Legends Never Die: Farmstead (ch. 6) (Patreon)

“What happened to the last owner of the farm?” Havi asked as we entered the border of my farmstead. It was a bit of a mixed bunch, I found. There was some flatland near the river that flowed east towards Alabu, my farmstead located further west than my parent’s. There were also rolling hills that were covered in a dense forest along the border of the fifty acres I was allotted.

“Executed. Tax evasion,” I answered with knowledge gained from when I had done a little asking around about the huge swath of land given to me. The story was that the last owner, an older man, began to neglect the farm and his dues to hoard his wealth for Valhalla. First, it started as cutting corners here and there to save some time and money, but the more money he saved, the more corners he cut until the farm deteriorated. He earned a few smacks for being unable to pay his taxes, and had to pay by giving over a few thralls instead, but it was otherwise no issue.

Last year, however, it came to a breaking point. Sensing his death, he fired all of the workers, sacrificed all the slaves for a bountiful harvest, then tried to work the land himself. Only to find that he was too old for the backbreaking labor. At that point, he buried his hoard somewhere, possibly on the land, but no one knew for sure. When tax collectors came around, he told them to lick his asshole, started a fight, then was beheaded. The farm was ransacked for everything it was worth, but it hadn’t been much.

Which meant that the farmland was both in disrepair and left to fallow for about a year. It meant that I would have to start from scratch, but at the same time, it meant that the soil would have regained some of its health.

“Try not to follow suit, yeah?” Tormod said, flicking my ear as we traveled together. Him, Havi, and Kirk all came with me while the others stayed at the farmstead about a day’s travel from my property. I was about a two days walk away from the city of Alabu, more of a day and a half really, but close enough. However, I was also practically next-door neighbors to the Wise Woman. I noticed that on the way here, seeing the same landmarks that we had passed by when Father thought I was possessed. And to the south of me, there was a farming community, a village that I didn’t know the name of.

“Summer is already half over and the fields haven’t even been touched. The first year is going to be a hard one. The second one should be better,” I said, continuing to walk before I caught a glimpse of it. The treeline gave way to flatland, fields that were overgrown with weeds and grass. There were acres worth of farmland, proving that it was larger than my family’s farm. Near the river, I saw a house.

It looked ransacked. When the tax collectors came, it seems that they had decided to tear through the house in search of the old man’s hoard or anything of value so he could pay what he owed after death. The door was kicked in, the roof had caved in from last year’s snow… In all, it didn’t look good.

“That’s why we’re here, little brother,” Kirk said, taking the sight in. “And them, too,” he said, gesturing at those that followed us. I glanced over my shoulder to see a group of five men and women. All of them with their hair cut short. They traveled in silence, their heads hung low.

I had chosen them as my one and a half share of the loot. I never imagined myself becoming a slave owner, but I needed them to turn the farm into what I needed it to become. My brothers and I just weren’t enough to break in a farm this size. Especially when there was my parent’s farm that needed tending to as well. We needed many hands to make light work, and some of those hands were spoils of war.

Along with them was a small army of animals. Sheep, goats, pigs, and chickens. A wagon was full of supplies -- seeds, tools, and the like. It cost a small fortune, but some of it had been covered by the Jarl and some had been gifts from my family. The sum earned from the sales of the chainmail were gone in an instant. As were the minor spoils I gained on the raid for my personal wealth. I still had the gemstones, but using them was a double-edged sword on the account that selling them would reveal that I had them in the first place.

Jarl Horrik was a lot smarter than I had initially given him credit for. I suspected that he was as smart as he was gregarious. And I knew that he wouldn’t leave an investment like this without someone keeping a watchful eye over it.

“Alright, let’s get to work,” I said, striding forward with intent to tame the land. And that we did.

It was months of hard labor. The horse pulled the plow, acting as a workhorse, letting us till the soil at high speeds while ripping up the weeds and spreading the manure into the dirt. Seeds were planted by hand. I hoped that there was something that I could do to eventually speed up the process, but to do so meant I had to increase my learning skill, which was going up the more fluent I became in Germanic or created tools for the farm.

The slaves had been puzzled by the four-field rotation I had established. Barley, rye, clover, and turnips were planted. But, they did what they were told, which was nice. It took a bit of time, longer than I would have liked for the fields to be fully sowed. Only then did we look to other matters.

The house was in a complete state of disrepair. Almost to the point that it would be better to tear it all down and start from scratch. However, just enough of the wood was still strong to convince me to restore the house. The roof was patched, the door was refitted, and the rooms were repaired. For the first time in my life, I had my own bedroom that I didn’t have to share with several brothers and a few sheep. The wood came from felling trees, which I then shaped thanks to the skill point I had invested into Carpentry. With my extra point for my level, I put it into Blacksmithing, though I was limited by the available amount of iron.

My brothers were as shocked as I feared. I also doubted that they bought the story that I had just watched someone when I was in Alabu. It was tempting to tell them that the gods had given me the knowledge, but… I didn’t want to. I didn’t want my brothers to look at me like the warriors had after the battle in Saxony. That would feel wrong in ways I didn’t know how to describe.

The house took days to finish, but when it was done it opened me up for other projects. Like a living quarters for the slaves, because living in a house with people I owned and kidnapped… honestly didn’t sound like a great idea, even if they seemed mostly fine with me, just like Ida had been with Father.

I think my age helped there. I was just a boy in shape even though I was a man. And I spoke to them in their language as I taught them ours.

Animal pens were set up. I started making more fishing traps and snares. Then furniture to fill a rather empty home. I built a workshop that would eventually have a forge next to it, letting me work with both metal and wood.

Months went by in the blink of an eye. Each day I would wake up before even the roosters did, do my daily ritual, begin working on the farm, catch whatever had been caught in my traps, and I would only go to bed when the moon was hanging overhead. There was simply so much to do and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day. Each day was exhausting and grueling, and not even the steady stream of exp could make the tasks any more enjoyable. I went to bed sore, woke up feeling like a giant pulled muscle, then worked all day until I could pass out from exhaustion again that night. It was a perpetual cycle with no deviation from the previous day.

Until, one day, it suddenly did.

I dragged my feet to the house, pushing open the door with a low groan from the hinges. I kept the rusty ones. They were loud enough that if someone tried to sneak in while I was asleep, them opening the door would wake me up. Entering the house, I froze when I saw that the hearth was occupied -- a woman stood in front of a flickering flame that sat below a black pot.

She was dressed in dark clothing, almost making her blend in seamlessly with the shadows of the house. Her shoulders were bare, and her black hair was twisted into a knot and pinned in place, revealing a slender neck. “Do not stand idle, fool. 'Tis your own home, after all,” she spoke, warming her hands by the fire. It was fall already. The harvest would be upon us soon. Hopefully. We were cutting it close and a cold snap before winter could kill my crop.

Given that the temperature was cooling, I was worried that exactly that would happen.

I knew exactly who she was. Stepping inside, I watched her warily as I closed the door. “I do hope that you aren’t warning of another attack. I haven’t been able to lift my hands over my head in days,” I admitted, circling around and leaning against the wall. The girl, the witch of the wilds, glanced over her shoulder at me, a golden eye peering at me.

“I am not an omen of death,” she said in a chiding tone, and I’m not sure if I believed her there. “For you or others, despite what some are so keen to believe.” With her point made, she looked to the fire once again, not offering why she was here.

“That’s a relief. Would you care for some food? Ale?” I asked, making her glance at me again. This time, there was a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“I wonder what kind of man so easily welcomes a witch of the wilds into his home and hearth?” she questioned, turning around, her arms crossed.

“A polite one,” Came my easy reply, and she let out a small breath of amusement at that. “Maybe I would have greater reservation if you hadn’t saved me and my family, but you did. For that, I am grateful. Truly. A warm meal and ale is the least I can offer you,” I told her, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Suspicious. I... didn’t think she often received a warm welcome wherever she went.

Witches were something to be respected and feared in equal measure. People wanted the power of their magic, to use them as seers to interpret signs from the gods, to cure sickness… or to cause it. However, that same power made them outsiders. It made them different.

Being different got you killed as I so narrowly avoided learning the hard way.

“I wanted to thank you with more than words, but I had to go raiding. Thank you for seeing me off,” I said, letting her know that I had seen her.

She pursed her lips, “You have been here for many a moon. My home 'tis but a stone’s throw away, and no deed or gift has found itself offered to me.” she pointed out, sounding downright haughty at that. She cocked an eyebrow, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Hm? Please don’t tell me you are merely offering pretty words because you wish to be between my thighs. T’would be most disappointing.”

“I’ve been a bit busy,” I said, gesturing to all that was around us and tapping my foot on the wood floor. My brothers thought it was a waste of good timber. I didn’t care. I was tired of dirt floors that turned into mud every spring. “I’m afraid I won’t have time to so much as think until the winter months. Then perhaps my humble offerings of fish and bread would have greater value.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted with a small nod of her head, “I have watched how tirelessly you have toiled. One would think that you were the slave and those bound your masters,” she remarked with a smirk. There was a beat of silence as we considered each other for a moment. The first time I saw her, it had been years ago in a derelict building. Then she suddenly appears again, warning of an attack, then disappears like the wind. Only to reappear weeks later to watch me leave from the docks… and now she was here again. Admitting that she had been watching me for possibly months.

She was shadowing me. Following me. For what reason, I couldn’t even begin to guess.

"I never got your name," I pointed out before walking to a pitcher of water that came from the river. Grabbing two cups, I filled them both before passing one to her. The water was safe, I’ve found. No one took ill after drinking it thus far.

"'Tis because I never gave it," she said, accepting the cup, but only drank after I did. "But I know you. Eivor Erikson, the greatest warrior of the age, so some fools say. One that has the love of the gods and a witch of the wilds, for what other reason would I save you in your time of need? Of course, it must be that I am in love with you." Sarcasm dripped from her words as she scoffed dismissively, narrowing her striking golden eyes into a glare as if daring me to believe it.

Right.

"Then why did you?" I asked her, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. "You came and went like the wind. How did you know? Why did you warn me?" I questioned, taking a seat in a chair I had fashioned. It was a pretty shitty one. I wasn't happy with it at all. But, it was good enough to lounge in by the fire. As I sat down, I watched her carefully, trying to read her body language, but all I got from her was an air of mystery and that her guard was up.

She tilted her head, taking a seat of her own. She frowned, pondering how to answer for a moment. "You are favored by the gods, and now the Jarl. Perhaps you will even find favor with King Sigfred. I watched you and saved you… so you would owe me. Your family would be dead without my intervention, if not you yourself. A great warrior you might be, but not all death happens on the battlefield." she said, speaking plainly.

She wasn't wrong there. Her delivery needed some work, but she wasn't wrong.

Debts were things that had tangible value. When you owed someone, you had to pay them back. A debt owed could be the difference between life and death for either the debtor or the one in debt. I owed her a debt and she was here to collect.

"Then I'm afraid you wasted a trip. I will repay you for what you did, regardless of if you wanted to collect or not. You could have stayed home and I could have gone to you," I pointed out, and she openly wore a pleased look.

"How very honorable. 'Tis a very convenient trait," she remarked, making the word sound like an insult. "But there would have been little point. You wish to repay me? I saved your home and hearth, which set into motion your accession to manhood by the Jarl, and that, in turn, is how you find yourself with this farm and a bride. What you shall give is what I am owed -- home and hearth." There was a challenge in her voice, a silent dare to argue.

Which I should.

"You want to live on the farmstead?" I questioned, wanting to know exactly what she wanted from me.

"Not in your home, nor in your bed. You shall build me my own home on your land. As shall you provide for me -- meat, drink, and warmth," she stated, her tone leaving me no argument. "Do this, and I shall consider the debt repaid."

She was asking for too much. Way too much. What she was asking for was to be another mouth to feed. I don't know if we would have enough for myself, my brothers, and the slaves as it was. The temperature was already starting to fall so the harvest was in danger of dying before it could be reaped. She was asking to be a freeloader, basically. Something I didn't expect. For the rest of my life, she would be provided for while not doing any work for the harvest.

Yet, at the same time, she wasn't wrong. If being honorable was such an easy thing to be, then it wouldn't be such an admired trait, regardless of what she thought of it.

“Why me?” I questioned, tilting my head as I looked at her. She was around fourteen or fifteen. Old enough to be considered a fully grown woman. If she wanted an easy life, then she could go up to any Jarl or Thegn and offer herself as a seer or witch. They would be delighted to have someone that could interpret the will of the gods in whatever manner she chose, so they would wait on her hand and foot. “I understand that I am favored, but I’m not established in any way. That favor can be taken back for any reason at any time. If your goal is to live a leisurely life, then there are better choices than me.”

Her lips thinned, not happy that I was questioning her. “What does it matter?” she asked, her tone guarded. She was hiding something. What, I couldn’t tell. But, the fact she wanted a house on my land when her mother’s hovel was less than a day’s walk away… that said something. What, I didn’t know, but it said something. “You are honor-bound to oblige me, are you not?”

I offered a slow nod of my head, “I am, but I’m not inclined to let you take advantage of me. I’m not against letting you stay by any means, I would just like to know why. And what you want. If you’re going to stay, then it only makes sense to know my new neighbor, hm?” I pointed out, and while she seemed thoroughly annoyed with me for making a good point, she didn’t exactly seem displeased.

“'Tis obvious, is it not? You shall become important one day. Your worth as a warrior will have Jarls and Kings throwing wealth and favor upon you to sway you to their side to do their bidding. Or, perhaps underneath that veil of honor and humility is ambition?” she questioned before she smiled ever so slightly. “T’would not be a bad thing. Ambition simply means you understand your value. Should you become a Jarl, mayhaps even a King, then I shall benefit.”

She scoffed, “My mother believes that I should remain in that hut, starving and shivering each winter. What I desire, my ambition, is to simply gain the things that I should have -- pretty baubles, delicious food, and a warm hearth. You are merely a means to get such things.”

Huh. “That’s rather blunt of you,” I said, leaning into my chair. It was also a lot of words to use to say that I was right, she wanted to be a freeloader. Or, rather, to freeload off of an important person. And it wasn’t like I didn’t get it. If doing nothing and not only not dying, but thriving was an option, I’d be tempted to take it too.

“Is honesty not a virtue?” she asked, not sounding apologetic in the slightest for her desires or her ambition.

I thought it over for a moment before I nodded, “Alright. I can begin on your house in the morning,” I told her and her eyes briefly widened, telling me that she expected more resistance. Maybe some bartering, some give and take. I probably should. But, regardless of her reasons for calling in the debt, it couldn’t be denied that I owed her.

“So easily?” she questioned, eyeing me much like a coiled snake. Much like she had the first time we met.

“I do require one thing,” I said, making her lips curl, but before she could spit any venom at me, I continued. “Your name. Unless you’re fond of being called, ‘hey, you’ or ‘witch.’” That took the wind from her sails, making her snarl fade as my request wasn’t what she expected.

She considered me for a long moment. Long enough that I began to think that she was going to refuse. Then she offered a small nod, “I am Morrigan,” Morrigan introduced herself, sounding almost… uncertain. As if she hadn’t spoken her own name in some time. Either she hadn’t, or it was a false name, but I couldn’t see what she would have to gain by lying about what her name was.

I offered her a tired smile, “Nice to meet you, Morrigan. Feel free to take the bed if you wish to stay the night. And bar the door if that will make you feel safer,” I added when her lips parted to say something. “I’ll sleep out here. It won’t be the first time.”

Morrigan pursed her lips, looking at me as if she was trying to see right through me. She wasn’t as good at it as her mother was. Whatever it was she was looking for, she either found it or found a lack of it because she nodded, “Very well. I suppose I should offer my thanks for your generosity. 'Tis not lost on me that you have more reason to refuse than not.” she said, standing up as she headed to the bedroom, not actually offering her thanks. She gave me one last lingering look before she headed to the room, closing the door and barring the door from the inside in case I intended to come in after her.

I let out a small sigh as my eyelids began to grow heavy. That wasn’t what I expected in the least. I hadn’t known what I should expect, but it wasn’t that. However, it would be worth it. In the months I had been on the farm, my Stewardship stat was climbing higher by the day. With Morrigan here, then there was a chance to learn what she knew -- knowledge was knowledge, and it would further help my Learning stat.

And I was going to need it if I wanted this farm to thrive.

…

It had been a close call. There had indeed been a cold snap, bringing winter to the land sooner than I had hoped. There had been one harvest of the barley, and the second harvest had just barely missed the cold snap before the first snows appeared. The turnips had a good turnout as well, though it had been a bit of a hit and miss with some of them. The clover had a number of harvests because it was so fast-growing, the same with the hay grass.

Once they were harvested, I immediately began planting a number of winter crops. Oats, winter rye, garlic, and cabbage. The seeds would grow during the winter, allowing me to have a crop as soon as spring started. That was my hope, at least.

I paid my taxes to Jarl Horrik in food, thankfully. There hadn’t been enough to sell for silver, but I expected that. Next year would be different because I wouldn’t be breaking in the land halfway into the growing season. I would have more time for more harvests, and that was not considering the raiding I would be doing.

Morrigan settled into the cottage I built for her towards the edge of my land, deep in the forest. My brothers gave her a wide berth and had remained tellingly silent about her. They weren’t willing to even speak of her to talk shit, fearing that she would know and cast a curse on them in retaliation. And given Morrigan’s temperament, I imagine she would be rather generous when it came to giving out curses or hexes. It was a decent place -- I had learned my lessons well from my growing experience as a carpenter.

Despite living on the land, I rarely saw her. Just once every other week when I walked up to deliver some food, as promised. She seemed to prefer it that way.

Winter was usually a time of relaxation. A time to play games, or work on things that you could do while staying indoors, like basket weaving or making clothing. I, however, chose to use winter to get more work done. Instead of sitting inside playing Hnefatafl for hours on end, I was pushing back the forest with the intent of clearing another acre of farmland.

It was harsh work. The trees needed to be felled, but the real difficult part was pulling up the stumps. The cold made the ground hard and difficult to work with, which made pulling up the entire root system a vastly more difficult task than it needed to be. It needed to be done, though. Having a forest was nice, but farmland was better. Plus, it wasn’t like I would be deforesting everything, so it shouldn’t impact the wildlife too much.

Which is how I found myself, a rope around my waist, the other end around a stump as I pulled with all of my strength. Veins bulged in my arms, my feet dug into the snow-covered dirt, all the while more snow fell from the dark sky above. My shirt was on a nearby branch, leaving me exposed to the bitter chill in the air. I was working up a sweat, and I didn’t want to soak my shirt then have to wear it. I would get sick.

Gritting my teeth, I pulled at the rope, my calloused hands red and raw, feeling like the flesh was about to be stripped from them as I gripped down with white knuckles. The stump, ever so slowly, began to rise up. Barely more than an inch, but it was enough to get me started. Stopping for a bit, I went to the stump and began ripping up roots with my bare hands to lessen the grip of the tree, then I picked up the rope. Pulling even harder, I heard the cold dirt start to give way to me, the roots losing their grip on the land.

I was stronger now. At first, I had needed a workhorse to help me pull up the stumps. Now, in the middle of winter, I could pull them up myself. The daily exercises that I did remained the same, but the physical aspect of my Martial stat just kept going up the more I pushed myself. There was meant to be a limit for a man. A point where it just wasn’t possible to improve any further, regardless of effort or desire.

That limit didn’t apply to me. Or, at least, it was much further up than it would be for a normal man. Whenever I hit my limit, I would rest and let my body recover, then the next day I could go just a little further. Most of the time it wasn’t even noticeable, and only revealed itself months later when I was doing the work of a workhorse because it was faster to do it myself. And I liked Agro. I’d much rather him stay nice and warm in the barn than be out in the cold with me.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…!” I cursed under my breath, taking a step back as the roots began to give way in full force. The main ones were trouble, but it was the branches on those roots that made it so tough to get out. Once you got the ball rolling, you just had to keep pulling until the entire stump came up. As if to prove that point, the stump seemed to finally let go of the ground, making me land on my ass as it ripped free. I gulped down air, my breath coming out as fog.

Pushing my hair out of my face, and brushing the snow off of my ass, I began pulling the stump to where I had put the others. There were dozens of them at this point, the trunks were laid out and stacked after being stripped of branches. Most of it, I would sell as timber, but I would keep some for my projects. The stumps would be hacked up and turned into firewood or whatever else I could use them for.

It was slow going, but it was going. I would spread the fertilizer into the ripped-up holes that the stumps left behind to enrich the earth in preparation for the first harvest in spring. Things were progressing well enough. We were on track to have a good year.

Heading back to the treeline that got further away by the day, I grabbed my axe and began slamming it into the side of the trunk of another tree. After so many months, I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to unless I was utterly exhausted. One more tree and I would turn in. The air was filled with the sound of my axe hitting wood, the edge had dulled a bit, but with enough raw strength, it didn’t matter much. Winter was always a quiet season as the animals hid in their lairs, waiting for spring to come.

Except for those that survived on the animals that hid themselves away.

A twig snapped in the underbrush, making me pause my swing a second before it hit the tree, my head turning in the direction of the sound. I was expecting to see one of my brothers, come by to tell me to turn in. Or maybe Morrigan, if she wanted something.

What I wasn’t expecting to see was a massive wolf. Its eyes shone in the darkness, the rest of its body almost hidden in the dense shadows because of its pitch black fur, the light streaming through the bare branches of the trees above offered enough visibility to let me see its shape. And what I saw was the outline of a huge black wolf skulking forward, its body dense with muscle. There was a shine from other eyes in the distance, all of them a head lower than the lead wolf that I spotted.

Then it threw back its head and let out a loud howl and the forest came alive.

I was completely surrounded.

...

As a heads up -- Eivor's name will be changing by next Wednesday. Eivor being a girls name was a feedback I got everywhere I posted this, and I really don't feel like getting reminded every time I post a chapter. That, and I think a name change would help clarify a plot point down the line.