Chapter One

CHAPTER 1

A lone figure stood in the middle of the Viking village. He lifted a horn, hanging by the chieftain’s house, and blew it three times. The sound rang out beyond the village and called to the workers looking after the sheep and the cattle, calling them home.

The ginger haired boy and was small for his age. He couldn’t reach as high as the other boys. He usually had to stand on a table if he wanted to get anything hanging on the wall out of reach.

His name was Eric Ivarrson. His last name meant ‘son of Ivarr’. He wore a long woollen shirt and long cloth trousers tied with a drawstring, a three-quarter length coat and a belt. On his feet he had socks and soft leather shoes.

Most of the men folk had gone to Britain with the Great Army led by Chieftain Sveyn Olafsson. The Viking invaders had been away for the whole summer and very soon they would make their way back home, laden with riches taken on their conquests. Eric was not yet old enough to join them.

Now a strange illness had swept the village. Many people were sick, and some had died. Everyone who could still walk gathered in the chieftain’s long-house where the chieftain’s wife, Eithne, had called a meeting. The villagers arrived slowly, some of them had to be helped along, but others were too sick to leave their beds.

The stone house was very long with wide earth platforms along each side where the people sat at low tables for feasting on. No animals were kept in the chieftain’s long-house as they were in others. In the gulley down the centre of the house was a fireplace, the only source of warmth in the house.

Eithne stood on one of the low tables so that everyone could see her. She wore her hair in two long blonde plaits that hung down the back of a red dress and a shawl. She had taken off her apron and at her waist hung her scissors and her knife. The other women were dressed the same, but the chieftaintess also had the keys to the food chests. It was her job to keep the stores.

Eithne called for order.

“I have called this meeting because of the illness that has struck our village”, Eithne said. “It becomes worse each day. Our raiders are away and many others are sick or dying. There are not enough people left to tend our farms.”

The people nodded in agreement. This was true. Things were getting worse.

“What shall we do?” they asked each other.

Eithne held up a hand for silence. She spoke again.

“Ragnar the wise woman has read the runes. She has made a sacrifice to Eir, the goddess of healing.”

Runes were the Viking alphabet that came from the gods and only the gifted could read them. The runes were carved on stone or wood, all the letters formed from straight lines with a dot showing where the words ended.

Runes were also carved onto small stones. They were placed into bags and fortune tellers would take them out one at a time to tell the future. They could also heal the sick, banish evil and make blessings. So it was believed.

“We all know where the runes came from” said Eithne. “Odin, father of the gods, sacrificed himself on Yggdrasil, the world tree. He received the knowledge of the dead and passed this knowledge on to us. Now we trust the runes to guide us.”

An old woman came to the table.

“Ragna has a plan”, Eithne said. “She proposes a quest.”

The head woman got down from the table and helped the old woman to climb up. The wise woman had a curved back. She was thin and her hair was wild and grey. When she smiled only two or three teeth could be seen, but when she spoke her voice was strong.

“I have tried to cure the fever. I have eased the aching limbs”, Ragna began, “but the cough needs healing beyond my skill.”

The people listened quietly with great respect for the wise woman.

Ragna cleared her throat before she spoke, more clearly now.

“There is a herb, a root used as a cure for diseases of the lungs.”

The room was silent. All eyes and ears were on Ragna.

“I have cast the runes. They tell of a long, hard, journey. Many dangers face the follower of this quest.”

“Where does the herb grow?” a woman asked. “Do any of the other villages grow it?”

Ragna shook her grey head.

“It grows beyond the Vesteigen Mountain”, she answered.

The silence broke into many whispers Eithne stepped up beside Ragna.

“Who will go on this quest?” she asked. “Who among us is brave enough?”

No one spoke. Silence descended once more. Then a voice called out.

“I will go! I will take the quest!”

Everyone looked around.

“Eric?” they said. “Little Eric Ivarrson on a quest?”

They had reason to laugh. Eric was no longer a boy but he was not yet a man. He was so short he needed help to mount a horse. He was so short he had to wear the same clothes as his brother Ivarr, who was only ten. But Eric was strong, he was clever and he was brave.

“You? You’re too small and too young!” said a voice.

Everyone looked around for the new speaker. The voice belonged to an ancient man with a craggy face and a long yellowed beard.

“And you are too old, Harald Forkbeard, sir”, said Eric, bowing.

He looked around him.

“My father is away raiding and. . I am too young to join him. My brother is sick.. I, Eric Ivarrson will take the quest!”

Everyone in the room talked at once, some were for Eric, others were against him.

“With respect” began Eric again, “the men here are either too old or unfit. I may be small, but I am strong. I am brave.”

A boy stepped forward, Ulf, son of the chieftain Sveyn. If Eric was small for his age, Ulf was tall. He was in the same position as Eric, still too young for war. But Ulf could easily carry Eric on his shoulders.

“My father would go if he were here” said Ulf. “It is my duty, as son of our chieftain to go in his place.”

There was more talking. Many of the villagers agreed with Ulf.

Head woman Eithne called for silence. Once again she spoke to her people.

“We have two brave lads here. Both are willing to go on the quest. My son, Ulf Sveynson, and Eric Ivarrson. Whom shall we choose?”

“Send them both!” said one man.

“I quest alone!” answered Ulf.

“As do I!” said Eric.

No one else spoke.

“What say you Olaf the Boneless?” Eithne asked.

Sitting near her was a thin man. Olaf the Boneless got his name because his legs weren’t very strong. He could not walk and never had.

Olaf cleared his throat.

“I say let them settle it in a duel!”

Reviews

[Isemay]

Well written! I'm looking forward to seeing who wins the duel.