Introduction
Sullen was the sky the day the boat was boarded. A cold wind blew in from the sea under a pearlescent sky of gray. The villagers gathered at the shore, their brows furrowed and prayers on their lips. They watched as eight and twenty souls took to their oars. It had been a brutal winter for Kolheim. Upriver the town of Jotunn had made its growing power known, raids on the fishing boats and the grain stores. And before that the soil had spurned last year’s seed and left the village clinging to life.
So was it proclaimed by Arnora, reader of bones and Alva of the village, that the gods had spoken. A saga was called for. The people of Kolheim were found wanting in the eyes of Wodan and his host. How could they suffer such indignities from Jotunn without responding in kind? Were these people worthy children of the Aesir? What feats would they recount when they one day stand before the eternal hall?
Thus was an aging longship laden with salted fish, fresh water, and gear enough for thirty. The ship was old, found ten summers ago with a dead crew and abandoned after an unknown sea battle. It would be the vessel to fortune or doom. Arnora lashed its hull with the branches of hemlock, spat the sacred mead on its prow, and uttered the word “Herlighet” to name it “glory.”
The crew was young, save for the captain and the navigator, and green as new wood. But they were stout. They’d been fed well at their mother’s breasts as well as the mead horn, and taught to a man and woman to fight. Now they took up their swords and axes and put behind farming and the raising of sheep. Mothers held forth tokens of Kord for their sons and daughters. Fathers, grim faced and bent with age, solemnly wished them fortune or good deaths.
Thus sailed the Herlighet into the unknown…
The ship sets sail. Their only direction, the rumors passed on to them by the village elders of dire things promising fortune:
- An angry ghost of a raider chief Halslaf haunts Bone Bay, guarding his treasure.
- A dreaded sea monster looms in Kapinga Bay, guarding a long lost temple to Kord.
- A sea hag Gereon terrorizes Roskilde Bay to the south and hides a trove of weapons of legend.
- A horde of goblins laden with treasure in Haunted Bay
- An abandoned monastery on the Isle of Algron
Finnvir and the crew consider their options. At last, the ship sets off for Bone Bay to explore the old hideout of Halslaf. On the second day a mighty storm blows in, dragging crew members overboard and requiring rescue. The boat takes a full day to restore its course. At last they come upon the tomb of Halslaf and slay the fell creatures that guard his treasure. But Captain Finnvir falls in battle, victim to a falling stone set loose by accident by Finnthor. Finnthor assumes command as captain of the voyage.
After leaving Bone Bay the Herlighet encounters the Sea Witch Rana, who demands a boon. Finnthor scoffs at the witch’s demands. This angers the witch, who summons up a magical tempest that carries the ship into the heavens and drops it far away in unknown waters. The Herlighet follows the coastline of the nearest land and soon comes upon a village. The north men stare in wonder at the strange lands full of reeds and the thin farmers in their pointy hats. A raiding team disembarks and creeps into the village. A young boy standing in a rice field starts to yell, but is cut down by Hjorlief’s axe. Soon the raiders have cut down all resistance and have taken the village.
Halmhallur the navigator hears the words uttered by the villagers and correctly guesses the boat has landed in the far-off lands of Sakura. He schemes a return home that offers three options. The Captain and crew vote on avoiding the Noreast Jaunt or the Straits of Immolas and instead make for Red Horn to travel up river and portage the boat over to Lone Wolf Lake, then travel by way of Tirawa Sea back to the northern waters.
After five days, the boat finds the lands of Sakura receding to the south and makes for the tip of the continent for one last stop to provision. They follow trails of smoke to a village near the coast.
Again the Norgardians go on the attack. They sweep through the village with crazed eyes and yells. Battle is met with men with strange spears and curved swords. But at last the village is taken. Geirbera offers a blood sacrifice to Kord to honor the victory. The raiders restock their provisions with fish and rice and set sail for the wild lands to the north.
Soft was the sunrise on the morn of the crew’s last day in Sakuran lands. Fresh from the conquest of the sleepy village, they uttered prayers to the unforgiving gods of valor and set sail. Long was the path before them to return to northern waters. But strong were their hearts and songs of battle kept their minds to the oars as they sailed onward.
Two days on, a storm of calamitous scale set upon them. The winds lashed the hull and mast like a stubborn thrall. Finnthor, their captain, called out to make for land. The boat passed the mouth of the Sumatra Straits, nary a merchant nor armed escort in view. At last they spied the shores of Xiandai, another far-off eastern realm. By luck they made purchase far from the large settlement some called Fortune Town. For though their courage be sound, the Herlighet would not fare well against such numbers.
To work they went on the ribs and planks of the steely ship. Holmhallur the navigator laid out the plan to the chief members of the crew: their way was well on to Red Horn and the western lands of the Amadar. If only their provisions held and the winds were sweet they would make pass over the Orenda Sea ere the week was out. Geirbera uttered another prayer. From her purse she drew forth two golden Fate Stones, and of their number Finnthor and herself were chosen. At this all marveled, and of them it was Asgrim who seemed to stand taller than the others: for in that moment he was god-touched. So they all gave thanks and set to work.
But the winds were not kind. A storm rolled in the next day at sea, such as only the sagas speak of: planks cracked, oars snapped, and large sums of provender were lost to the depths. Here again they made land, but well on past Xiandai and on the island of Mazu. A small realm to itself, storied for its fishermen and the honors it paid to the gods of the sea.
And so Finnthor drew up and gathered his finest warriors to go forth, for provisions and the taste of victory were in short supply. Into the jungles they drove, marveling at the broad-leafed trees that grew there and the dampness of its heat. Unrelenting, they hunted as the Norgardians do: for blood, for fortune, and for mayhem.
At last they came upon a clearing, and to their ears came the sounds of toil and idle speech. Here were none that knew of war but only the tilling of soil. Such sweet music, like the sound of sheep to hungry wolves or of yielding metal to a smith’s heavy hammer. Their eyes grew keen and they drew their axes.
Finnthor was first, drawing close to a homely house near the edge of the tree line. Then came Hjorleif and Herkatla, stealing to a smaller house beside it. Asgrim and Sighvat, eager at their first raid, hurried after the holy woman Geribera who had drawn up to the nearby groves and made ready.
Into that strange place Finnthor crept, noting the polished wooden floors and drapes of silk that likened the place to a palace. Geirbera too spied these things, and with them a strange idol of a mother goddess with arms lifted to heaven. Strange bowls sat all about, filled with twigs that gave off a queer scented smoke. A distance away, Hjorlief and Herkatla crept into their house and found themselves surrounded by children uttering speech not their own.
But lo, of a sudden came a chanting, far off and otherworldly. It drifted from the far reaches of the village, then filled the room where Finnthor and now Geirbera stood. Bound their minds became, ensorcelled by those voices that muttered rhythmically like the beating of a drum. Asgrim and Sighvat came anon and found them, wondering at their state. But into their midst appeared two holy men, chanting louder and clapping their hands together. A mighty boom erupted, splitting the air and casting them all aback.
In a flash the company moved, falling upon the house on all sides and setting to work on the mad priests. Axes swung, splintering the polished floors. Swords clove, rending the strange reeds that bound the house and all therein. Geirbera and Kolorun uttered prayers to Kord, pressing back at this strange host. Kolgauta drew up and called forth her strange magicks.
At last the priests fell, their robes stained and their mouths falling silent. Geibera, remembering her charge, drove her dagger into their flesh and made sacred the bone revealed to her by the gods but two nights hence. Her face she painted in their blood and commissioned her fellows to hearken to this ritual.
But the voices were not all silent. On the air was heard the chant summoned up again, this time in force and all around. Finnthor looked and beheld all around that place stood a company of priests, all of steel eyes and calling on their foul gods. Off a sudden a great light came down and all therein were consumed in a mighty cataclysm. The Norgarde host was cast to the floor, overcome with a blast that drew all but the last of their strength from them.
Asgrim stood and called out, yelling for vengeance against the mother god. Sighvat leapt forth and assailed the idol, bringing his axe down in mighty blows. Hjorleif and Herkatla charged, felling the priests at the door of the dwelling, while Salhelga and Thorgeir rushed the flanks of the foe and turned their chants to gurgling screams.
In a swift measure the battle was over, the Norgardians breathing heavy and standing over the tattered limbs of the fallen acolytes. Geirbera collected herself and made for the center of the village. Before her red-stained visage the people fled screaming with eyes wide in bewilderment.
“See what we have wrought, O Kord,” the woman shouted in a hoarse voice. “See us and our deeds, our show of your strength and that of the north! Hear our battle cry and know this land is marked with your name!” What that Gerbeira fashioned the sign of Kord in the dirt and spat an offering of salt.
Then the sky darkened. From every corner of the sky clouds rolled inward and swirled overhead. Lightning flashed and thunder came in a wave that shook the ground the very buildings. A low rumble sounded, building slowly into a growling, booming voice so terrible it moved the north men to quake in fear.
“We have seen what you have wrought and it has been found worthy. Go forth and be mighty.”
And so it was that the company of Norgardians lay claim to the Mazu soil for Kord. And mightier were they after they went forth from that place.
Chapter 4: Lair of the Wendigo
