When Björn awoke in the morning, the first thing that he noticed was that he was alone. The second thing that he noticed was that he was not completely alone. He spied two crows nearby, pecking apart some left over morsels that were in the ashen fire pit. Memories of the previous day trickled back into the forefront of his mind, causing a slurry of emotions. His impulse was to ponder his predicament- being lost in this strange land, away from his friends and family. However, his strong mental fortitude would not allow for him to do so. He quickly forced himself to accept his fate, though it was an unfortunate one, and he stood to look around at his surroundings more thoroughly. He reached at his neck for his amulet of Mjölnir, but of course it was still missing. He felt again the pang of regret at its loss.
The pile of skins and linens that he had been lying in were still warm from his sleep as he made his way back over to the fire-pit. It was now cold, the flames of midnight and his companion’s strange behavior just a memory now. Somehow he knew that his fireside companion would not be returning here today to his cave. He looked around for evidence of his whereabouts, but all he saw was a small gathering of items near the mouth of the cave. He walked over to find the most beautiful sword that he had ever seen.
He bent down to pick it up, and he hefted it from hand to hand easily. It was rather light, considering its long blade. He was unfamiliar with the metal it was made from, and the hilt was more ornate than those he had seen before. The pommel was large, flat and round with a ring of runes inscribed around it, and decorated further with beautiful spirals and tree vines. These decorations were colored by what appeared to be pure gold poured into the deep carvings. The grip of the hilt was comfortable and simple- covered in a thick leather cord that was wrapped around it. The guard is what really caught his eye. More ornate even than the pommel, the guard was much longer than on the sword he had lost in the ocean on the previous day. It was flat like the pommel, quite long, and curved at the ends. The runes inscribed on it were not gold like on the pommel, but appeared to be made of light itself. He touched the guard, trying to figure out what sort of metal could create that look, but the more he moved it around, the more he was more unsure. The long blade was sharpened on either side. He continued to spin the sword around, play-fighting with it as he had done as a child. This weapon was the mark of truly fine craftsmanship.
He set the sword back down after he finished inspecting it, and saw that nearby was a scabbard made of leather and wood. There was also a medium-sized round shield, which was made of pine wood planks formed into the circle. In the center was a round metal dome. He picked up the shield and found a comfortable handle formed into the back of the metal. He then noticed that underneath of where the shield had been was a rolled up piece of cream-colored linen. He unfurled the linen and was surprised to see pictures dyed onto it. After studying it for a few minutes, turning it around in different ways, he felt certain that this was a picture of land and sea. The pictures depicted a blue area with what appeared to be white frothy waves next to land areas demarcated by dark and light sections of green and brown that seemed to represent hills, valleys, and mountains of different sizes. The land was roughly carved out by the sea on either side of it, creating some land areas that were wide interspersed with very thin areas, and some areas that were completely separated by the sea. Using his finger, he traced the coast of the lands, which were sharp and curvy, causing him to make back-and-forth motions as he traced along the jagged edges. As he traced this, it dawned on him that this picture may represent the very land where he was currently located. Never before had he seen a picture like this, but he felt that it could be quite useful. He now understood that he had landed on a series of islands that were very close together, and some were even attached by very narrow pieces of land. But where on this picture am I standing? He thought, continuing to turn it around.
He laid the linen on the ground and surveyed it until his eyes grew weary. He picked up the sword again and began to move about with it. He thought of Ulf, his brother, and the hours they had spent in lessons, as Ulf taught him everything that his body was capable of doing with a sword. As he moved about, overcome by nostalgic memories and lost in dancing around with this exquisite weapon, he failed to see that one of the crows that had been playing in the ashes of the fire-pit had landed on the linen picture. He caught it out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey!” He shouted, springing towards the blackbird, who was depositing ashes all over the linen. The crow squawked loudly at him and flew back to the fire-pit.
He went to pick up the linen, when he saw that the crow had not only left marks of ashes, but also a round stone. He stopped himself from picking up the linen, and, looking down at the stone, noticed that it was right next to a tiny black circle on the picture. He surveyed the circle and then looked up at his surroundings outside the mouth of the cave. The two mountains nearby- he was surprised to see that the black circle had to represent the very cave that he was standing in. He looked back at the crow, who was happily bouncing around in the ashes again with his companion. He smirked at the sight.
“Thanks, friend,” Björn said, and then turned back to the linen. He saw now that he could trace his finger all the way back to the beach that he had washed up onto. He could also see what was in the other direction, up through the middle of a series of hills and mountains, before reaching a flatter area on the other side. After crossing over some small sliver of ocean and continuing up a ways on the next island, eventually he would reach what appeared to be buildings- tiny squares with slanted triangle roofs. This must be where Chief Oláfr resides. He thought. He wondered how Chief Oláfr would respond to a strange man showing up in his village. Would he be friendly towards another chief’s son, or would he view him as a threat? But also, what choice did he have? Lost on a wild island far from home (who knows how far?), with no resources at all, he would have to reach out to the nearest village for help if he ever hoped to see his home again. He pondered on this for some time as he stared at the linen. Then, he picked up the sword and placed it gingerly into the scabbard. Even though it was a very well-built piece of hardware, he couldn’t help but treat it as a piece of art. It hardly seemed to ever be used as far as he could tell.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
After fastening the sword in the scabbard on his back, with the shield hanging over it, he folded up the linen and tucked it into his tunic. He looked around to see if anything else had been left for him. There was a skin pouch full of water and another little cloth pouch, inside of which was dried strips of fish. He bit into one of the strips and was met with the most savory flavor, but was surprised to find that there was no salt. He had never been encountered dried fish that had been preserved without salt. He decided that he really liked the taste. He tied the two pouches to the belt of his tunic and set off into the valley.
As Björn made his way for many hours over the rocky, hilly terrain filled with wind-swept green grass, he ruminated further on his predicament. He had always prided himself on being a strong, capable man, like his father. He had followed in the footsteps of his brother, too, hoping to one day be as great a warrior as Ulf. He thought back to when he was a child, before he was old enough to hold a sword, and how he had watched Ulf with mouth agape. As soon as his physical capability had caught up with his mind, he was trying to emulate Ulf’s every move. He had never been as naturally gifted with any weapon as his brother was, nor was he known for his strength, despite having grown to be much larger than Ulf. But that didn’t stop him from trying. He had worked so hard over the years to try to build his physical skills. Now, however, he was faced with the reality of his own abilities. What was he truly capable of when not in a group of his people? Was he really so strong if he was now lost, unable to find his way back home without reaching out to strangers for help?
He stopped now, and saw that he had reached a downward slope. He looked down and saw that he had finally reached the ocean again. Below him the land met with a narrow land-bridge that connected him to a tiny island. He looked further and saw that he was actually met with what appeared to be a miniature archipelago of many tiny islands which curved around, surrounded on either side by mountains. These tiny “islands” were all actually connected to one another by little land bridges, and then in the distance the last tiny island connected back to the larger land mass that he would need to continue onto. Despite his haste, he couldn’t help but take in the beauty of the world that he had been dropped into. The jagged edges of the many small shores meeting with the edges of the ocean on all sides. Rocky cliffs and rocky beaches. He found it interesting that he had not seen any more sandy beaches like the one he had washed up on. He carefully traversed through the skinny land bridges- some barely wide enough for both his feet to be side-by-side- interspersed with wider areas that made up the archipelago. He was always keeping an eye ahead of him while also trying to keep an eye on his footing. The stranger had told him that it was a day’s trek to that village, but he wasn’t so sure now, considering the roughness of the terrain. He had pulled out the linen several times to see if he could follow along on the picture, and it seemed that he was still very far from the village despite having traveled for some time. Though how long his travels would end up being was difficult to tell due to the sun not rising and falling like he was used to. He knew that the lowest point that the sun would fall to would be just above the horizon before it would start to go up again. The time disorientation was really just starting to hit him.
After he made it over most of the little islands, he felt so weary, and his feet hurt from the plethora of jagged boulders every which way. He sat on one of these boulders, looking out at the ocean. He chewed on some fish and hydrated himself, and his thoughts turned again to the water maiden with her pink hair and flushed cheeks. He imagined her in the water in front of him, peeking out with her vast blue eyes that almost seemed to glow. As he chewed and thought, he watched the sun nearing the horizon. It can’t be nearly half a day since I set out from the cave, could it?
He pulled out his sword and occupied some time with practicing thrusting and slashing motions. He spun with little effort until his boot hit a big rock and lost his footing for a moment. He recovered, and picked up his shield, which had dropped when he stumbled. The more that he wielded this sword and became used to it, the more he treasured it. The stranger, a man that he had only just met the day before, had gifted him such a fine treasure- but why? Did he have such a stash of immaculate weapons, that he could spare one with little remorse?
Björn’s thoughts and parrying were interrupted by a sound that caused his hairs to stand on end. It was the howl of an animal, but so unnatural that he couldn’t place it. The sound was long and drawn out. More guttural than the sound of a wolf, but it certainly resembled such. He listened as the sound continued. He was so unfamiliar with the animal’s call, and the way that sound traveled in this archipelago, that he couldn’t place how far away it was. He looked up into the cliffs surrounding him, but could see nothing but sheer rock face covered with sparse grass. He decided that despite the chill of being close to the water and the lowering sun, he would forego attempting to build a fire for tonight, in case it would draw attention to himself. He carefully crept a few feet away from the beach, onto a grassy area. He removed every rock that he could find hidden in the grass nearby and, smoothing the foliage down, he laid onto it. His makeshift bed was more comfortable than he had hoped. He heard the howling sound further in the distance this time, which brought him an ease to some of his tension. His sword was drawn and next to him, within arm’s reach. He looked over at the sword, whose guard was glowing faintly from the runes. The glow appeared ethereal in the midnight sunlight. He stared at the sword as the howling happened intermittently for many more minutes, until it faded to where he could barely discern it anymore above the sound of the ocean’s waves. His eyes had started to grow heavy, and his lids began to close, when the heavy presence of footsteps over the rocks of the mainland became intermingled with a low, throaty growling. His eyes shot open as his hand reached out for the hilt of his sword.