Current Chapter 5

Year 4989, OTT

Once the Burg had been a beacon of wealth and might. It was perched atop the rugged dark rocks that made up the Olafson Isle and surrounded by seemingness endless churning oceans. The waters of the Northwestern seas always had a greenish fresh tint, and it almost matched the bluish colors of the azure skies. The waves crashed in timeless eternal motion against the jagged rocks and boulders, crowing the surf with gushing explosions of foamy water. The first ice floes bopped on the waves and with their appearance heralded the coming of Longnight. The ice floes would soon cover the entire ocean and in a year from now become a solid surface.

The rock and concrete ramparts of this ancient Nilfeheim Burg had almost the same color as the volcanic rock and had three tall towers. These sturdy walls, this mighty fortification had been a bulwark and shield for many generations of Olafson Vikings. Yet there was clear evidence of the gnawing tooth of time. The constant barrage of wind, saltwater and ice wore down even the hardest stone and these conditions kept the masons and stone cutters of the local Mason guild of Nilfeheim very busy. The Stone masons however only came when you payed them. There was crumbling concrete, missing stones and loose masonry just about everywhere. On rusty iron poles wind torn tattered pieces of faded fabric flapped in the cold breeze. These sad remnants once had been the bright red banners of the Olafsons, snarling and furling in the wind, snapping with the crisp clap of heavy linen, proclaiming the black wolf heads upon these red flags as a sigil of pride and strength. Without serious repairs and renovations, this burg would become dangerous to live in in another century.

This was the last year of Shortsummer and soon Longnight would once again descent upon Nilfeheim. Volund Olafson, the current Clan Chief stood with crossed arms on the parapet above the main gate and gazed towards the south, his rugged, beard framed face turned into the wind and his underarms thick with sinew and rock hard muscle crossed before his chest. Volund was, like all Olafsons a very big and strong man. Yet his massive hands had not hefted a harpoon or an axe for more more than two seasons past. He had not placed his feet upon a boat deck that carried the Olafson flag, to hunt fat Three-Fins or the mighty Tyranno. Instead he was was reduced to cast nets from the deck of an Elhir boat. To be hardly more than a Freeman laboring for wages; as the Olafson clan sold its last boat during the last year of the most recnet Longnight four years ago. The clan needed the money to heat the Burg or freeze to death.

The winds already had a cold bite and tugged at the Fangsnapper cape the big man was wearing as his slate-gray eyes scanned slowly across the horizon of the endless Nilfeheim Oceans.

It had not always been that way. The Olafson clan was an Old Clan with a clean and uninterrupted line all the way back to the time when the first Colonists from Earth landed on this planet.

Alrik Olafson was among the first, so Family Lore knew, who stepped onto the surface of this world in 2160. Alrik born in Denmark on Earth brought his family here along with 12,000 others who had been part of the Viking Movement, leaving their old planet to colonize this cold and harsh world.

It was Alrik's grandson who had stepped ashore right here on this Island, claiming it for his Clan. With the riches the Olafsons obtained pirating other Earth Colonies they had built this burg.

Even after Nilfeheim joined the Union and the space pirate days of the Neo Vikings from Nilfeheim ended, the Olafsons remained an important Clan all the way until the last Clan wars almost 400 years ago. The Olafsons always had been known to be an especially wild and violent clan, even on a world full of skull bashing Neo Vikings; that meant they picked more fights than others and formed alliances at the spur of the moment but sadly not always with the winning sides.

The last Clan wars caused the Olafson to loose their Nubhir farms and the Fangsnapper herds near Isen in tribute payments to the victorious alliance.

The clan never really recovered from that, they only slowly regained some wealth and influence again. Just when things were looking up again Byrnjolf Olafson, Volund's grandfather picked a fight with the Trolle clan. Of all clans he could pick, the Trolles were among the richest and most powerful with more boats, more men and more allies than the Olafsons. The feud ended up costing the Olafson Clan three Hunting Subs and two fishing vessels.

Oh yes the Olafson always fought like warrior gods and were famous for their fighting skills, yet fighting and being wild did not win wars. Fighting the Trolles reduced their once sizable clan fleet to two boats. Two fishing boats were barley enough to sustain the clan with food and left nothing for other essentials.

During last Longnight, the Olafsons lost one boat to an accident and then had to sell the last one to survive.

Volund already feared that his son Isegrim would be the last Olafson Clan chief, lording over a starving clan that had to hire its men and warriors to other clans and simply fade away into oblivion. There was no future he could see, other than a bleak end for the once so proud and strong Olafsons. Then six month ago everything changed.

Volund had been in town, nursing a tankard ale in the old Bredeberg Tavern seeking to drown his sorrows when a fight broke out, nothing unusual on Nilfeheim of course, but this fight went from brawling with bare fists to drawn swords and axes. When Vikings drew weapons, all restrains were off and the men fought to maim and kill. He didn't exactly remember what the argument was about that started it off, but he too had to draw his sword. Lines were drawn, old alliances called upon and he ended up fighting back to back with another man and together they cleared the room.

After the fight he and the other man clasped underarms and declared battle born friendship. In Viking eyes there was no stronger bond between men as to shed blood of enemies togther. The other Viking was Erik Gustav Ragnarsson, the Clan chief of perhaps the richest Clan of all Nilfeheim, surpassing even the Trolle Clan, if the rumors were true.

Erik Gustav was already member of the Circle of Elder and had been elected to be Nilfeheim's Representative at the Assembly at the distant planet of Pluribus Unum.

It was him Volund was expecting and just then he spotted a small black dot at the horizon and it was getting bigger fast.

A sleek off World Skimmer, a luxurious Volvo F70 swooped down and landed on the concrete pad before the main gate.

Neo Vikings did not like Off World technology all too much, but skimmers, Arti Grav Flyers and Zero Point powered boats were simply essential on a world with out continents and only a few tiny islands for dry land.

Today was a special occasion, not only would Erik Gustav drink and feast wit him but he was bringing his only daughter along.

Erik Gustav was the heir and leader to the mighty Ragnarsson clan, but his only son died in a Tyranno Fin hunting accident only a year ago.

Volund barked a loud command down to the gate and two of his men raised the steel portcullis. The hydrogen powered power plant had been broken for almost 200 years and so instead of using electric power, the gate had to be raised by turning hand cranks.

It was an old tradition and a symbolic gesture to open the gates for a honored guest. This is why he had the rusty portcullis lowered this morning in the first place.

While the creaking sound of metal sliding over metal indicated that his men labored to get the heavy obstruction up, so their guests could enter; he hurried down the narrow stairs, almost stumbled over a broken step, cursed the sorry state of his own castle and then placed himself in a dignified stance behind the now open gate arch.

The Clan chief of the Ragnarssons had not come alone. He was acompanied by his oldest daugher .By the Gods! That daughter of his was a beauty, he could tell despite the cloak and veil she wore.

Erik Gustav lost his wife to a disease before she could bear him another son. That meant the Ragnarsson clan had no male heir. Here on Nilfeheim it meant the end of the Ragnarsson clan. Only males were allowed to inherit and carry the name.

Volund grabbed Oddløg's shoulder, this was one of the Olafson warriors still true to the Clan. The man had just stepped out from the Crank alcove, sweating and steaming form the strainous task rising the gate. "Quick, Oddløg find my son and see that Isegrim is in his finest! Where is he? Does he not know what is at stake. Oh Oddløg make haste!"

Oddløg, was a stout warrior, not afraid to speak his mind. The scars over his body and face and his missing left eye were visible testimony of the many fights he fought. "Aye my liege I shall make haste and if I have to I will drag him up from the Tanneries."

Volund turned his attention to the arriving guests and raised his hand in the proper warriors hail; then bellowed against the ever blowing wind. "Hail Erik Gustav of the Ragnarsson clan. Come and enter, honor these walls of the Olafsons with thy presence so we may clasp arms and raise tankards in friendship."

Erik Gustav who stood before the gate was a grand sight indeed. This scion of the Ragnarsson clan was a tall man and had dark blonde hair, interlaced with the first silver, the color old age brought. He wore it in thick braids as it was custom with many of the old clans. He was dressed in fine black leather, the silver falcon emblem of his clan embroidered with silver thread by expert artisian hand upon his tunic and cape. His gauntlet gloved right fist was resting on the hilt of Mjördaren, the legendary broad sword of the Ragnarsson clan. Erik Gustav was known far and wide as one of, if not the finest swordsman of all Nilfeheim. Nineteen men he had challenged and all nineteen had died. Two of them in that fight they had met each other.

The noble visitor also wore knee high boots and a billowing fur lined cape. The Ragnarsson Chief did not come alone, besides his daughter, he too had two high ranking warriors of his clan along.

Now as the official invitation was spoken Erik Gustav came with a purposeful stride and approached Volund.

The Olafson chief turned his head and saw Oddløg running to the main Building. There was no sight of Isegrim. He had given strict orders to his oldest son to be at his side at this oh so important meeting.

Volund was silently cursing his oldest son. Oh aye he knew why the son of the Clan Chief, his own flesh and blood was drawn to the stinking bowels of the Olafson tannery. Just like like a Flicker fish was drawn to the lantern of a fisherman and all because of the ample breasted volumtious Gretel. The blonde daughter of a Nubhir hide scrubber, a wench of lowest birth was the reason. He had no objections that Isegrim fucked a low man's daughter, but that she became more important to his son than his fathers wishes and commands was unacceptable. Now that he was about to discuss marriage all such behavior had to stop. If word of such things came before the Old Ragnarsson, the deal he hoped would be made would be in jeopardy. He had forbidden Isegrim to see the woman again. He had been told that Isegrim did not listen, yet he had closed his ears to the rumors and prayed to Odin that it wasn't true. Volund clenched his fists. As soon as this utterly important business was done, he swore to himself he would descend into the unercrofts and the tannery below and put that wench to the sword, thus ending all temptations and then beat sense into his oldest son.

Oh why could Isegrim not be like Hogun, his second born? Yet Hogun was no longer here. He was gone, driven from his home by a now regretful father and the cursed laws and customs that made the First Born alone heir to it all.

Erik Gustav has reached him and they clasped underarms and Volund said. "Welcome to the Home of the Olafsons. Aye, it had seen better days, noble visitor, but there is naught a dwelling old Norse call home upon our cold world that seen more glory days. No other flag has ever been raised on our rock and oh so many have tried."

The Clan Chief of the Ragnarssons nodded. "Aye, many tales and much heroic lore is told about this rock. Legendary is the wraith and fighting skills of thy Clan indeed, but what enemies and battle could not, the gnawing tooth of decay seems to accomplish."

"It is a source of shame and degradation, noble visitor yet this specter of decay that has descended upon my burg can not be defeated with sword and axe, but with the content of a well filled purse."

"So let us do business then, let us put forth our offspring, for I have need for a heir and you are in need of..much else it seems."

The Ragnarsson Chief half turned. "I present to you my daughter Ilva Ragnarsson, my last child and the pride of my heart. I hereby declare that she is of sound health and has not seen a man. Nor has any man laid eyes upon her since her twelfth birthday."

The veil the girl wore did little however to hide the inedible beauty of the girl. Volund had rarely seen a more graceful figure and a more regal curtsey as she performed the traditional moves of greeting.

The Ragnarsson Chief looked past Volund. "Have you not summoned thy son? Have you decided against the solution we found during our last council?"

"Nay noble friend and honored guest. No Olafson has ever broken a word given. My son is on his way. He must have forgotten the time while doing his chores. Come then, Erik Gustav, join me in the High Hall. Meager our resources might be, but none shall say we neglect to be hosts. Come then and join me at our tables. You traveled far and spend much time beyond the heaven. Wondrous as your journey might have been, what compares to honest Viking food and mead?"

Erik Gustav followed Volund waved his entourage of daughter and warriors to follow and then put his arm on Volund's shoulder. "You too should travel, just once see Pluribus and the wonders of our Union, but aye a repast of Norse making is what I desire."

-""-

Just as the one eyed warrior suspected, Oddløg did find Isegrim in the arms of the Nubhir Herders daughter.

His heavy hand fell on Isegrims's shoulder as his head was buried between the ample breasts of the blonde, who shamelessly grinned a triumphant and almost evil smile at him.

"On your feet! The fate of the clan rests upon thy shoulders, A suitable bride has been brought into these crumbling walls. A creature of high birth indeed and with her dowry alone able to purchase twenty new boats. I was tasked to bring you before our lord, and by Odin I will. You can walk or be dragged!"

Isegrim was a big young warrior, but he also was a coward and feared Oddløg and the punishment his father would find. He untangled himself of the woman and got out of bed.

She cooed. "Go my love, go and secure riches so we may live as your position commands."

Oddløg half drew his sword, "Silence you wench! After the pact is made the Old man will descent

into these crofts and cleanse the filth you represent. Your father, your family and most of all you are doomed, hearing from me what I have seen he will make haste indeed!"

The Nubhir herders daughter's name was Gretel and only now did she pull the cover over her exposed breasts and her eyes sparkled ."Isegrim you won't let them harm me?"

Isegrim now halfway dressed. "I help him burn you on the stake or feed you to the crabs if it lessens his anger at me. I found joy in this bed ,but I shall find joy in other beds. You are but a woman after all."

Oddløg grabbed Isegrims's boots and pushed the First born son of Volund past the door frame and placed his own boot quite forcefully in Isegrims's behind. "Make haste, your Sire has summoned you."

-""-

Erik Gustav sat at the old wooden table in the High Hall across Volund, his right hand holding a tankard and his left moving over the surface of the massive table. "Wooden furniture on a world without trees, the Olafson Burg still holds treasures and its name is spoken with respect all over this world of ours."

Volund raised his tankard. "Olafson ale is one of these treasures, not that we can make as much of it as we used to. The grain comes from beyond Nilfeheim and so does the hops." He took a deep drought.

Erik Gustav did the same, gave the rest in his tankard a thoughtful gaze then burped from the deepest region of his barrel chest and slammed his flat hand on the table; underneath his veneer of sophistication, the Lord of the Ragnarsson Clan was a Norseman ."Countless are the repasts and delicacies available to me while I represent our insignificant world at the breath taking Assembly of the Union, yet having a full bodies ale at the right temperature served in a Tyranno tooth tankard warming your very innards; ailed and praised by a belch worthy of Thor are not to be had."

Volund leaned forward. "What news of the Union then? I do remember the excursion to Pluribus when I was in Union School."

Erik Gustav wiped his beard. "I am representing our world for seven years now, ever since my beloved Hilda passed on. Do you know how many times I was called to press an issue, to convey news?" The Ragnarsson man held up his fist. "Not a single time, Volund of the Olafsons, while we Neo Vikings squabbled over fishing grounds, the Union went to war and we almost defeated the Kermac."

Volund remembered the word and knew Kermac meant something opposed to the Union, but that was about all he remembered. "What a victory is almost? Either you win or you loose. Have we lost?"

"What begun almost 80 years ago with the Kermac attacking Green Hell, ended just recently with a second Signing of the Free Space treaty and an Armistice. The Galactic Council a shadow of its former self having lost almost 80 percent of their former sphere of influence agreed to all cease fire conditions requested."

"I do not claim to understand such things, but why stop there?"

Because a new Species intervened on behalf of the Kermac. They are called the Blue and are distant relatives. The Blue are highly advanced and control much space in the Andromeda Galaxy. They..."

Erik Gustav stopped. It was clear he had lost Volund's interest in the matter and smiled sadly. "Exactly this is why there are no calls, we do not care. My heart is still Norse and I understand, yet my eyes have seen wonders and powers that are more frightening than an angry Tyranno Fin while you share the water with it. I know how fragile and defenseless we really are. For this reason I can not step down, for this reason I must remain exiled from the world I love. "

Volund was not sure he understood what the other was speaking about but he was pleases as she saw his son Isegrim decked out in finest warrior garb. Oh aye Isegrim Olafson was a dashing sight, full of strength, and vigor, with raven black hair and glittering blue eyes.

Volund saw the bosom of the veiled Ragnarsson daughter raise in greater frequency as her beautiful eyes took stock.

Volund paid attention to Erik Gustav's lament once more. His noble guest waved at his daughter.. "I amassed great wealth both on this world and so much more beyond. I was blessed by a strong son and this lovely daughter . My son has died, and so has my wife and love. No other woman shall ever be by my side or share my chambers, so was the oath I made the day Hilda died. Hence no son of my blood will again be born."

He sighed as he looked at his daughter. "Only here on Nilfeheim is this a problem. My beloved and beautiful daughter can not inherit, neither my wealth nor my name, but she can bear a son of her own. In this future son I place my hope ."

Volund said. "My son is full of strength and he carries a name as old as Ragnarrson, but the words must be spoken."

"Aye indeed. What are we if not shaped by our traditions and our honor. Volund Olafson, Lord mighty of the Olafson Clan. Honored of old, your son may court my daughter for the purpose of marriage.

Isegrim sat in his finest at the table and stared at the veiled woman. Her hair caught by ray of sun light gleamed like gold. Her eyes were big and green, he could not keep his eyes of her. Gretel was forgotten, this princess, this creature of finest Nilfeheim stock would be his bride after the required time of courting. His father had just clasped arms with Erik Gustav Ragnarsson.

Both of them pleased and more ale and beer was brought.

The old Ragnarsson still held Volund's arm. "Our Clans are soon to be one, the day I can no longer raise my arm, will be the day the Ragnarsson banner and shields will be placed in the Cave of forgotten Clans, but strong Olafson blood will mingle with mine in the Offspring these two will have."

Volund's eyes glowed. "Aye a Grandson of this bond, wise and cunning as the Ragnarssons and strong as the Olafsons. When he becomes Clan Chief, who knows, the Throne of Gustavson could be his. Uniting the Clans of the West under one banner."Volund raised his tankard. "His name shall be Eric to honor thy name. Eric Olafson!"

Erik still holding the others arm. "So I will be."

Neither man was sober anymore and both basked in the future glory of a yet unborn heir and spun the tales of conquest, they all loved so much."

Erik Ragnarsson pounded his fist onto the table's surface and made tankards dance. "It is not proper that the father of my daughter's husband lives like this. It behooves the Olafson Clan to be once more first among few.

Ragnarsson Rock is big and well maintained and it will serve our future grandson as a fitting cradle. Come ye Volund, move to my burg. Be it's steward and master, let your son Isegrim be master and steward once our both arms are weak until he who combines our blood is born and has passed the Ancient Rite of passage.

This burg can then be properly renovated for future use,"

"I can not deny the attraction of thy offer,but how can a Burg have two masters? "

Erik Gustavson taking another deep drought of the strong ale. "I am more often than not away from Nilfeheim, By Odin's Sacred Spear I pledge everything I own, everything that is Ragnarsson both on this world and everything beyond shall be Eric Olafsons, he the unborn firstborn fruit of our children, but until the day he comes into his own, the Ragnarsson Burg shall know one master only.

-""-

Erik Gustavson had left the Olafson burg three days later, taking his daughter and warriors along.

Volund waited until the flyer was a mere dot at the horizon and then he turned to his son who was standing behind him, on the court yard and smashed his fist with all might square in the face of Isegrim, only to follow up with a hail of blows and he yelled. "Oddløg, my hands getting tired, bring me the whip."

Isegrim was a strong man already, but Volund was a true brute. He did try to land a few blows of himself but his old man caught his arm and executed a painful lock, almost breaking Isegrims's arm. Isegrim was on his knees as Oddløg brought a broad leather whip made of braided and twisted Fangsnapper leather. "Father have mercy. I deserved the beating but let up in your rage. I have seen the beauty and I gladly obey."

"You are despicable, no warrior no matter the reason pleads for mercy, and no soul disobeys me on this rock. Not the Low men, not the Warriors and not even you son."

Volund however dropped the whip and drew his sword instead. "Before we leave this rock and move to Ragnarsson Burg, I will cleanse this our ancestors home from all the filth. "

He stomped with heavy steps down the into the quarters of the Lowe men and descended upon the Hemstead low men. He killed them all and his sword and arm was full of blood as he hacked down another maid and yelled ."I will kill you all! Where is she?"

Volund raged like a demon and killed many, yet Gretel was not to be found.

-""-

Gretel had hidden herself in a near empty barrel of Urine, the disgusting reeking liquid was collected from humans and Nubhir alike and used in a very old process of tanning skins into leather. Now, wet and stinking she stalked between the dismembered bodies of the low men and she saw her own father, two of her younger sisters, uncles and those she called friends hacked to death. Using her voluptuous body to seduce the son of the Clan lord seemed such a good idea just so recently. A way to escape this filth and the abhorrent conditions that existed in the bowels of this burg.

What she thought of a game had turned into a nightmare. She felt sick to her stomach but she felt no remorse.

She knew of the stories, of the worlds that existed beyond the skies of Nilfeheim but Lowe men were not allowed to go to Union School and were kept by the Clans almost like property ,like slaves. The Lowe men of good and rich clans got salaries and other benefits, the Low men of poor clans were starving and had to work to the very bones for a little food and shelter.

Gretel had watched the visitors and saw the daughter of the other Clan chief from a basement window, unseen by them. She was regal, wore a fine velvet dress and had golden hair. It was easy to look like that if you had nothing to do all day but play the harp, do needle work and not much else.

But now she had to survive, leave this place somehow and unseen.

There was a little motor boat in the den, and while it was almost suicide trying to use it, it was preferable to certain death between these walls.

She could not hope to make it all the way to Bifrost in a small boat,without navigational tools and without really knowing how to use them even if she had them, but to the Bendixen Rock could be seen and since the Bendixen hated the Olafsons, maybe she was able to find shelter there.

-""-