Prologue: “Kúpené” (Bought)

Prologue: “Kúpené” (Bought)

Udyr

The world is a cruel place. The world is not fair. The world will never be fair. The world will never see you as more than a puny ant.

I say this to all of the men I have ever been placed in charge of. Some refuse to believe it, refuse to take my words to heart. Those men don’t last very long.

A man like me has learned of the evils in the world, of the corrupt nature of man, of the destructive power that is trust. I have learned through many trials that blood will ever-flow on the ground, in the rivers, that it will forever rain down in torrents from the vast sky. The dark hearts of men care not if you are young or old, man or woman, they will chop of the heads of any who stand in their way. What, you may ask, is the way to avoid one’s own blood-soaked grave? You must be stronger. Tougher. More solitary than most could ever imagine.

I used to be a hired sword when I was a younger lad, but someone with my sort of skill did not go unnoticed for long. I became one of the most renowned warriors in the history of our people- I became “ Krvavé Sekera”, “The Bloody Axe”. I could cleave a skull and helm clean in two with one strike. My build was strong and intimidating, and in our strength-based society, it seemed that my prowess was all that mattered. I was accepted by all. But I accepted none. By that time, I had learned hard lessons. Lessons I vowed I would never forget.

How does one as simple minded as I tell of the writhing mess of circumstances that led to the weaving of this tale? Well, I suppose the best one to tell it at all would be a simple minded one, after all- any others would muck it up with opinions and unnecessary words.

For as long as anyone in the land of Menskr could ever possibly recall, there has been the royal family, the Konugur line- the line of kings, blessed by the gods in many ways. The Konugur line has ruled for so long, none can remember a time when a Konugur has not rested on the throne, it is simply how it has always been. However, over the past two years- incredible disease and insurmountable desperation gripped the people and the kingdom of Menskr. Many died, so many were robbed of life, even the once rich, or at least middle-class families, were dragged down to the bordering line of poverty. It was with this great Unnr Mein (wave of disease) that the blessings of the royal family appeared to falter. King Beinvidr had six sons, and four daughters. His wife, Oddkatia, was without a doubt the fairest woman to be found on this grand continent. The royal line was as prosperous as a royal line should have been, and then- the Unnr Mein swept through, a plague that brought with it blackened tongues and excruciating sores, hazy eyes and heavy breath. As that dark curtain descended across the land- it seemed that none were spared. Not the rich, nor the poor. The influential, nor the worthless.

First was his eldest son, Torradr. A fine young man who would have been, had the Unnr Mein not come, a great ruler of Menskr. His tongue turned black and he withered away at the start of the chaos, just as the first of many were also falling. From then two more of his sons died in rapid succession, the day of their funerals a daughter caught ill and died as well. You would think this were bad enough- but it was not. People in the kingdom were getting restless, the disease not only killed humans and working hands- but cattle and stock. Money was drying up all over, nobody would trade with a sick land. People were resorted to begging, stealing, and murder just to survive.

The news that Queen Oddkatia had passed away hit like an arrow that could pierce the strongest armor, all over the land. The queen was beloved, fair, and kind. And yet the bloodbath did not end there, it continued. They were picked off one by one, until at last- King Beinvidr himself died in the final days of the Unnr Mein. When the smoke cleared- you can imagine the kingdom’s surprise to find that one sole heir had survived, and the least likely and fit to rule at that.

Nadhera. The youngest of King Beinvidr and Queen Oddkatia’s children, their youngest daughter. When the thieving and murdering and weeping came to a halt at the end of the two year plague, the land was astonished to find that she was still alive. If you were to look at her, you would not think much of her- she is what most would deem average, though she is scrawny and holds no feminine curves on her fairly petite frame. She is however, somewhat pretty. With eyes like hazel sunset, and hair the color of smooth brown river stones.

And yet- it is because of this one young woman that I have any tale to tell at all. This smart, pretty, royal-bred woman. You see- in our land, there are scarcely even female warriors (the very rare exceptions are called “Shield Maidens”), and we are a very violent people. So you can only imagine the response when they wanted to put Nadhera on the throne. From this conflict, the Verda (the Change Makers) and the Hollriki (loyal to the kingdom), emerged. To both sides,  there are categories. Within the Verda, there are simply those who want to keep a woman off of the throne, and those who wish for a revolution in the monarchy. And on the side of the Hollriki, there are those who truly wish to uphold the Konugur line, and those who only wish to be richly rewarded when Nadhara is crowned (they of course, assume she would be).

But with the way I go on like this, you are likely assuming this story revolves around Nadhara Konugur- and in part, this is true. There could be no story without her, but there is another woman whom, even in this anti-female society, plays perhaps the most important role of all in these events that are about to occur.

Her name is Brynja Idunn (Brin-jyah, I-dune), roughly translated into your tongue- her first name means “armor” and her second name means “love of mine again”. This woman, as her name may foretell, is a woman with many layers, many spoken and unspoken strengths. A woman who, like armor, will not break to the hardest of blows that the gods can deal. Once, she was a mighty shield maiden, a rare female warrior, but on the day that I met Brynja…? Her days of battle had been over for a small while by that point. I must admit upfront that I did grow to love Brynja- more than any good man would or should have loved such a woman, but on the day that I met her- I had no idea the things that would come to pass between us...

* * * * *

On the twelfth of FrostFall, I entered the town of Gavok with no intention of buying anything, this you must believe- for I am a man who will scarcely tell a lie. I will much sooner tear the heart from your chest before I would utter a lie.

The town was dirty, as most towns usually were. Frostfalls in Menskr are the worst you will see anywhere, and so everywhere you looked there were people huddled in layers of fur and cloth, sheets of ice covering buildings and windowpanes, and drifts of snow up to the knee on either side of the crudely shoveled walkway. Gavok was a hovel of a town, people here would not typically be called “honest folk”- and I did not come into that town looking for an honest man. I went into that town looking for a man who would go to any length to get something for me, so long as I paid him the right price. As I strode through the town, there were people begging- ill prepared for the harsh cold that had descended so suddenly. I paid them no mind.

I reached the town square faster than expected, the ground there was frozen fast and dirty from heavy feet parading about on it. A sort of rough platform was set up there, likely by a less-than-capable carpenter. People were stacked atop it, huddling together in sparse clothes for warmth as a man bellowed prices and empty promises- a slave pedaler. It seemed every town I visited nowadays had one.

“Sold!” He shouted, much louder than was necessary, trying to draw in more possible customers with his obnoxious behavior. It didn’t seem that he had many that day, not nearly enough to buy up all the “merchandise” he had with him. I was about to simply stride past, in search of this man I had come for- when I saw the flash of golden hair as he yanked the next “sale” upfront. I haven’t a clue why I gave her my attention above all others, she did not have the dark skin of the other slaves he was pedaling, the slaves of other countries, she was clearly of Menskr. Her hair was long and contained a mess of kinky curls, though now oily and dirty it still reflected the sun’s light. Her stature was not regal, but not like that of a servant either- it was that of a warrior, her strong shoulders pulled back and her chin up, despite the cold and the single mangy fur cloak they had given her to wear. Her eyes though, she had the eyes of a hawk. Of a predator. They were misty, blue like the clearest sky reflected in the waters of Odin’s falls. She was a woman, yes- but perhaps only in body. The way she stood in the silence could have stilled the quaking of the earth. This was a woman who had seen and done terrible things, and looking back- regretted not a one of them. I can respect a woman like that.

“The asking price is 200 shillings!” The pedaler calls out, no doubt on any other day he would have asked more, her being of Menskr descent, but he was desperate too, in these long days of Frostfall.

It was then that I raised my hand, hence purchasing this young woman with the fire in her eyes. She would come to be the only hand in my estate, she would tend it like no other could, and single-handedly ensure its well being while I was gone for sometimes, years at a time. I tossed the coins at the man’s feet and helped her down from the splintered platform myself, though she practically shoved me away.

“I need the pity of no man.” She hissed at me, her voice sharp and hard.

“You are mine now. And I will be a good master to you, so long as you are good to me.” I promised, taking her to the nearest barber, where her long golden hair was sheared off, ending just at her chin. Her short hair now marked her as a servant, and the brand shortly to be placed on her arm would forever mark her as being mine. And yet- even as she was demeaned in such ways, the fire never left her eyes, the heart of a warrior never left her.

“Tell me your name, Fire Eyes.” I commanded, staring at her strongly set face as the brand was pushed into her cold skin, sizzling on contact.

“Brynja Idunn.” She said, without resentment, without hatred. She did not even wince at the touch of the poker.

“And what will you do now, Brynja?” I asked.

“I will be a good thrall to you, so long as you are good to me.” She nodded, a messy curl of short golden hair falling in front of those eyes.

On that day, there were no tears.

There was no begging.

There was no resentment.

Only Brynja and Udyr,

Thrall and Master.

Reviews

[SonOfPlunder]

I have always had an interest inn Norse mythology and culture. I had read many books about the Vikings, watched the series and even written my own poem about them. But this is fantastic! I am disappointed to only see one chapter on here, i was completely engrossed by this. I hope you will post, or write, more soon!

[Angel A. Ayala]

I really enjoyed reading this. I love the setting in which this chapter takes place, especially the plague. I must actually bow before you because you maintained my attention throughout the whole text and I could relate with the characters, and that seldom happens. In other words thank you for a great narrative.