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Ghosts and Death

It turned out Greifen was right. The Elhir, who were the mortal enemies of the

Olafson Clan dropped the Fangsnapper from the deck of a Cargo Floater into our

back yard. How this was found out, I did not know, but there was word that

someone did see an Elhir flyer, just moments before the Fangsnapper attack.

Father went before the Elders and made the accusation since open Clan wars were

outlawed.

The Elhir Chief countered that there was no evidence that it was them, but he

suggested that if a single Fangsnapper made such trouble for the Olafson Clan,

they would gladly train the Olafsons in real combat... Everyone expected father to

challenge the Elhir Chief, but he did not.

My father had beaten me as soon as we had returned to the Burg, but the business

of sending boats and men to recover the Tyrannos distracted him and he left me

bleeding in the courtyard.

Midril had Greifen bring me into the still­room where she tended to my injuries

with ointment and bandages. Since she had come back from the Union Hospital

with a brand new arm they had grown her, she often tended to my wounds despite

father's command that no one was supposed to show me any form of kindness.

She had never spoken about the incident, but she took care of the little girl now

and she made sure I got a share of the good things that went to the Family Hall.

Two days later, a hushed rumor was spreading that a son of the Elhir clan and

two of his companions were found lying in front of the Gate of the Elhir Burg. It

was said that the companions were dead and the brother to Sigvard had been

beaten to within an inch of his life and had the marks of a whip all over his body.

­­””­­

On our Burg, nothing changed and I counted the days until grandfather would

finally arrive and take me to the Halls of Hasvik.

Nilfeheim seasons never matched Old Terran Time and instead of a season,

Earthers called Fall, it was the last year of Longnight and the ice was already

gone around our Burg. On our world, it was perhaps the most anticipated time,

when the shipwrights took off the ice slides from the keels of the fishing boats

and the Tyrannos really came alive and started their migration to the Uhim

grounds to mate and feed.

According to our old Earth calendar, today was the Seventh of October 5011, my

12th birthday, but instead of celebrations, I was beaten by father right after

breakfast. The reason this time was that Lothar demanded to see me eat out of a

Nubhir Wolf bowl under the table, I refused and Gretel demanded that father

would do something about it.

He did by pelting his steel cable across my chest and back. I could feel my blood

running almost like water and wondered if one could actually get used to pain. I

smiled, raised my hands and said “Thank you father, for killing me, now Odin

will receive me and I will be with mother!” The Clan Elders of Ragnarsson and of

the Olafsons stood and raised their fists and as I slumped to my knees I started to

recite the Warriors prayer, hoping the Gods would give me enough time to finish

it. Ancient lore promised great favor with the Gods if one died as a warrior and I

wanted Odin to look with favor upon my arrival.

”Gods of war I call upon you...”

Kveldulf was a grizzly old but well­known warrior of the Ragnarsson clan, with

more gray than black hair and a distant Uncle of mine. His face was tanned and

wrinkled by the steady glare of Solken, frosty winds and spending a lifetime

outside, on the oceans or on the ice. He said, “There is a Viking son without fail.

He dies, aye, but Isegrim, with his passing, you lose all rights to this Burg and my

oaths that bind me, shackle me no more. I will be the first to challenge thee. Let

us see how well you stand against a warrior with a sword!”

Father yelled. “Greifen, get him to the still­room and dial for the Union Doctor!”

It was the last thing I heard and I hoped and prayed silently now as my eyesight

faded and my lips no longer wanted to move, that Greifen and the Union Doctor

would be too late.

I cursed the doctor, seeing his gentle face on once again rising out of the darkness

of oblivion. “No Ergil, cursed are thy skills and cursed is thy Off World Tech. Is

it my fate to remain in this world where I am not wanted?”

He shook his head but his smile remained and he said to someone in the room,

“He is well enough to insult me.” To me he said. “Eric, you almost got your wish

but my oath prevents me from letting it happen when I can do something about it,

but you got to lie still until the blood replicator has completed the transfusion.”

“Curse all oaths and let Hel embrace me!”

The other person in the room was old Kveldulf as I recognized his voice. “You

will survive Eric. You are strong! The Huldufolk have their eyes upon you, that is

certain.”

“The Hidden people, the Aesir are not with me or they would spare me such a

father,” I said.

He replied, “Warriors are not born in comfort, revenge flows out of the woeful

tears of the maimed and tortured, you are the Grandson of my liege and I am

bound as he is by oaths and the unbreakable bonds of a warrior’s word. You Eric,

you are not!”

The doctor paid little attention to what was said, checked his machine and then he

said. “I will send the flyer in the morning to collect the equipment. I personally

hope the day of Union Law coming to this cold barbaric world is soon. Then no

child will have to suffer such cruelty.” With these words, he deactivated the

GalNet Avatar projection and blinked out into nothingness.

Kveldulf, arranged his Fangsnapper fur lined cloak, with a sweeping gesture of

his sinew bulging underarm and sat down on a stool next to the gurney I was on.

He checked the machine and tapped it with his finger. “Marvelous little thing, it

replaces your blood. You know you left almost all you had on the stone floors of

the Great Hall.”

“I had not intended to be there nor did I have much to say about the bleeding

part.”

“Aye a heavy load you carry, child, but there was not a dry eye nor a throat not

stricken with pride and guilt in that hall as you, twelve years old, smiled instead

of screaming and raised your arms to Odin. Oh lad! it will be told within these

walls for many Longnights to come.”

“I doubt Gretel or Lothar, or my father felt any such things and he will whip

anyone who dares to speak of me.”

“Even though, horrible is his temper and evil are his deeds, your Stepmother saw

her future run away with your blood. Evil can never stand against valor and it is

by the hand of vengeance, that this Burg will be cleansed.”

“I could not stop him from killing my mother and I can do nothing against him, I

am weak!”

He put his strong hand on my arm. “Today on far distant earth they would

celebrate your birthday, but we are Norse. We are Vikings we do not celebrate the

day we are born. Nay we celebrate the day we receive our name. I was there when

you received yours.”

I looked away. “I wish I was never born, then, mother would not have died

protecting me.”

“Your mother wanted you. She wanted nothing more on this world than you; her

fate was sealed when the pact of the Clan chiefs was made. One kept quiet about

the failings of his son and the other was blind to the signs and warnings given.”

“But your name day, it was a grand day. The entire Burg was decked out in

Olafson red and Ragnarsson black. A son, a first son was born into the world. The

Conjurers and Seers that travel from Burg to Burg to cast the runes and see the

signs, they all came. Clan lords from as far as the Green Eastern Sea came. The

Lord Keeper of Hasvik itself made the trip from the Halls of the Faceless Seven.

All the Elders even the Eldest of them all came, for your grandfather is a mighty

man and the Ragnarsson Falcon is a standard feared and awed. ”

“You, Eric, are the one combining the blood of ancient Clans. One of which, must

fade into oblivion as no male heir is left, but it will not die, as you hold the power

to resurrect the Ragnarssons once you have sons and decide to break the Seal and

raise the Falcon standard once more.”

“Do you know, it was the Eldest, whom they say is a Wizard of great age and

powers beyond those of men, who took the Cup that was called Blotbolli? A cup,

made of the skull of a long vanquished foe, filled with fresh blood of a Tyranno

slain and doused you with it, then your name was spoken by the Elders, by the

Keepers and all who were present and they raised the name Eric with mighty

bellows to the rafters of the High Hall.”

As he spoke, the old man raised his right hand against the vaulted ceiling, “Eric

Thor Olafson, the Keeper of Hasvik himself, insisted your middle name is of the

mightiest of all Aesir. It was Alrik Eric Olafson, who was the first of thy clan to

set foot on this world. It was Erik Thorsten, who did so for the Ragnarssons. Erik

Gustav is thy Grandfather's name and now it is your name.”

He clenched his fist with a fierce proud glare in his bearded face, “The Eternal

Seer, the Hermit of the Pillar himself came to your crib. They say he is a

Necromancer, a Wizard who knows secrets not of this world. Secrets not

understood by all the science of the Union. He threw the rune stones for you and

explained to all that the name Eric is of Scandinavian origin, an old name from

Earth and the meaning of Eric is 'ruler of all'. It is also of Old English origin,

where its meaning is 'eternal ruler.' The Old Seer said that the runes told him that

you would make the meaning of your name come true!”

I listened to the tale of the old man and I did enjoy these old stories, but I was

certain it was just that, stories and nothing more. The Blood machine was not

done and neither was he.

“In the Great Hall it was when your father held you high above his head and

yelled 'Behold my Son!' there were many axes and swords lifted in thy honor.

Then, like the Queen of Nilfeheim itself, your mother came down the stairs, her

hair as golden as the sun, in a dress fit for the Elfenkind. With her, was your

grandfather and he proclaimed his sacred vow, that all that is Ragnarsson on this

world and all worlds beyond the skies shall be yours on the day you are a man.”

I turned so he would not see my tears, I missed her so much. I whispered, “Why

has it turned out like this?”

“Because evil stalks this rock, evil disguised in red satin and velvet, using

witchcraft and trickery that is not of Nilfeheim, for nothing else can turn a man

such as your father into the lackey of a woman, Eric.” He patted my shoulder.

“Now it is time you find some rest.”

­­””­­

It was only a few days after that, when I came home from school, there was a big

crowd in the yard of our Burg, men stood around a bier propped up and on it lay

the body of Old Kveldulf. Greifen pulled me back into the shadow overhang of

the kitchen wall and whispered. “Don't be seen now!”

“What happened?” I gasped.

“They say he fell on the steep stairs to the Sub Den and broke his neck, just as the

Old chief, Volund Olafson did.”

I heard father's strong voice. “Throw him to the fishes, he dared to speak against

me on my table and now he has robbed me of the chance to teach him a lesson.”

He made a vulgar gesture. “Let Hel take care of him now. There is much work to

do so get to it!”

Even from where I was standing, I could see his smug grin and the triumphant

glare of his eyes. I was only 12, but I was convinced Kveldulf did not die of an

accident. However, I heeded Greifen's advice and slipped into the under crofts

and hid in the deep old basements for the rest of the day.

­­””­­

Death was not done and Hel still had her hand over the Burg, because, the very

next day, Geirhild, one of the Free­women working in the Tanneries, threw

herself off the Northern ramparts, where the Duro­Crete and rock walls of our

Burg clung to the very edge of the sheer cliffs. Nobody told me why she did it.

Midril said this was something I should better not know, yet, I heard one of the

kitchen helpers whisper that she saw Harkun, my father’s manservant with her on

that wall, just before she jumped.

When they carried her broken body in, through the gate, I decided to do the same.

I would throw myself over the wall. It was quick and no Union Doctor could do

anything. Even though our teacher said they could bring the dead back to life,

strict laws prohibited that. I'd had enough of the beatings and the humiliation. It

was fast and I would be in the land of Hel where mother was and perhaps she

even waited for me.

So, long after midnight when everyone, even the gate man was asleep, I rushed

across the yard, climbed the solid Duro­Crete steps and pulled myself up between

the battlements.

Nilfeheim had no moons unlike I had learned other worlds had, but we had a

beautiful star filled sky. The stars above me twinkled and Earthers had called

them the Pleiades, of which Solken our own star was one. This region of space

was more commonly known as the Xunx reach. Of course there weren't any Xunx

left today, and the next day would come with one Neo Viking less. Almost 120

meters below, dark waves smashed into the rugged teeth like rocks and turned

into white foaming surf.

“Thor and Odin, you have forsaken me, punished my mother and cursed me with

a father who hates me more than anything in the world. I know you hate cowards

but I am not strong enough. Today, he killed the Nubhir puppy Greifen had given

to me this morning. He stomped the little animal to a gory pulp and made me

clean it up. He promised he would do the same to me as soon as I turn sixteen.

What can I do against that?”

There was of course no answer, the Gods were too busy drinking and celebrating

to notice the perils of a Viking boy. I jumped, but I did not fall! A leather clad

hand held me by the collar and pulled me back.

A shadowy figure, a hooded cloak around his shape said to me. “Who will avenge

your mother if you kill yourself? You must endure and grow and learn to fight

and then kill Isegrim and cleanse this Burg from all its filth.”

“Who are you?”

“It matters not, Eric. I cannot reveal myself to you for now, but if you will come

to me every night, I will teach you the way of the sword and how to fight. Find

me in the lowest basement, where the old hidden passage ends. ”

The shadowy figure let me go and stepped back without making a sound melting

into the truly black shadows of the battlements. I stepped forward, still at the edge

of my nerves, my mind still reeling from the death decision I had made only

moments ago, yet there was no one. Did I just dream?

The very next night, I sneaked down past the under croft and storage basements,

deep into the rough­hewn narrow and completely dark passageway that was

chiseled out of the rock during the first Clan wars, almost a thousand years in the

past. It was never completed and ended in a little cavern like room, no one but me

would come down here during the day, and certainly, no one would be here at this

hour.

I was certain I had imagined it and was just a coward too afraid to end it, yet, as I

reached the cavern a voice said, “I will not talk about anything except to teach

you how to fight and you will never ask me any questions. If you do, I won't

come back. Do you want me to teach you?”

“Yes!”

A grinding sandy sound as if stone was moved over stone occurred and I could

feel a soft breeze of wind. Something pulled on my mangy Fangsnapper fur cape

and then lights came on, artificial Lumi plates bolted or glued to a rough ceiling.

The cavern room was spacious and there were swords and blaster weapons in

racks on the walls, which from the looks of it, had not been moved or touched in

a thousand years, caked with a thick layer of dust. There was a bench, a table

made of Dura­Plast of all things and a stack of similar old looking crates at one

end.

The man in the black hooded cape seemed to have some sort of mask underneath

it, as I could see nothing but black underneath. The man was at least as tall as my

father, but had the muscles of a peak athlete underneath black leather and fabric.

He made a gesture across the room. “Yes Eric, the Ragnarssons were among the

most vicious pirates back in the days and this is what is left from their spoils. This

room and that past, have long been forgotten by all but those of true Ragnarsson

blood. Now strip your upper body free of garments and take that Bokken over

there.”

“I take what?”

“This is how a wooden Training sword is called at some other corners of the

Universe. Just take it!”

I simply called him teacher and from that night on, he trained with me every night

for at least 4 hours. When I was done I was so tired, I had no energy left to

dream... Some of the things he made me do were strange and odd, something he

called pushups and gymnastics. I didn't really think it had anything to do with

fighting but I did it anyway. Of course, I wondered who he was, and I figured he

was someone like old Kveldulf.

While we trained, he told me many things of the Ragnarsson Clan, but he had an

odd way of speaking. He did speak the standard union like we all did, but on

Nilfeheim we still used many of the old worlds and when speaking on any official

business we made sure we talked the “old” way. We pronounced the 'r' much

stronger and had more 'n' sounds. I knew all this from our Union School teacher

who always tried to make us speak the proper Union way. My mysterious teacher,

however, spoke just like our Union teacher, the proper Union Lingu and while he

knew a lot about Viking ways and words, he never really used any of the old

words.

Then after many weeks, I climbed down to the forgotten pirate hideout and

tonight he made me fight him with a real broad sword for almost an hour. He then

stepped back and said. “The Union year is soon ending and with it comes Union

Week celebrations and the end of this school year. You have learned much

indeed, I wish I could teach you more but I must leave. Your Grandfather is soon

to arrive, when he is here, I must not be, but the day you become Chief, I will

reveal myself to you. Until then, tell no one of me, no one, not even him.”

“You commanded me never to ask questions and even though they burn on my

lips, I have not, but I am far from the warrior I need to be to face my father.”

“I promised someone who loves you very much to teach you the craft of war and

skills of fighting. No worries, Eric, I have opened your eyes to the way of the

sword and I am certain you will find others to teach you. We will meet again and

then I will tell you who I am.”

He took my hand squeezed it and then without another word left. I rushed after

him through the secret rock wall door but the narrow stairwell was empty.

­­””­­

Only two days had passed since my mysterious teacher had left.

Greifen sat in the Kitchen nursing a tankard of warmed ale with a generous

helping of Midril's secret herbs and spices that she gave to those who got the cold.

Judging by his bright red nose and the numb voice, Greifen was very sick or

perhaps had a tankard too much.

I was there as well, sitting in a corner scrubbing the big kettle, because it was

Wednesday and Midril would make Fin Stew.

Greifen snorted like a pregnant Fangsnapper into a huge kerchief and with a

suffering expression and Nubhir puppy eyes stared at Midril. “Only I catch a cold

in Shortsummer. Those Northern winds are really stubborn this season, seems the

Frost­giants are not giving up as easily this Shortsummer.”

She stemmed her left arm into her wide hips and shook her ever­present wooden

spoon at Greifen. “It's not the weather that has made you sick. You were drinking

with the Peerson fishers till the wee hours and one of them had the cold and

infected you.”

“Oh I am sure it was the wind and I am certain I’ll feel better soon with another

helping of your good herbs with a bit of that good ale.”

Midril snickered, “Alright, I'll fix you up.” He got another tankard and took a

deep drought. His face turned as if he had bitten into a rotten fish, but his red nose

turned color almost instantly back to normal.

“What in Loki's name was that? This was not ale with herbs.”

“It was hot water with two anti­cold pills and a Tox­Neutralizer floating in it.

Traditional herbs won't cure a cold. The meds from the Union Clinic, however,

will.”

He looked sober, bright, alert, completely flabbergasted and a tad angry. “That

was a rotten thing to do Midril. I was just about in the prefect zone and now I’ve

got to start again.”

“Go peel the seaweed stems and I’ll get you another tankard.”

She plopped a big tray with thick ten­inch long seaweed stems before him and

handed him a peeler. Once the tough outer skin was removed, the soft mushy

inside could be cooked and squished.

He immediately started and then pointed the peeler at me. “It's a shame how our

Old Sire treats his first born!" Greifen gave her a thankful nod as she put a

tankard of ale next to the tray.

To me she said. “Eric, leave the kettle it's clean enough, go get some fresh air.”

I pushed the clean kettle to its spot and left the kitchen. To make sure no one

would catch me idle and give me another, usually bad chore. I went outside

beyond the walls.

Except for the small, leveled gravel area right outside the gate, where floaters

could land, the rest of the island consisted of sheer cliffs and titanic ragged

boulders. Climbing down the south side, right past Olle’s Tooth, a particular tall

and rugged rock, said to resemble the rotten tooth of one of my forefathers, there

was a small, perhaps twelve­meter deep and twenty meters wide pebble beach

known by the Clan as Sigrid’s Secret.

It was well hidden from sight on each side by tall cliffs and an overhang from

above. It was one of my favorite spots.

Legend had it that the first Ragnarsson family landed here claiming this rock.

Another story told about Sten Ragnarsson, who had killed himself here about 500

years ago and that one could still hear his screaming as he lamented his

dishonorable death. Ingibjorg Ragnarsson, his daughter, supposedly buried a

tremendous treasure here. Of course, no one believed that. Where on Nilfeheim,

would a woman gain a treasure? All her possessions were her dowry and it was

given to her husband. She too was said to haunt these cliffs as her spirit was

searching for whatever baubles she had lost.

As isolated as Nilfeheim tried to remain from the rest of the Union, we were part

of a technological advanced culture, yet, many Neo Vikings believed in the

supernatural and stories of the Gods and tales of haunting and ghosts were never

far from our mind and lips. Midril claimed to have seen ghosts before. When I

was younger I believed her when she told about the one legged Gunghir

Ragnarsson, who supposedly haunted the storage cellar but now I was convinced,

it was a mere tale to keep me and the other kids from the pickled fish barrels.

I sat down and watched a pair of Toe Pincher crabs as they scurried over the dark

pebbles and enjoyed the wind and the weather. I would have loved to go for a

dive but I did not bring my wet suit or fins. I didn't want to go back all across the

yard to get it as there was a good chance, I would run into Bjorgolf the Yard

Master who tended the subs and hunting gear of the clan.

That fat bastard was a favorite of my father and enjoyed giving me lots to do so

he did not have to do it. Father had given him explicit permission to beat me

anytime my work was not as expected. He always found something wrong and a

reason to use his heavy leather belt to thrash me.

Even though my father had moved the Olafson Clan, this rock was still known as

Ragnarsson Isle and had been the traditional home of the Ragnarsson Clan ever

since Nilfeheim was settled by Terran Colonists. Now during Shortsummer and

on a clear day I could see the Oseberg Island from my tower window. It was

where the Osebergs had their Burg, but down here, all I saw were the churning

ocean waves. The Osebergs were mortal enemies of the Ragnarsson Clan and

until about 500 years ago, there was open war between these clans. It was still

forbidden to even speak the name Oseberg within these walls. Many of the older

Clans, including my father lamented the fact that piracy, clan wars and the raids

on other Burgs were no longer permitted. He often claimed that he would rather

take the wealth of another clan by axe and sword than by fishing, working and

marriage, as he put it. That this was only empty bravado was apparent even to me,

as he did not openly challenge the Elhir Chief. Using a whip in a Challenge was

only permitted if the opponent would also choose it, going against a man as wild

and strong as the Elhir Chief and a master of sword and axe was something

completely different than beating unarmed servants.

I was watching two crabs fighting over a dead Silver Flicker Fish; it probably

went too close to the surge as the waves broke against the cliffs and got smacked

too hard against the rock. Almost too late, I heard footsteps in the gravel and

more out of instinct I ducked, still something hit me pretty hard on the head. I

jumped back and turned to see Lothar, my half­brother brandishing a wooden

practice sword. He was only ten but had inherited all the Olafson bulk and was

almost my equal in terms of strength and body size. His eyes sparkled with

delight as he laughed and screamed. “I made you bleed, I will tell father!” He

played with his sword making its tip circle before my face. “I could also kill you

right now and there is nothing you can do. Raise your hand against me and I tell

father and he will break you.”

“I’ve had it with you and your arrogance! I am sick and tired of your petty games.

This is Ragnarsson Rock and you and that father of ours are here by the grace of

my grandfather and my mother!” I stepped inside his reach, twisted his wrist with

my left and smacked my fist as hard as I could right into his blabbering smiling

mouth. I could feel something break as my fist connected, he was flung back;

stumbled and fell. For some reason, time seemed to slow down as I watched him

fall, the back of his head hitting one of the bigger rocks. He didn’t move or make

any sound as he lay there and I was certain I had killed him! I spat out and said.

“Go tell that to father!”

The realization of what I had done hit me the very same moment. Fear and guilt

made it impossible to even think one coherent thought. He stirred and opened his

eyes, he was not dead! A voice in me urged me to finish him off, the crabs would

make short work of his remains and the surge would take whatever was left. He

would simply be missing and one problem of my life would be solved! He

deserved to die! He was the son of a woman who replaced my mother! The

woman was the reason my father had killed her in the first place! I was the

rightful heir not he!

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement. Four men, wearing dark

wetsuits and armed with spear guns and swords waded ashore, two of them

dragging a limp body of a man between them. While the man they dragged

ashore, had his head slumped down so I could not see his face, I recognized one

of the men, Hilfheim, the brother to Leif Elhir and the man Greifen had beaten in

a brawl.

The situation was instantly clear, the Elhir had retaliated and whoever they were

dragging between them wearing Olafson red was the latest victim in the

escalating feud. They had of course seen me and Hilfheim barked. “What a

fortune, now our revenge will have more meaning, the Loki cursed spawn of the

Olafson coward.”

Not that I would have minded them to beat up my father and not that I had any

chance against four armed men, I was still Olafson and they had invaded our

rock. They were perhaps the same who dropped the Fangsnapper. “Four men

against an unarmed boy? It appears the Elhir have defined cowardice to new

perfection.”

Hilfheim threw his sword. “Here take this sword, so you are armed.” He gestured

at one of his companions. “Gansbaf, go teach that whelp a lesson.”

I knew of Gansbaf, he was only three years older than me, I had seen him at

school a few times when he talked to Sigvard. He was a cousin or something like

that and was more man than boy. He had the bulk and muscles of a full­grown

warrior.

I grabbed the sword and rushed forward, while I was still an amateur when it

came to fighting, the sword felt good and like an extension of my arm. Gansbaf

swung his sword in a wide arc as soon as I was in range. It was about as clumsy

as an opening attack could be, instead of using my sword to block the swing, I

ducked, felt the sharp steel parting the air close over my head and then as the

blade was past I hacked my weapon deep into his shoulder.

I saw a spray of blood and heard Gansbaf screaming. I also heard voices of alarm

up from the Burg. Then something hit me hard against the head and everything

went dark.