Eric Olafson, Neoviking 001f

Prelude Part 6: Naming Day

November 4999, OTT

A new egg-shaped stone cut from a single two ton boulder marked the grave of the little girl. The stone had been dug out from underneath the snow; a stone mason had chiseled the name Freya Olafson and the date into the stone and then it was carried to the cemetery behind the community round house.

There, also under a thick layer of snow, were the rock mounds and rock markers of the graves of the most revered. On a planet with so little land, the dead usually received a burial at sea. The greatest warriors and heroes were burned aboard a wooden ship, the wood brought all the way from Earth. The old clans, however maintained a burial field behind the Roundhouse and all the way to Mount Asgard. It was there where they had placed the little body of the dead born girl.

Ilva, the mother of the girl, wrapped in a black fur trimmed cloak, stood there, the wind pulling on her cape, her face hidden behind the black fur of a Nubhir wolf mask. The men were all gone after she had asked to be alone for a while. Her father had left a flier for her to use behind and only after the third assurance that she would be fine they had left.

The bitter cold had long penetrated the cape and her insulated clothing underneath, yet she did not want to leave just yet. She had so looked forward to raising the twins. To have a girl of her own, hoping she would grow up in a better world.

All her life she had been raised to be a proper Nilfeheim woman and after her mother died, she had first hated her father but she knew how much he had loved her and that it was a terrible accident. She then tried to be a good daughter, especially as fate was not kind to the Ragnarsson clan and her older brother had died in a Tyranno Hunting accident.

She sensed his presence and said without turning, “She is dead Old Egill. I have a beautiful son, but his sister is dead.” Her voice was just a hint above a whisper.

“I could be twice as old, lovely Ilva and still would not know what to say to make it easier for you. Nilfeheim is Hel’s realm and in this our world is aptly named.”

“It would not have happened if we opened a little more to the worlds beyond our orbit, but women are still nothing but ornaments meant for pleasure, bearing sons for them.”

“Death happens even on Pluribus, the old reaper has not lost his sting and old Hel has never suffered shortage. As you know I hoped Freya would be the one, the one I could raise as a warrior.”

She turned to look at the equally bundled up old man they often called the Wizard of Nilfeheim. “I so wish Tyr would be here.” She knew he could not see her sad smile but she knew he could sense it.

He pulled her close and said. “He knows my child I am sure and knowing him he will be the first Tyranno that weeps. Now let us go back, your son is alive and he does need his mother.”

Erik Gustav had spared no expenses to make the naming day of his grandson a momentous event. The Burg was made snow and ice free as possible. Flags and banners everywhere and even the Lowmen had received new clothing. Every room in the burg was filled with guests, many clan Chiefs were invited and all the Elders. A delegation from Hasvik along with the First Keeper was there, even Bjorn Igvarhein, the operator of Nilfeheim Radio, was there to record the event and broadcast it.

The tables almost buckled under the weight of the mountains of food.

A dozen grills lined up with entire Fangsnappers slowly turning over open flame. There were stacks of barrels of beer, ale and mead. Stacks of cases holding aquavit and other strong spirits.

Now after days of frantic preparations, the ceremony drew near and again just like at the wedding, oak tree branches had been transported all the way from Earth and decorated the High Hall.

Even sacred mistletoe and birch saplings and flowers. Even the rich clan lords were open in their envy of such Old Earth splendor. Things only seen in the most ancient illustrations, from the original home of the Vikings.

The Elders had brought the most precious artifact of the planet, the Altar of Odin made of solid platinum.

It was richly decorated depicting the one eyed god, his ravens and all the other symbols associated with the father of the Aesir.

Twenty men had struggled with the enormous weight as they had carried it in.

It had been placed just beyond the five wide steps that led from the High Hall to the Lord’s Retreat.

The big table that usually was at the center of the High Hall had been pushed to the side and chairs were placed in rows to the left and right of a dark red carpet running from the main entrance all across the polished stone floor of the High Hall and to the Altar of Odin.

Olafson banners and the wolf heads mixed with the banners of Ragnarssons and the falcon crest everywhere.

Tall iron wrought braziers and oil fed torches lined the walls.

From the twenty meter high, vaulted ceiling now hung the eight huge, famous chandeliers made of Tyranno Fin bones and the skulls of long perished enemies of the Olafson clan.

They had been brought from the old Olafson Rock to symbolize that this was now the new burg of the clan. Each of these chandeliers had thirty six soot blackened skulls with a long-lasting candle burning in each of the skulls half open jaws. These macabre lamps were the source of many legends and were known far beyond the walls of the Olafson clan.

Isegrim was standing in his finest chief regalia near the top of the stairs and looked up to these chandeliers.

It was an old Olafson game to know the name of each enemy whose cranium bone was attached up there.

Each time a mistake was made, a tankard of ale had to be emptied. No ancient symbol had been overlooked; Odin’s spear lay upon the altar, the Elders wore their white robes and the goði, the priests from Hasvik, had added dark red capes to their stately outfits.

The First Keeper of Hasvik wore a robe adorned with the world tree Yggdrasil embroidered on his chest.

Over hundred fifty clan chiefs both from the Alliance of the East and the Western clans in finest, most traditional garments complete with swords, axes and today even shields accompanied by first sons, warriors and wives filled the mighty hall to the very last seat.

The Eldest, the hermit they often called the Wizard of the Pillar was here as well. That he again had left his lonely burg was seen as an omen of great importance.

Gretel was standing in the back, next to Brunar Bendixen, disguised with a dark wig and a veil.

She had used a generous dose of the Shaill pheromone to attract the man and then spiked his ale with more illegal hypno drugs.

Despite her sister’s complaints, she had not wasted all her time spending time in virtual reality.

She talked to other escaped Lowmen. Not all were like her sister, content to simply be away. She was not the only one lusting for revenge.

She learned about the Nubhir gang, residing right under the noses of the high and mighty clan lords.

One of them got her in contact with a dealer of these illegal substances. From him, she learned about the subtle ways to entice and control others via psycho drugs. After she had heard of it’ she soaked up every bit of knowledge she could find.

Her sister’s money purchased a neural upload on Shaill poisons and toxins.

Of course the possession and use of such drugs was highly illegal, but so was stealing her own sister’s life savings. She would eventually get over it, besides it was her parents too, that Gretel wanted to avenge.

She cared little about that, she was beyond Union law on Nilfeheim. Here, the knowledge she had gained and the content of the little box would make her queen and give her the tools for revenge.

What easier way to gain all she ever dreamed about, on a world ruled by pecker brained simpletons?

The Shaill, a very disgusting species of huge sentient slugs, had based an entire civilization on the mastery of biochemistry and could at will make their glands produce the most complex and potent bio toxins and compounds. While it wasn’t psionics, the potions could only increase and reinforce emotions that were already there, but with the help of inhibition lowering and hypno suggestive psycho drugs the primitive men of this cold world could be molded to her will.

How Isegrim freed himself of her biochemistry induced spell was not entirely clear to her, but seeing him with his son and that blonde bitch, she suspected strong emotions overpowered the effects of her drugs.

It took little persuasion to convince Brunar to take her along, finding him in the bed of a South Down whore was a stroke of luck.

Gretel was introduced as a high lady of his clan. The Bendixen clan was not an ally of the Ragnarssons and an open enemy to the Olafsons, but it was tradition to open the gates to friend and foe alike on a day like this.

That they had to stand in the back was due to the fact that there weren’t enough chairs left and it was the allies and friends of the clans that had reserved seats.

Next to Brunar stood his father Odvar Bendixen. He too was under the influence of Gretel’s hypno drugs, he too frequented the shadier side of town, and needed little convincing to simply ignore her. The older Bendixen was talking to the clan Chief of the Elhir.

Leif Elhir, who like Isegrim, had just recently become the leader of his clan snorted. “That whelp they name today, is celebrated like the coming of the first King of Nilfeheim.”

Odvar Bendixen kept watching the last guests arrive. “Aye and the first king he just might be. His name is going to be Eric and he is going to inherit not just the riches of the Ragnarssons this shrewd clan has gathered on this world, but the billions Erik Gustav has. There isn’t a week going by one of his freighters lands. Do you know how much a freighter like that costs?”

“No and what need would I have for such a thing? We are Norse.”

“You could buy every last boat and sub on Nilfeheim and have the spare change to buy a hundred more. We are not as isolated from the rest of the Union as you think. Wealth is power and in that regards Erik Gustav is more powerful than all the clans. The old hawk is worth billions!”

Gretel could barely keep quiet. She had seen what the money of her sister could buy, and if her plans came to fruition, those billions would be hers.

Leif said. “Volund the old chief had to hire on our boats to keep his clan fed and now Isegrim spends more coin on the naming of his son than his clan has seen in five Longnights. What I like to know is, what they paid the hermit to come down from his rock.”

“Yes that would be interesting to know. His endorsement could get me a seat in the circle right away. Yet he is known to refuse even the most generous gifts. They say he is a wizard and has the ear of the gods.”

Gretel could not hold back and whispered, “There is no such thing as gods and there are no wizards.”

Odvar turned to her and the thin veneer of psycho drugs could not change the fact that he was a Nilfeheim man. “Silence woman, don’t blaspheme. Who are you again?”

She lowered her head. “I am the companion of Brunar, thy lordship.”

He grunted. “Then know your place and be silent. It behooves you not to speak when chiefs converse. A woman is silent and knows her place. Brunar see that she knows her place and later you will tell me from what clan she hails and why the proper traditions have not be kept. Or I shall introduce her to an old Bendixen tradition, called the Branks.”

Brunar tried to remember who the woman really was and looked at Gretel. “I don’t really remember.”

Gretel was saved by a blasting of horns, calling the assembled to attention. She knew how close she had come to losing it all.

The biochemicals worked, but it seemed the effect was not as strong as she hoped. She also remembered the warning of her virtual instructor, that strong emotions could break the hypno drug enforced suggestions.

The music, played on the old instruments, swelled to a rousing tune every Norse knew. The Hymn to the Seven Aesir was a well-liked sacred melody.

Then the crowd became silent as the Eldest of them all appeared.

Through the opening doors, the Eldest came walking along the red carpet carrying a heavy object. Someone whispered. “It is the Blótbolli.”

Brunar asked his father, “Is that the cup they made of the Nogoll skull? Do you know the tale?”

“Indeed son, the Nogoll, an alien race and part of the Galactic Council, raided many Union Colonies during the big intergalactic war. An advanced scouting party of the Nogoll also landed on Nilfeheim. They picked the wrong planet and none of the Nogoll left.

This cup was made of the skull of the Nogoll commander, felled by Siegfried Olafson. It galls me to say but that man was perhaps the wildest and strongest Viking ever to live. They say he was even bigger and stronger than that giant Hogun.”

The Eldest did not wear his usual tattered things, but looked every part how the Eldest and wisest of all Elders supposed to look. In a floor length billowing cloak the darkest red, the old maroon of the Skallagrímsson clan, not seen by anyone in four hundred years, The black dragon symbol upon the heavy fabric and the hood drawn around his face and the legendary sword Dødbringer on his hip.

With a solemn expression he carried the heavy skull cup and stepped up to where Isegrim held his first born.

There the First Keeper of Hasvik took the spear of Odin from the altar and Isegrim cut his hand on the razor sharp spear and dripped his blood over the forehead of the child.

“This is my firstborn son! My blood is his blood, his blood is Olafson. Before Odin, Thor and the Aesir; before the Elder of Nilfeheim and the holy men of Hasvik, I proclaim his name to be Eric Thor Olafson!”

Isegrim held his hand over the cup and dripped more blood into the cup the old man held.

Now Erik Gustav cut himself and dripped blood over the newborn. “This is my grandson and sole heir. My blood is his blood and his blood is Ragnarsson. Before Odin, Thor and the Aesir; before the Elder of Nilfeheim and the holy men of Hasvik, I swear that all that is mine shall be his on the day he is declared man and warrior. Hail thee my grandson, Eric Thor Olafson.”

Then he too dropped blood into the cup.

To the surprise of all, the old hermit cut himself on the spear and dropped blood over the infant and said with deep emotion in his voice, “Many Longnights and Shortsummers have past since I was born, but I am thy kin Eric Olafson and my blood is your blood. Before Odin, Thor and the Aesir; before the Elder of Nilfeheim and the holy men of Hasvik. I swear to be thy teacher and protector and no secret I guard shall be secret to you.”

Huge Hogun Olafson stepped up to the spear, cut himself and sprinkled blood over the infant. “My blood is your blood. Before Odin, Thor and the Aesir; before the Elder of Nilfeheim and the holy men of Hasvik. I swear to be thy godfather and protector.”

The First Keeper took and raised the cup. “This cup, filled with the blood of a mighty Tyranno, slain during the last days of Shortsummer and with the blood of thy father and kin. May their strength and the might of this world flow through thy veins. I hereby declare thee to be known as Eric Thor Olafson. Bring though honor to thy name. Hail Odin, Hail Thor.”

The assembled crowd roared and chanted the name Eric Olafson as the First Keeper doused the newborn with the gory liquid.

A chieftain of the Olafson clan raised his sword.

“Behold the scion of our Lord is not crying, he is not wailing but he is raising his tiny fist. Oh aye a warrior born!”

Not even the Elhir clan chief had a dry eye.

“Obnoxious they may be, those who bear the name Olafson, but this my friend of the Bendixen Rock is how a first born is named.”

Gretel, was born a Lowman’s daughter and the legends and traditions were for the Lords and the clans. The Freemen also observed the traditions, the Lowmen had no time for such things, but she was child of Nilfeheim and the event was not completely lost to her. She too took a silent oath, she would replace that first born with one of her own. Isegrim was beyond her reach, for now.

It was not easy to get to a clan island without being invited. She needed to be alone with Isegrim just for a few moments, reveal herself and douse him with another load of the perfume.

That black bearded bastard had the hots for her anyway, so much of the Shaill potion was not needed.

She started thinking how she could remain on the rock. Being caught hiding somewhere after the festivities were over was not a good thing.

Those burgs were close communities and a stranger had a hard time to blend in. She could always go down into the tanneries. No she never again would set a foot into a tannery. She had to get Isegrim another time.

The reason for the festivities had fallen asleep, despite the singing and the drinking. Isegrim still beaming with pride said, “My wife, take our son, so he may rest more comfortable.”

Ilva took the blood-caked child and was glad this archaic ritual was over, but she was proud as can be.

Just then the double doors opened, a cold blast of wind made the torches and chandeliers flicker.

Three long shadows cast on the red carpet became shorter as three shrouded beings appeared in the doorway. Their form was clearly female. There was utter silence.

One of the mysterious visitors spoke and her voice was not loud; yet they all heard it clearly. “The sons of far distant Midgard gathered in celebration, praising the Aesir with much drink and food as it was done so long ago on their world of origin. Traditions of old mingled with the habits of a new world, yet have you no room on your tables for three weary travelers?”

Isegrim stood and gestured to the tables. “No one is denied food, shelter and warmth on our hearths and our gates are open to friend and enemy alike on a day like this, should they not bear the sword of battle into our midst.

Strangers announce the names you are known by and declare your intent and then let us close the doors, stoke the fires and bring warm ale.”

The big doors closed all by themselves and the shrouded woman in the middle drew back her hood, revealing long black hair but her face remained obscured by a black veil. “I am Verðandi, a traveler from the stars, these are my sisters Urðr and Skuld. We share much of the same roots, Men of Nilfeheim. We came to witness and bless this child. The Universe awaits his coming for a very long time.”

Egill stepped forward and actually knelt before the strange woman. “The legends are true then.”

“All legends are true, friend of the White One. It is the mist of time and the limited mind of man that shrouds distant events with the cobwebs of fantasy and embellishment.”

Elkhart the first Keeper of Hasvik raised both hands, “The Nornir have not been seen for many ages. They arrive when a person is born in order to determine the future.”

Egill gasped. “You speak of Gods?”

The veiled women came closer. “What the true nature is of the legends and Gods you worship, you must answer for yourself and with your heart.”

One of the other women spoke. “But yes my sisters and I have been called Norns by those humans that occupied that beautiful world so far distant from here. Long is the list of names as we dwelled among the children of Midgard.”

Now the third woman spoke directly to Elkhart. “The men of Midgard have forgotten us indeed, but you, the long lived offspring of the giants now disguised as man, clearly remember us.”

She then turned to Egill. “Of our first visits to Midgard, all that remains are stories and legends, some have been carried to the stars and to new worlds like this. When stories are told by many voices over many generations, simple tales grow to legends and myth. But even they eventually fade away and are remembered by a few.”

Egill noticed that the men and women around them, had fallen asleep. Even Isegrim had slumped back into his chair with his chin on his chest. Now the other two women lowered their hoods.

Egill slowly got up. “Indeed man has grown up, and what our ancestors called gods, might just been visitors with advanced technology. Who are you and what is your purpose? I am the first to welcome you but I also assure you I am not a defenseless simpleton.”

Elkhart suddenly looked much stronger and more massive than even dozing Hogun.

“They are visitors who walk among the Aesir. Who advised Thor and Odin. The messengers of fate itself, and you question them?”

“Aye, for I am also a citizen of the Union and if these are visitors from a civilization we do not know, we must find out what they want.”

To the women he said. “Now declare yourselves.”

The woman who called herself Verðandi chuckled. “Have no fear Egill Skallagrímsson, we are indeed here for what we said we have come.”

She lowered her staff and pointed it at the blood caked child lying inside a warrior’s shield. The infant was not asleep but moved his tiny arms. The shrouded woman said. “This cold and wet world so far away from all that seems important holds pieces of a cosmic puzzle that will be completed in his time and this Universe.”

Egill could not tell which of the women spoke next.

“Only you will remember our visit. To others we will be nothing but a long distant dream.”

The three women approached the child. Egill stepped before them.

“I repeat, declare your intent. I will not let you get closer. Why have you come and what is it you want of Eric?”

“The White Giant has gifted you with formidable powers indeed. Your old friend Elkhart is much more than he appears. He too is far from impotent. Yet we are not here to harm the child. We came to be the first to hail his coming and hope he remembers us when he comes into his own. There are forces more formidable than the Aesir you worship, seeking to prevent his arrival. His true nature must be hidden and remain a secret until he unites the Tokens of Power. Once he collects the last piece, no force can harm him.”

Elkhart said. “Then it is true, it is the Children of Midgard will bring forth the one that rings in the age of Ragnarok.”

The three women circled around the child. “We bring thee sand from the roots of Yggdrasil and water from the well of wisdom. A mistletoe from the world tree. Hail to thee Dark One!”

Egill trembled involuntarily.

“This can not be. Science has replaced the superstition of old, there is no Thor. Thunder is made by the static discharge of lightning. The sun is not a chariot, but a simple star among many. There is no world tree.”

“Yet you live on a planet where the men worship the Aesir. You call upon Odin on many times both in oath and curse. The Aesir had many names on your old world and each tribe of man described them differently. Did not the Sarans come to your world many times and were called gods by those humans dwelling in ancient Egypt. Do you think this happened only once and the Sarans were the only ones visiting that blue world of your origin? The ones you know as the Aesir are but an old advanced civilization that had long faded into oblivion, only few remained.”

Another Norn said, “Your Union is not far from reaching that same level of development and has the potential to far surpass them, especially now that the Narth are members of that Union.

We Norns are all that is left of a yet older species from time and space long past. We became messengers of the Rule and through it we know of the potential this child has. All the conditions for the Dark Ones resurrection have been met, yet despite our reputation not even we can predict the future.”

Egill looked at the little boy who found his own toes much more interesting than the mysterious women.

“Tyr was very cryptic, even more than he usually is. He wanted me to be here, but I know he has been born of a normal Nilfeheim woman and was sired by a brutish Olafson. You arrival, your words make this child to be some sort of supernatural being.”

“If this child is just another piece towards the coming of the Dark One, we can not say but that he is an important part, that we know. Yet the Voice of the Rule was certain it will begin on this world.

We came to make sure he will grow undisturbed and unnoticed by the forces that want to prevent the rise of the Dark One.”

The Old Keeper who looked so different from his usual said, “He is a weak human, his body is fragile and death is a close companion. I shall gift him strength.”

Egill turned to the old keeper. “You are not the old man you claim to be.”

“I am an old man, Egill. Just much older than most, but perhaps the term man in relation to Children of Midgard is not entirely correct.”

Egill found himself waking in one of the big chairs by the banquet table. He remembered having the strangest dream about Norns and Odin himself. It was a dream and details faded fast. The very idea that the shriveled old man with the stringy beard who was just getting up from another chair was all powerful Odin was a particularly amusing aspect of that dream.

He looked at the empty tankards, the mess and the demolished mountains of food. It was how Nilfeheim events and festivities always ended.

Servants were already rushing around cleaning and putting things back in order.

The first guests left and with heavy heads and so did the Hermit of Nilfeheim. He was looking forward to seeing Tyr the White Tyranno soon.

He was just about to descent to the sub pen where his Poseidon was tied, when he was intercepted by Ilva.

She carried her child and said, “I wanted to thank you for coming and making this a special day.”

“It was a privilege, my lovely child.”

“Promise me you shaggy old Wizard to teach him some of the things you know, and let him, when he comes of age, listen to your great wisdom. He is born into this beautiful but harsh world. He is, as you well know, son to a very hard father who will demand much of him, but if you teach him like you have taught me, all the things about the ancient Rite of Passage, so he can rightfully choose whatever path he wants to go.”

“I swore it to the Gods and all Nilfeheim, but aye I promise you, I will do that. When he is old enough, I will summon him to my Rock and show and teach him as much as he lets me.”

Ilva looked around to make sure she was not overheard. “Will you also introduce him to Tyr?”

“Tyr already looks forward to see your son.”

“Please tell that big fish how much I miss him.”

“Shortsummer is soon upon us once again and there will be reason for you to travel to the Pillar and you can tell him yourself.”

Egill kissed the beautiful woman on the cheek and then kissed the infant, then he took his leave.

Gretel sulked in the small room she had rented just short of South Down. Things had not gone her way, her supply of the expensive drugs was almost gone and so was most of the money she had stolen.

Her sister’s credit strip had stopped working quite a while ago. The small XChange office at the spaceport where they sold Iridium coins for credits, told her she was using a reported stolen credit strip and all access was terminated. The Nubhir gang lost their leader and the rest did not want anything to do with her. She was told a big clan lord was snooping around and threatened to report to the Elders.

Maybe starting her vengeance with a murder was not such a good idea, it depleted most of her funds for one.

She got up from the bed and stared out the small window.

It was only a two story place but she still could see Mount Asgard in the distance. Everything else was covered with a thick blanket of snow.

Someone knocked at her door.

“Don’t you worry old hag, I am still paid up till next week.”

The door opened and instead of the landlord’s wife. It was a man and he was an off worlder for sure, he wore a heated thermo suit and a modern looking cold mask with attached goggles. “No worries Gretel, I am not Ms. Schlossheimer.”

She put her hand around a little silver beamer she had bought at Holstein. She had never used this small off world weapon but she kept it close to her. “Who are you then?” Her voice vibrated with fear.

“That Lorix - 99 credit laser is not necessary, I have a proposal you might consider.”

“Again who are you?”

“The nature of my business makes it necessary that I keep that to myself, but if a name is necessary, just pick something and I will use it while we do business together.”

“Are you Off-World police?”

“Oh no, I am of the other side so to speak. Union laws and the goals of my employers are not exactly compatible in the matter at hand. However the police has your name on a Union wide POI.”

She was still standing by the window with the tight knot of fear in her throat. “POI?”

He closed the door and took a seat next to the small table. “Person of interest list. You are not a citizen, which in this particular case is good.”

“My sister hired you. Only she would know where to find me.”

“Oh no, your sister did not press charges, but she is also not your biggest fan anymore. Your name came up in an illegal drugs investigation, your interests and contacts piqued their interests and it also brought you to my attention.”

“Can you not tell me what this is about and what you want from me?”

“My associates want a foothold on this planet, we think taking over one of the local clans would do the trick. Starting a little clan war and bring this ice ball into the 49th century. While doing so, offering the treasures of this world at the Union markets. Quite a simple operation and goal really, getting that foothold is where you come in.”

“Me?” was all she could think of saying. Nothing he said made any sense to her so far.

“Gretel, you spent a good year on Holstein and you did not hold back on your plans for the future. You told others about the Olafsons, the revenge you wanted and all that. Your plans and ours are compatible so to speak. I will sponsor you in subtle ways and you conduct your revenge business, the only condition is you take occasional directions from me. We are not in a hurry, such things take time. In eight or ten years time, you will be a rich woman and just maybe the queen of Nilfeheim for real.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“Fish.”

“You mean fish from the ocean?”

“Yes, every single one of them.”

She sat down as well. “I care not about fish, but Queen of Nilfeheim, that is something I do. Please explain what I need to do and what I get out of it.”