-Kissed! It's Princess Astrid!” My guard went all the way up, but I still felt blindsided when he continued after a gasp.

“She's in labor!”

…

Fear. It wasn't something that I was accustomed to, I realized. It had been a very long time since I felt the cold grip of dread grip my heart in a vice. I used to feel fear on the battlefield, but exposure had lessened that fear into nothing as I always emerged victorious. What I felt now was enough to drive me to my knees, and when I heard a pained cry through the door of the birthing room, it was almost enough to make a coward out of me.

I found that I couldn't remain in one place, walking the halls in a furious loop. The longhouse was silent except for Astrid, and I couldn't tell if that was a blessing or not. Part of me, a large part, wanted to take action, only there was no action that I could take. Morrigan had unceremoniously shoved me out of the room, barring me from it, and as much as I would like to, I didn't dare challenge her authority when it came to this. Morrigan was young, but she was a trained wise woman.

The fact that I would be just as restless in the birthing room as I was out here wasn't a helpful thought. I just wasn't used to feeling like… this. Like the outcome was completely out of my hands. Like I had no control. The Norns wove our fates, our lives were ultimately theirs to decide what to do with in the great tapestry that was the world, and perhaps it was arrogance on my part… But I had rarely felt like I needed to fear the Norn's sheers.

I felt confident that they would not be done with me at least until I slew Horrik and Thorfinn. I didn't go out of my way to tempt them into cutting the thread of my life early, but I had a quiet certainty that whatever my fate may hold, I would have my vengeance if nothing else.

But this… This was different.

“How are you holding up?” Thorkell greeted me and my head whipped around to look at him, having failed to notice his arrival. My surprise must have shown because he chuckled, “Not well then. No surprise there.” I fought off a scowl at his casual tone while he took a seat at the long table I had been pacing around.

I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to act like nothing was wrong. I wanted to pace and be miserable until I was called upon to welcome my child into the world.

“Back home, your kin would be taking you out to get drunk right now. Or to go hunting to bring something back for the babe and your wife,” Thorkell noted, and this time I did scowl. “It helps. In the end, there's nothing you can do, and that drives most men up the wall. It's a tradition.”

That sounded vaguely familiar, but I had never experienced it myself. I was the youngest, and my one nephew… I had been cultivating a farm to impress Horrik when he had been born. Had Brandr gone through this? This feeling of helplessness? Of wanting to do something, anything, but finding there was simply nothing that he could do?

I wished that the gods would give me a quest. Something that I could accomplish for them to safeguard Astrid and welcome our child into the world. But so far the gods had been silent, and I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.

“There's nothing to hunt on this barren island except goats,” I muttered as my pacing resumed.

“And I've never seen you get drunk, so that won't work either,” Thorkell agreed. To that, I snorted. “What exactly has got you so wound up-”

“GET OUT OF ME YOU LITTLE BASTARD!” Came Astrid's furious shout and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Thorkell seemed worried for a moment, but when there were no follow up shouts he seemed more amused than anything. Then he held up his hands in surrender at my annoyed look.

“Astrid is a tough woman. Having a child is never easy on anyone, but if there's ever going to be anyone that makes it through it then it'll be her,” Thorkell offered. It was less reassuring than he intended, but it was also more than I expected. “But, it's not just that, is it? I've seen plenty of fathers-to-be, and this is different from the usual fears.”

To my annoyance, he wasn't wrong. I chewed on my thoughts for a long minute, not even sure how to start. “My child… son or daughter… Alfreric said something to me after Ravenfeast. How my child would forever be in my shadow. What if he is right? What if my child resents me? My brother does…” I muttered to myself as much as I did to Thorkell. Haldur rejoiced in my failures as much as I did my victories.

Thorkell scratched at his cheek, and I could tell he didn't have an easy reassurance. Because Alfreric was right. We both knew it. I had waved off the concern by saying some empty words, but now that my child’s arrival was imminent… I realized just how hollow they were. In the end, Thorkell could only shrug. “That's the burden of having a famous father. Do your best to share the glory with him?”

My gaze was flat at the advice and Thorkell winced. But, before he could say anything, another cry pierced the air.

The cry of a baby.

My heart lunched in my chest and I found it hard to breathe, freezing mid step as if I had been turned into stone. More cries followed and my mind was blank, I couldn't even think a single thought until Morrigan opened the door and closed it behind her. There was some blood on her hands and I feared the worst when her golden eyes landed on me.

“She survived the birth. It was an easy one,” Morrigan stated and I found that difficult to believe. I've heard men dying who sounded like they weren't in as much pain. “They are cleaning the baby now,” she said and I stumbled when she offered a slight smile, “You're a father.”

Thorkell clapped me on the back with a victorious laugh, sending me towards the door. I struggled to find my voice, “Can I?” I started, gesturing to the door. Morrigan nodded, stepping out of my way. I swallowed a lump in my throat before pushing the door open.

Astrid looked like she had been through a battle. Her white shift was marked with sweat, she was pale even as she was red from exertion. In her arms, as she sat in a chair carved from wood and layered with furs, was a small bundle. I only noticed that I was moving forward when she glanced up at me, offering a dazzling smile before showing me what the bundle of cloth contained. “We have a son,” Astrid introduced, passing me the swaddled child.

My child.

I was a father.

It didn't feel real, I decided as I looked down at my son. He was a reddish pink, with a tuft of thin red hair upon his head and chubby cheeks. I was left simply staring at him, not sure what to say. Or do. Luckily, Astrid did. “He's a boy, so you get to name him. Did you settle on anything?”

That was the agreement we made, I recalled, but every name I had considered flew out of my skull along with my wits, it felt like. I swallowed thickly, considering it as I held my son. My first born. All the names that I had considered suddenly felt unworthy of him. Despite what I had told Thorkell, I suddenly wanted to conquer the entire world just so I could give it to him.

But first I had to give him a name.

“After one of my brothers. My eldest,” I decided, speaking in a low whisper, worried the sound of my voice would wake him.

Astrid perked up, “Brandr?” She said, looking confused when I shook my head.

“I had another brother who died when I was young. There was a cold snap and a false spring, killing our crops in the dirt. It was a hard year for my family. All of us went hungry, but my eldest brother… he wouldn't eat to make sure the rest of us had enough. I likely only survived because of him. But, for his kindness, his body weakened and he perished,” I said, feeling my child wiggle in the cloth he was wrapped in until one of his arms escaped. I smiled as I offered a finger and his small hand latched onto it.

To him, I spoke to. “I will name you in his honor. From this day onward, your name shall be…”

“Ragnar.”