Legends Never Die: Yule (ch. 27) (Patreon)

Despite the siege, it was decided by King Widukind that we would celebrate Yule to honor the gods, as thanks for the victories we had enjoyed so far. While we couldn't make wreaths, we had everything else we needed to celebrate -- animals to sacrifice, and Yule logs that were carved out of buildings that had been torn down. The decision wasn't just to honor the gods, I suspected, as I overlooked Frankfurt from one of the watchtowers. I wasn't sure who spoke of it, but word had spread about the second Frank army, though how many they numbered ranged from five hundred to fifty thousand.

The Saxons were worried about their families and the people they left behind to fight. The Norsemen were worried that they had attached themselves to a dying cause that had no hope of success. While it would be a harsh drain on our foodstuffs for the siege, Yule was the decision of the Saxon King. To take everyone's minds off of what laid beyond the walls for a short twelve days. It was probably the correct decision, because in the weeks since winter came in earnest, there had been a great deal of tension within Frankfurt.

Surrounding the city, and within it, was a layer of pure white snow and frost. As if the snow was trying to smother the evidence of the siege -- the ladders and rams that had been destroyed and left to rest for weeks, signs of the battle to enter Frankfurt, and the fortifications around us. Even with the tension,there were some mornings that seemed peaceful. It was for that reason I frequented the top of the watchtower and thanks to the cold, more often than not, I was left alone.

I had a number of things to take up my time despite the siege. One of those pastimes turned out to be wood carving. What Lays Within turned out to be a very interesting gift from the gods. When I picked up a hunk of wood and a whittling knife, I felt an itch to take it to the log. It was as if I could see what was within, a shape that the log could be and yearned to become. All I had to do was carve away the excess to reveal it. Which is what I found myself doing with a great deal of my free time. Currently, I was carving offerings to Odin -- Hugin and Munin were first, the two raven were side by side. Then were his wolves Geri and Freki.

Lastly, I was working on his eight legged horse Sleipnir. Who was proving very difficult and tedious to carve. All the same, despite how delicate some parts of the wood were proving to be, I slowly carved away at the wood to reveal the shape it wanted to take. At least until I heard the whistling of an arrow just before it slammed into the stone next to me. One of the Franks had just taken a shot. Something they often did when I was working on my carvings.

They thought me exposed.

Letting out a small sigh, I set Sleipnir down along with my carving knife, before picking up my bow and arrow. Nocking an arrow, I crossed the watchtower to see the Franks in their fortifications. Smoke drifted up from several places, and tents were placed over the top of the trench to catch the snow and ward off the cold. I shook my head -- I didn't understand how they could need a fire to stay warm. This was a very mild winter.

I was greeted by another arrow the moment I revealed myself, Projectile Prediction warning me of it before it struck, so I simply leaned out of the way of the arrow. Spotting the two men that thought themselves clever, I pulled back my drawstring before releasing the arrow. It struck true, catching one of them in the eye before he could duck behind the fortifications. That earned some panicked shouts from the other. I knew from experience that he would crawl away, hiding behind the wood logs that protected him. Some had been burnt when I tried to set them on fire with no luck.

Shaking my head again, I walked back to my stool on the side of the watchtower that faced Frankfurt. Sparing a glance at the city, I saw that it had suffered some radical changes since the siege began. Axes had been taken to the buildings that weren't being used, the wood being turned into barricades and obstacles. Among other things. A good portion of the city was completely unmade, with more on its way thanks to our labors.

As I sat down, the door swung open to reveal Thorkell. He wore a dime blue tunic and a pair of jerkin trousers, similarly unbothered by the cold. He greeted me with a smile and held up a small keg, "Guess what the lads found? Mead. Finally something to drink other than that grape juice," he said, earning a smile from me as he kicked the door closed behind him.

"I'd take cover behind a stone wall. The Franks have been getting bored," I told him, catching a drinking horn and accepting a cup of ale. Bringing it to my lips, I let the honey sweetened mead wash down my throat with a content sigh. I didn't share Thorkell's distaste for wine, but if I had to pick between the two, then the choice was clear.

"They aren't the only ones," he remarked, sitting across from me with his back against the stone wall facing the Franks. "I hate sieges."

I know. "We're just wintering here, Thorkell. You have my word. As soon as the frost breaks, we'll be leaving Frankfurt in force." I reassured him, still recalling my promise. Our position felt like I was pushing the promise to the point of breaking, however, but there was little to be done. Even if we forced the Franks to break the siege, we wouldn't be able to leave. Even in this mild winter.

"Aye, I know," Thorkell agreed, having accepted my arguments before. Still, it didn't mean he had to like them. "It's just going to be a long wait. Progress is going well enough. King Widukind thinks we're ahead of schedule despite the hardness of the ground." That was good news. Very good news. When I offered the plan to King Widukind, he seemed doubtful of it. But it seemed like it could be possible. It probably helped that many men were alleviating their boredom with the labor they undertook with the promise of gold and honor.

I resumed carving Sleipnir, "Thorkell… why do you hate sieges so much?" I asked him, and Thorkell didn't seem surprised by the question, even if he did take a long gulp of his mead before answering. He had spoken at length -- often -- about how much he hated them. The sickness. The boredom. The long days of nothing during the summer and the longer cold nights in winter. But he never said why he hated such things with such passion.

He let out a sigh after finishing off his cup of mead before helping himself to another, "I wasted eight months of my life in one," he admitted after a long moment, his tone unusually heavy. "I was a younger man. Not much older than you are now. I came from a poor family and as soon as anyone would take me, I joined up with a band of mercenaries in search of glory and wealth." I paused my carving to listen to his tale, surprised by it to some degree. I didn't expect it to be an old hatred.

"One of the first jobs we took was to sail off to a city down the Dnipro River as part of an army. I didn't even care enough to learn the name of who we were fighting for. Just that they had gold and offered glory. Glory is in short supply during a siege, I learned. And gold can only be counted on if you win. Which we didn't. Half the army ended up shitting themselves to death. Nasty way to go, that is. The defenders sallied out and ran us off after eight months of sitting on our thumbs, waiting for them to get hungry enough to surrender." Thorkell scratched at his cheek as he recalled the memories, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

"I was in a band of a hundred men and two ships. We barely had enough men to row one of them back. And when I arrived home empty-handed, I learned that my family had been slain," he told me, making me go very still. "Our farm was on the border with the Swedes. Raids were common enough in the area, but… ten, fifteen years ago, they heated up to a border dispute. Was a short war about it before Jarl Asger lost the lands to the Swedes. For a time. I think either he or his son's took them back not that long ago."

I was silent as I listened to his tale, unable to help but draw comparisons to my own. It was a common enough story, I knew. But it was startling to hear it come from a trusted friend who had had it far worse than I did. I couldn't imagine what I would have done if I came home to find my entire family dead. "Did you take vengeance? I can help you in this-" I started, willing to start adding names of men who must die to my list.

But Thorkell waved me off, "I already took it, Siegfried. Caught some of the men that did the raid. Others died in battle. Ended up joining with every enemy that Jarl Bjarke fought against. Ended up killing him too. The blood debt was paid," he reassured me. And I think that was how Thorkell was so well known. It sounded like he fought for a wide number of people that shared a common enemy against the Jarl. It also became clear why he hated sieges so greatly -- they accomplished nothing, and while he accomplished nothing, his family perished.

"Good," I told him, meaning it. Then I paused for a moment, considering a question I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to. All the same, I forced myself to ask it. "Did it help?" I asked him, my lips thinning as I waited for the answer.

"Before I took my vengeance, I was haunted every night by nightmares. Of my family. My father, mother, and my sisters haunted me. Blaming me for not being there. And after I paid the blood debt in full? I've slept soundly ever since. Their spirits are at rest. So, yes. It helped a great deal," Thorkell reassured me. Good. That was good.

I couldn't wait for the day that I could finally be free of this anger. And the guilt I carried for not being there. It was fate. There was nothing I could do to stop it, but that didn't make not being there any easier.

"If I might offer some advice -- think about what comes after your vengeance. That was something I failed to do. I fought recklessly for many years, aimlessly. It's nothing short of the will of the gods that I didn't end up dead in some pointless battle here or there. You want Horrik to become King so you can take the crown from him, yes? Then that'll mean you'll end up as King of Denmark." Thorkell advised and there was a truth in his words that I pondered while taking another sip of mead. "I don't know the first thing about being King, so I can't offer any advice there. But it's worth thinking about at least"

I was saved from having to answer by a red projection lining up with my throat. Leaning out of the way of it, the arrow bounced off the stone behind me a few seconds later. Thorkell seemed a bit alarmed, but otherwise unconcerned when I let out an annoyed sigh as I got up again and picked up my bow. "If I do become King, then King Charlemagne would be the biggest threat to my rule," I ventured, uncertain if I even wanted to be King. From the little I saw of it, it didn't seem like a pleasant job.

I found the archer that nearly killed me with blind luck and fired an arrow at him, catching him in the hand that he carelessly had peeking over the wood logs as he bent down to speak to his companions. More screaming filled the air before I fired another shot when a man peaked up a bit too slowly and caught an arrow in the eye.

"Aye, probably," Thorkell acknowledged. "Or you could end up fighting him for the crown. If I were him, I'd head up north to Denmark with my armies as payback for the ruckus we've caused." That was the general consensus. Which did make it a very real concern for me. I had faith that Horrik and Thorfinn would die at my hands, but the norns could have other ideas. It was possible that they would die at the hands of Charlemagne, leaving my vengeance unfulfilled.

Meaning I had all the more reason to defeat Charlemagne here. It was only a question of whether it was possible or not. King Widukind's plan hadn't worked out, and even if we did deal with the besieging army, there was another one we would have to contend with. As I thought it all through, I fired three arrows that managed to kill three men that had tried to fire back at me. After a long minute, no one else tried. Today. I'm guessing that someone would muster their courage by tomorrow.

"How many Franks have you killed out here alone?" Thorkell asked me, standing up.

I shrugged, lowering my bow, "Fifty, maybe? I haven't been keeping count," I admitted. I had initially hoped to deal great amounts of damage from the watchtower, but the fortifications that protected the Franks were too high. I only got a clear shot when they were shooting at me.

"Surprised that they haven't wisened up," Thorkell remarked, grabbing the half empty keg of mead as we started to head back down into Frankfurt itself. I left the bow in the watchtower but grabbed my Sleipnir carving and knife. I thought much the same.

"I imagine that they want me dead most of all," I remarked, earning a warm sounding chuckle from Thorkell as we descended. Leaving the watchtower, I got a ground eye view of the city. Several buildings were torn down and picked apart. The wood was being sorted by length and usability while construction materials were either salvaged or scraped down to be remade. The labor continued even as snow gently fell from the sky, another building being picked down to the frame while the wood was carted off elsewhere.

Off in the distance, I did hear the sounds of hammering, telling me that things were well underway. I had no idea if my plan would work, but I did think it was the best chance that we were going to have to win. The real danger was the other Frank army. Defeating the besiegers meant little if we were so bloodied that we couldn't beat them.

Thorkell ended up getting drawn away as we walked through the town, greeted warmly by a number of men while I continued on. Something that I had swiftly noticed was that there was an odd tension in the air whenever I tried to insert myself into festivities. A tension that I only saw when King Widukind did the same thing -- it was as if everyone suddenly became aware of themselves and what they said, and that awareness made the festivities less enjoyable. For that reason, I made my way back to the villa. To prepare.

Tonight would be the first night of Yule, after all.

However, what I didn't expect was to see a familiar face.

"Otto?" I blurted, nearly tripping over my own two feet when I saw the priest walking down a road, heading to the church with a basket full of food. He was the very last person that I ever thought I'd see here. In Frankfurt. While it was occupied by an army. Otto seemed surprised to see me as well, but far less so, and he seemed pleased. "What are you doing here?" I blurted, glancing around as if to make sure no one else saw him.

This was not a good place for a Christian to be. Especially not now.

"Siegfried. Good evening," Otto returned, seeming to find my shock amusing. "Did you not know I chose to remain in the city?" He asked and I most certainly did not. No one said anything about it to me.

"Why would you do such a thing, Otto? This will be your death," I told him, honestly shocked that he hadn't been killed already. Maybe there was more power to the Christian God than I expected, because it really could only be divine intervention to explain why he wasn't beheaded by an angry Saxon or Norseman. "I- I can get you over the walls with some rope-" I started, only to bite my tongue.

I'm not sure if I should do that, I realized. I'm sure that the Franks could hear the construction happening, but I sincerely doubted that they knew what we were doing. If Otto got over the walls, then he could tell them. But, if he stayed in the city, I couldn't see this ending well for him. The opposite, really. I only saw it ending in pain and blood for the priest.

Otto offered a small smile in response, "Thank you for the offer, Siegfried, but I am where I wish to be. The faithful within these walls still require a shepard," he stated. The thralls, he meant. The laborers, servants, and pleasure slaves. I didn't think there were many. Maybe a hundred or so across the board. "I refuse to leave this place when there are Christian souls that are in need of guidance, as well as souls that can be saved." He gestured for me to walk with him and it felt like I was walking him to his execution.

"You're going to die," I repeated as bluntly as I could, trying to drive the message home.

Otto laughed, "A death in service is a good death, I think." He returned, a very alarming lack of fear in his voice. It was… different, I decided. The other priests that I had encountered had such conviction in the powers and magics of the cross, but that conviction was born of fear. Instead, Otto carried himself with a quiet confidence. Almost as if he were a warrior that fought a thousand battles off to fight a thousand and one. It wasn't that he thought that his God would stop him from being killed.

It was that he didn't care. No. Perhaps that wasn't right. It was that he accepted that death was a very real outcome to his actions and he wasn't flinching away from the cost.

"A death that could be avoided, Otto," I told him as I found him leading me to the church.

"There's more to life than living, Siegfried. I believe I am meant to be here. For there is good to be done. So, I shall remain until my death or the liberation of Frankfurt," Otto returned, that quiet confidence shining in his tone as he opened the church to reveal people. His flock, I imagine. An odd thirty people, men and women, who looked upon Otto with warmth while casting venomous looks at me when they thought I couldn't see. But, even as he said it, I felt the former was far more likely than the latter.

I watched as Otto began to give out loafs of bread, breaking them apart with his hands. The people took it greedily, but Otto said nothing. As soon as they took the bread, muttering a thank you, they walked to the far side of the church to get away from me. So, I don't think it was their usual reaction to getting free food. Food that I had no idea how Otto got since everything should be rationed outside of the feast for Yule.

"You should avoid going out for the next several days, Otto. All of you Christians," I told him as he approached with the last sliver of bread. He broke it into two pieces, one slightly larger than the other. He offered me the larger piece, but I shook my head, refusing the offer. "There will be many sacrifices. You should take care not to be one of them."

"Your holiday, Yule," Otto voiced, sounding like it wasn't the first time he received the warning. “It… practices human sacrifices,” there was condemnation in his tone that he was trying very hard to keep out, but it slipped through anyway. He took a seat on a small wooden stool as he nibbled on the bread.

“Not usually,” I answered. It depended on how desperately people wanted the favor of the gods. “Only when we feel we are in dire need of the gods' attention, and I believe now would qualify.” People, even thralls, were considered too valuable to sacrifice lightly in the village of my birth. Other places could afford to do it more frequently, I had heard. But, in the small farming community I grew up in, I had never seen it and I had ended up mostly skipping Yule last year because I was working on the farm.

Otto shook his head, “A terrible thing. I can’t understand your ways. There are times when I almost start to believe that you see the light of God in different shades than Christians do. Then there are times when I believe that your gods must be the Devil in disguise,” he admitted to me, and I bristled at his tone before reminding myself he meant well.

“Our gods are not yours,” I said with conviction, knowing it to be true now. “Our ways are not yours. Those that are sacrificed are honored for they will have the attention of the gods, and they will be welcomed into their halls for their stout hearts and faith.” There were precious few that were willing to part with their lives out of faith for the gods. Most people were too attached to their own lives.

“Martyrdom,” Otto said, and I took a moment to place the germanic word before nodding.

“Close enough, I think,” I agreed. “I will do what I can to protect you while you are here, Otto. I just ask you not make it difficult for me,” I requested, earning a chuckle from Otto.

“You do me a kindness, Lord Siegfried,” Otto responded, sounding thankful for it. I didn’t particularly care for the Christians within these walls, but I did find myself respecting Otto. I never would have thought he had such courage when I first captured him. He had leaned on his cross like a crutch and a source of comfort. Now he had the strength and the faith to stand on his own two feet. A very dangerous thing to do when he was surrounded by ‘pagans’ that would want him dead because they could not kill the Christians outside of our walls.

“I can’t promise you your life, Otto. But I will do what I can,” I told him, standing up when I heard a horn blowing for the celebrations to begin.

“My lord, that is all any of us can do.”

…

There was no building large enough to house everyone for Yule, so we didn’t celebrate it within a single building. In something of a field that had been opened up after several dismantled buildings, a large bonfire was built that was before an altar for the sacrifices and rites. The night came quickly despite it being so early in the day, revealing the stars above as the skies were clear of clouds. I stood in a place of honor along with King Widukind. And Grimar.

A steady drum beat echoed through the air as the festivities began. From my position, I saw Morrigan approaching. Her face was smeared with white lime, her lips and eyes smudged with soot while bits of bone and colored beads were woven into her hair. In her hands was a large wooden bowl while the rest of the procession either carried or led animals to where they would be sacrificed.

The hymns were sung loudly as the first of the animals were brought forward and placed on the alter. Chickens were beheaded, and their blood drained from them. Next were pigs, goats, and a singular cow. All of them had their throat slit and the blood drained from them as the previous animals were handed off to join the stew that was being made so we could partake in their flesh. However, unlike back in Alabu, once the bowls were filled, men were led forward. They were smeared in pigment and the drumbeat got louder.

The first laid himself down on the alter and Morrigan took her place behind it, “Odin! Thor! Tyr! It is to you, who we offer this sacrifice!” She announced, bringing the sacrificial knife down and a cross the man’s neck. His blood flowed out, dripping into the bowls by several channels carved into the wood. As he died, he was removed from the alter and another took his place. “Frigg! Freyja! Freyr! To you, we dedicate this sacrifice!”

The final man was brought to the alter and again, Morrigan cut open his throat as he died soundlessly. Or if he made a sound, then it was lost in the chanting and drumbeat that echoed through the air. She finished offering the last man to the gods, “To you Njord! Idun! Baldr! We dedicate this sacrifice!” A great cheer went up as the last man was sacrificed. Painted women and men grabbed the bowls filled with blood and grabbed wickers to dip them in it before they began to move through the army, flicking sacred blood on warriors.

Morrigan approached us, a wicker dipped in blood. There was a slight smile tugging at the edges of her lips as she flicked blood across my face. Instead of moving on, as she likely should have, she flicked blood across the Yule log I had in my hands. The first that would be tossed into the bonfire. Then she leaned in, “Carve a wish upon it.”

I blinked at the advice, not sure what she meant. So, she clarified, “It’s a tradition. In my homeland. Carve a wish upon the log before throwing it into the fire. It will make sure that the gods will hear that wish,” she told me. I had never heard of that before. Probably because most people didn’t know how to spell. However, one thing stood out to me.

Homeland. Along with a tradition I had never heard of. I always thought that Morrigan had been born in Denmark, like I was. But I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

I looked down at the piece of wood for a moment, wondering what I would even write upon it. What wish did I have in my heart? That I wanted to win the war? For my family to be safe? For the deaths of Horrik and his bloodline? What wish did I hope the gods to hear? Morrigan moved on before I had a chance to ask any questions further, though I did notice that she hardly sent a few drops in the face of Grimar before moving down the line until the entire army would be blessed with the blood of the sacrificed.

It was as I looked at Grimar, who scowled at Morrigan as she moved on, that I knew what I wanted. I took out my carving knife and carved the runes into the surface of the Yule log. With my wish carved, I stepped forward towards the bonfire that was roaring to life, washing the clearing in light.

I threw the log into the fire, sending up a cloud of sparks up before I reached into my pockets, revealing the carvings I made. “I offer you these, Odin,” I told the All-Father, looking at the carvings. I suppose, given they were my first attempts, they couldn’t be considered that bad. They were still of poor craftsmanship. I hoped the All-Father didn’t mind. I tossed them into the fire where their surface started to blacken, becoming fuel for the fire that would burn for twelve days and nights.

Then I looked up into the sky, seeing the sparks raise up and fade away.

I knew exactly what I wanted.