Legends Never Die: Hard Living (ch. 3) (Patreon)

The pace of change was a fickle thing, I learned. It can crash over you like a tidal wave, sweeping you out to sea. Yet, other times, it was slow. Gradual. Glacial. Like the slow encroaching of a glacier. Change was something that you couldn't run from. You couldn't hide from it either. Change was a fundamental aspect of the world -- something so easy to achieve, yet so impossible to control.

Because, once things changed, 'normal' was forever lost. Forcing people to adapt to a new 'normal'.

It was two more weeks before my brothers and father returned, all of them having sailed east to raid for food and spoils. In that two weeks, things settled back down in a way that was almost the same. I did my daily ritual. I did my chores. I checked the traps and the fishing lines. I weaved with the girls, and I think I managed to talk my mom into letting me learn how to play the lute.

That was a small change, though. The big change was that my eyes now constantly searched the treeline of the forest for intruders. My axe never left my side. My collection of stones for my sling increased. The dead warriors had been stripped and their bodies burnt, leaving me with their equipment. From the several sets of chainmail that I now had in my possession, I made sure to wear one at all times. I had stashes of weapons and armor across the farm now so I would be ready, no matter where I was, for the next attack to come.

Things had changed. For my entire life, the farm had felt so… isolated. Safe.

It no longer felt safe. And I doubted that it ever would again. I knew how fragile that peace was, now.

My brothers didn't take the news well that the farm had been attacked when they returned. After learning that I had killed eleven men alone, all of them were giving me weird looks. Father always said I was going to be a great warrior, but I doubted that they really believed it. Brandr was grateful to the point there were tears in his eyes when he thanked me. The others were happy that they had a home to return to.

Father, however, sat in front of the fireplace and nursed a cup of ale. "I know who did this," he said in a quiet voice after Mother and the others gave him the story. "A pissant named Kalf. He owns a major farm near Alabu. Bigger than ours. It started off smaller… but he's been playing the game with Jarl Horrik. He's favored. So, when land adjacent to his suddenly becomes vacant with no clear rightful holders, it just makes sense that it would go to him."

There was a deafening silence at his words, the entire family gathered up. Brandr spoke after a moment, "You are favored by the Jarl too. Would Kalf really risk his ire by attacking us?"

Father snorted, "Jarl Horrik and I are old men now, and I earned this farm by proving myself in battle. By attacking us, he sought to discredit me. For what good is a warrior that can no longer protect his own home?" Father asked, draining his cup as he breathed in deeply. He reached out, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in close. "Kalf wouldn't need to do much, then. He would launch another raid or two, burning our harvests and killing our animals to cement my disgrace… then, I would die. And you, Brandr, would get an offer on the farm that was in danger of being taken away by the Jarl. It would not be a good offer, but it would be better than death."

He spoke dispassionately, before reaching up and tugging on one of my ears, "At least, that is how it would have gone if little Eivor was not here." There was a round of skol at that, my family toasting to me as I got a few back pats from my various brothers. "A good thing too. The attack on the farm was more profitable than our raid."

Mother looked faintly surprised, "It was that poor?"

Havi spoke up, "There was a famine. Their harvest was poor last year, and the people were destitute. Half the slaves we took died on the way over." He sounded disappointed as he threw a stick in the fire. "There wasn't any glory to be found either. We were just putting them out of their misery, like a village full of sick dogs."

"There will be another raid," Father spoke, his voice calm. "Jarl Horrik spoke to me about it before we returned. He wants to go South, to raid the Saxons or Franks and take their wealth for ourselves."

"I will stay at the farm," Brandr decided with a shake of his head. Seems like he was done with raiding. For this year at least. Tormod and Halfdan quickly echoed the sentiment. So did the rest of my brothers, some with more reluctance than others.

Father nodded, "Aye, I figured as much… which is why only myself and Eivor will go." he decided, making my attention snap to him. That got a laugh out of him as he read the confusion on my face. "You're a man now, son. Might as well get your arm ring and make it official. And it would be good for us to take this attack to Jarl Horrik's attention."

This… was sooner than I expected. And…

"It's our turn to look after the family, Eivor," Brandr said, zeroing in on my concern with leaving -- what if the farm was attacked while I was gone? I looked at the others around the hearth, all of them supporting the decision. Meaning that it was pointless to argue.

I looked up at Father, "When do we leave?"

"In the morning. First light," he decided, which was rather soon given that he had just returned today. But no one protested the decision.

"Could we go visit the Wise Woman?" I requested, making Father's eyebrows shoot up at that. "Her daughter warned me about the attack. If she hadn't done that, then I wouldn't have known until it was too late. She gave us time to prepare and get the drop on them before they attacked."

Mother gave me a concerned look, "Her daughter? The Wise Woman has no daughters. You just said a girl warned you," she said, making me frown.

"I saw her when Father took me to her. She introduced her as one of her daughters," I explained, warranting a grunt from Father.

"A witch of the wilds," Father spoke, a sigh in his words. "The Wise Woman raises girls that find their way to her in her ways. She teaches them strange magics and hexes before sending them out into the world to do the will of the gods. And her own, I suspect. At least, that's what I heard. Never had reason to believe it until now." Then he pinned me with a look, "Why do you want to visit the Wise Woman?"

"To thank her," was my swift reply. And also to figure out how she had known about the attack. Was it fate? Had she communed with the gods and they sent her to warn me about the attack? Or had she been a part of the group already and betrayed them? I didn’t know and the lack of clear answers was incredibly frustrating.

To that, Father chuckled. "There's no need for that, lad. If she is a witch, then I have no doubt that she already knows. Now, off to bed, all of you. It's going to be a long day tomorrow for all of us," he said, pushing me off of the log stool I used as a seat, my back hitting the dirt floor before I rolled to my feet. Father gave me a cheeky smile before I headed off to the room that I shared with Havi and Kirk.

But I stayed up. Long into the night, even after the house was filled with various snores. My ears picked up on the faintest of whispers shared between Father, Ida, and Mother.

"Kalf has no reason to attack us," Ida spoke lowly. "It doesn't make sense that it would be him. There are plenty of farms between us that he could pull this stunt with."

"Our farm has performed too well, Ida." Father answered, his tone flat. Even. As if he had suspected something like this would happen. "Ever since we started doing things Eivor's way, our harvests have been bountiful. It hasn't gone unnoticed. Not by Jarl Horrik, nor by Kalf and his ilk."

Meaning that the attack on the farm had been prompted by me. It wasn't my fault. I knew that. It was the fault of the piece of shit that tried to kill my family.

"And the alliance with our neighbors threatens Kalf. Between the two of us, our farms will equal his and he will never earn the favor of the Jarl if we continue to produce more than him," Mother clarified. "So, he seeks to kill us before it comes to that."

I heard Father sigh, "Politics. I fucking hate politics."

"But we have to play, Erik. Willingly or not, we have to play."

…

The city of Alabu was… incredible to say the least. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, so far beyond the small village of Ivarstead. It was nestled up against the water, the same river that the edge of our homestead butted against. There were no walls to speak of. The buildings had sloped roofs and were a single story, the roads were made of mud with a few planks tossed over the worst of it.

People walked by, some shoving wares in our face or offering themselves for their services. Animals walked the street like they were citizens too. Down the main road were the docks, which had a few ships moored at it. The tallest building of all was the longhouse -- it was a long building as its name implied, easily three times the size of the buildings that surrounded it. Wider too. The tall roof of it gave the building another two stories in height over a regular building, give or take. I hadn’t known it was possible for men to make a building so mindbogglingly huge.

It was absolutely incredible and I was trying to take it all in all at once."How many people live here?" I asked Father as he led me to the longhouse, pushing through a crowd of people. There were so many. Even at the festivals to celebrate and thank the gods in Ivarstead, when everyone joined together, it couldn’t compare to the number of people around me.

"No clue. A thousand at least. Maybe a bit more, but I wouldn’t bet that there are more than two. Not even one and a half,” Father answered, roughly shoving a man that bumped into him and continuing to walk. So, a thousand and five hundred people? I tried to picture that number of people before me in a large crowd and I couldn’t imagine what it would even look like. “It’s rather different than the farm, eh?”

I shared a smile with him as we stepped inside the longhouse. It was a wide building and the first thing I saw was a very long table running right up the middle of it. The ceiling was high, and I saw that there was second floor that was only half built, a platform for the important people gathered here to use so that they could literally stand above those with less status. Thegns, merchants, and other nobility. All of it faced two large chairs that were covered in pelts, the thrones of the longhouse. There were plenty of people inside and I smelled roasting meat and smoke from cooking fires. The longhouse was filled with the general clamor of lots of people talking over each other as I drank it all in.

“Very different,” I agreed. My eyes darted around, looking at bearded faces and smiling women. They talked, argued, joked, laughed. The hall was filled with good cheer-

“Erik! I thought you already set off home to that wife of yours,” I heard a voice call out to us that I could only describe as thunderous. Everyone looked in the direction of the source -- There, I saw a tall man with a dark mane of hair, dark blue eyes, and a braided beard. He was solidly built with a bit of a gut, but with his thick arms and broad chest no one would mistake him as overweight.

“Jarl Horrik! I’m already back -- I couldn’t risk you leaving without us,” Father said, walking forward, and the two embraced with a laugh. When they broke apart, Father reached back and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me forward. “This is my youngest son, Eivor. He is here for his armband.”

Upon hearing that, Jarl Horrik gave me a surprised look, his eyes looking me up and down. I looked back at the man -- I had heard about him all of my life, but it was the first time I had ever met him. He was around my Father’s age, possibly older. His hair remained dark, with no signs of greying, though his face was lined with wrinkles. He had smile lines, I noticed. He seemed like he was the kind of person that laughed a lot.

“So, you are Eivor. Your father wouldn’t shut up about you the entire trip. I just about tossed him in the river for some peace and quiet,” Jarl Horrik eventually said with a chuckle, reaching out. He pinched my smooth cheeks, tugged at my ears, then tussled my hair. “Ha! He isn’t as funny-looking as you were at his age,” he remarked to my Father before giving him a pointed look, “But you yourself said that he wouldn’t be receiving his arm ring until next year.”

To Jarl Horrik's unspoken question, Father nodded, “I did. But, while we were away, my boy became a man.” he spoke up, raising his voice, drawing the attention of the hall. “My home was attacked by raiders. Eleven men in total -- armed with axes, shields, and spears. They wore chainmail and the leader had a pouch full of coin,” he said, reaching to his belt and offering the pouch to Jarl Horrik who no longer smiled.

There had been no pouch on the raiders. That was a lie.

“But Eivor, my son, defended our home. He fought those men. Alone. All of them. And their corpses are feeding my pigs and my boy has proved himself to be a man,” Father said and I felt myself become the center of attention of everyone in the hall. There was a low muttering that rippled out through the hall as the Jarl gave me a considering look.

“I have known your father for most of my life, Eivor,” Jarl Horrik spoke, silencing the halls. “I have never known him to lie to me. Even when I would prefer it that he would. So, I ask of you -- is that true? You killed eleven men on your own? With no help at all?” he asked me, resting his hands on my shoulders as he peered into my eyes as if he could perceive the truth in them.

I squared my shoulders and nodded, “I was warned by one of the witches of the wilds,” I offered and I could feel the room shift at that. “She told me that we were going to be attacked, which gave me enough time to grab my sling and axe while they were still getting in position. I dropped the first before they realized that I knew they were there. The others I killed as they were charging across the field, or I got them in the knees. I lured two into the house by running inside, then killed them when they followed me in. The last three I killed in a duel -- well, it was meant to be one on one, but they dishonored themselves. Then they died.”

The Jarl nodded, “Honest. Just like your father. I see what he means when he spoke of you. Every father speaks that way, but for you… I suspect there’s more to it than loving bluster and hot air.” he clapped me on the shoulder, “Come. It’s time to make you a man.”

He walked to the throne, making a gesture at the people. Father offered a small smile to me, dipping down as we followed in his wake. “You didn’t have to mention the witch,” he remarked quietly.

“Credit is given where it’s due,” I responded. I hadn’t been able to go to her, yet. Her dwelling lay in the opposite direction of the city. And I had already thanked her, but that wasn’t enough. Not for me. Without that warning, things could have gone down very differently. I might not have realized that they were there until they were in the house. Or until they snuck up on me. It was in no way an exaggeration to say that she had helped save my family.

Renown was important. For some, it was the only thing that mattered. They spent their entire lives trying to become famous to earn a saga that the skalds would tell until the end of time. I wasn’t any different. I already had the gods’ attention, but the idea that stories of my deeds being told for my great-great-great grandchildren as a saga was what every warrior wanted. To be equal to the Sagas of King Horlf-Kraki, or Beowulf. For that same reason, I wouldn’t cheat the woman that helped save my family out of the renown that she was due.

Father just let out a chuckle as a rather rushed ceremony began. The Jarl’s wife, one of them at least, stepped out from the bedroom dressed in fine furs. She was young. As young as Asta, so in her late teens at her oldest. She was pretty. Very pretty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin with high cheekbones -- her name was Oydis, I think. The Jarl’s third wife. She smirked at me as she took a seat on the throne, her hands lightly clasped on her lap.

“Gather ‘round, you lot of bastards! Gather around!” Jarl Horrik exclaimed, gesturing for everyone to crowd around me. Then for me to kneel down before the throne, so I did so. He took in a deep breath, seemingly satisfied with the crowd witnessing the event. There was a slight smile on his face as he looked around before his gaze settled back on me. “Eivor, son of Erik,” he began, taking a sword that was handed to him by a servant. Laying it flat across his palms, another sprinkled dirt and salt on the polished blade.

“Take this offering of earth and salt to remind you that you come from the earth and the sea,” he spoke, sounding like he had rehearsed the speech and spoke it many times. I had heard about this part, so I knew what to do. Leaning forward, I licked the salt and dirt off the blade and leaned back. Jarl Horrik unceremoniously tossed the sword to a slave before he accepted a polished gold arm ring with the ends shaped as two snarling dragons. “This arm ring was meant for my own son that’s on the verge of becoming a man. But, perhaps it was fate that you are here on the day of its completion.”

He leaned forward, “This armband is a sacred thing to our people. All oaths taken upon it must be kept at all costs, or your place in Valhalla is forfeited. For breaking a sacred oath makes you a nithing -- a vile creature with no honor, that is cursed to forever wander this earth. It also symbolizes your fealty to me, your Jarl. What say you, Eivor? I know I’m an old fat bear of a man, but I’m a good enough leader. Feel free to ignore everyone that says differently.” There were chuckles around the hall at that.

I nodded, “I swear my fealty. Your enemies will be my enemies,” I added and he seemed impressed based on the smile he wore.

“I feel safer already. Come on, put it on!” he urged, sounding as excited as I was, handing me the armband, and I rushed to do so. I slipped the band on, pushing it up to my elbow, and I admired the quality of it. The band was two serpent dragons bound together, coiling around one another. It must have cost a small fortune. I smiled to myself as I looked down upon it. Then I felt a hand reach out and touch my chin.

This part, I had also heard about from the others. Brandr had complained it was an old woman for him, until Father smacked him. Havi, however, said that it had been the most gorgeous woman in the world, which is how I knew her name even if I never wanted to hear it in his sleep again.

Oydis smiled as she cupped my cheeks, leaning in to kiss me on the lips. It was a quick kiss, but my first one -- her lips were soft, I noted, a little dazed. As she pulled back, the crowd cheered loudly. People stomped their feet and clapped. When she let go of my face, the Jarl rubbed my head as he looked at Father, who appeared incredibly proud.

“Seven sons of yours have reached manhood, Erik. The gods have truly blessed your family,” he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “And I suspect your youngest shall join us in our next raid?”

Father smiled, “I’m afraid it is no longer my decision. He is a man. It is up to him and the gods to decide his fate,” he said, earning another cheer from the crowd behind him. Everyone looked at me expectantly, already anticipating my answer.

As if I could refuse. For my entire life, I only saw the farm and Ivarstead. The city of Alabu was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. What other incredible things could lay beyond on distant shores? More than that, raiding was a way to provide for my family. Times of plenty didn’t last. Raiding meant that if there was a bad harvest, or the next raiders did what Father said and burned the farm, our deaths wouldn’t be certain.

There were a lot of reasons to go. For fame, glory, and to provide for my family.

“If you’ll have me,” I answered, speaking to the Jarl more than the crowd. To that, he clapped me on the shoulder with one of his large hands.

“Of course! I cannot wait to see your prowess in battle with my own two eyes,” The Jarl said with a laugh. He wasn’t being entirely truthful, I sensed. Part of it was for the crowd, and I’m guessing that part of it was that he didn’t really believe that I had killed eleven men despite claiming so. I could understand, even if the doubt in my abilities stung at my pride. I only a little more than half my dad's size, and only freshly considered a man. “Our ships will fill once again as we sail south to richer lands. There, we will find glory and plunder as decided by the gods -- for it was that reason why Freyja struck the eastlanders down with famine. So that we would go South in three days time!”

Another cheer went up at that, this one the loudest of them all. I ignored it for now. Three days in the city? I was excited to see what it had to offer.

…

Being a man now didn’t mean I was suddenly treated like one, I learned as I stood in the market square. “Two silver coins,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest as a man stood in front of me, running his fingers over the links of the chainmail I had brought to the city. I didn’t bring all of them or try to sell all those that I had, but with the extras, I was hoping to get them out of my hands.

Luckily, with it being raiding season, I had a list of potential buyers looking for a little extra protection.

“Half of a silver coin, little lad. It is not even worth that much! And I am favored by the gods, so I don’t even need chainmail,” he said, and if I had an ounce of silver for every time I heard something like that uttered in the past three days, then I could probably buy an entire fleet of ships.

Bartering wasn’t a skill that I had any experience in. Honestly, I don’t think I was particularly good at it either. But, it was something I had to learn and I think I was learning quickly. Diplomacy was going up just for my attempts at bartering, regardless of if I got the sale or not, though I got more if I did, so I knew that the gods at least thought I was getting better at it. And each successfully sold shirt of chainmail was accompanied by a few silver coins and some Stewardship experience.

“But the gods help those that help themselves,” I quickly shot back. “If a man jumps off a cliff, the gods won’t make wings sprout from his back! They’ll just laugh as he falls. Why tempt fate into ending your story earlier than needed?” I argued, earning a expressive, contemplative expression. Our day of death was written in fate, but not every injury was so. In theory. I think. I would leave the specifics of fate to the gothi. “A coin and a half,” I tacked on, earning a smile from the man.

“Deal!” he said, reaching out and clasping my forearm as the deal was struck. He reached into his pack to pull out a bit of silver that looked like it had once been a candlestick along with a hammer and a chisel. Using a piece of wood that I had been sitting on, he lined up the chisel before looking at me. “Fair?” he asked, earning a nod from me as it looked to be about the amount of a coin and a half of silver.

With that, he brought the hammer down, cutting off a chunk of silver for me. I handed over the chainmail as I tucked the silver into a bag that was growing heavier by the day. I had brought six extra sets of chainmail with me, and I sold all of them, netting me a heavy purse worth of silver. It wasn’t an exorbitant amount, but it wasn’t nothing either. Most of that sum would be going towards the family pot -- a nest egg in case we needed to buy food. Some would be kept for myself.

I had a plan for it, but so far, even without the raid, my family was good financially. What I brought in would just be extra security.

A horn blowing in the distance caught my attention, making my eyes snap in the direction of it. I grabbed my pack, my shield, and axe before I walked to the docks. A crowd was forming already, everyone drifting towards the docks to say their farewells. Normally, there would be a feast of some kind, but there already had been one for the previous raid and the men were eager to be off to make up for their losses. I pushed through the wall of bodies, making my way to the docks to see that the ships were being loaded up with supplies for the voyage.

My help wasn’t requested or wanted, which left me with plenty of time to barter and explore the city before we officially set off. I spoke to the blacksmith and carpenters. Neither was looking for apprentices, meaning my chances of learning either trade were shot. But, I had arranged to buy some blacksmith tools.

In the end, it was a trade that I could pretend to bullshit. Even if a lack of connection with a formal master would make it harder to find someone willing to give me a chance to prove my worth as a blacksmith, that didn't mean it was impossible. As for explaining how I had gotten so skilled in the first place, well, while there was finesse there and technique, it was also something that I could pretend to have learned by watching the blacksmith during my stay. Once I had the tools, I could look to starting a forge back at the farm. There, I could make things, gain experience, and move things along with my skill in the domain of Crafting.

“Out the way! Move it!” I shouted, pushing my way through -- another thing that I had learned during my stay in Alabu was that everyone needed a degree of force in the city to do anything. I reached the docks just in time to see the Jarl and my Father speaking at one of the ships. The raid would be conducted by those that had either stayed for the second one, or those that were layabouts and were passed over for the first.

The quality of warriors was diminished, as not all of the veteran raiders could stay away from their homes and families for so long. Which could bite us in the ass a bit, but… I was confident that me and Father would survive.

Both men fell silent as I approached, and I had a sneaking suspicion that they had been speaking about me. Father had been working with the Jarl about the raid on the property. There wasn’t much that could be done, really. Father didn’t even mention the most likely suspect because it would just be a he-said-she-said situation. We just didn’t have enough proof to make any accusations.

All signs pointed to nothing being done. Simply because nothing could be done.

I said nothing about it as I loaded up, stepping on a ship for the first time in my life. Stashing my stuff away with Father’s, I took a seat near the water as everyone boarded up. The docks were crowded and noisy, with the beat of a drum ringing out in the air, and people shouting their farewells.

In no time at all, we were pushing off the docks and sailing forward. Despite myself, I looked over the edge of the ship as we rowed with the oars, my arms working in unison with my Father’s as he sat next to me. The crowd of people still hadn’t dissipated yet, all of them waving or shouting, their words carried over the water.

And, against all odds, my gaze met the golden eyes of the witch of the wilds. She stood amongst the crowd, blending in seamlessly. She seemed to catch me looking at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she regarded me with a small nod. Then she stepped back, vanishing in the crowd so I could no longer see her.

I searched for a moment longer before I looked forward.

The excitement slowly gave way to nervousness as we sailed to a new shore. Had she been looking for me and missed me…?

Or what that an omen for what was to come?