The Chronicle of Logan and Bronach – Book 2

Unsurprisingly, nothing in the annals of these Norsemen speaks of these siblings, Logan and Bronach, during their childhood and postpubescence, as they were taken as prisoners of a raid. As children of a family of no repute, and thus worth no ransom, they were made Þræll and Þír; enslaved. Put to work in the fields, Logan gained the strength for which he now has great renown, tilling and threshing from dawn until sunset. As to Bronach, once she reached majority her captors recognized her quick mind, and her capacity to devise both strategic and tactical solutions to domestic issues that arose in the village. As both took great pains to improve the community despite their standing, and having attempted no escapes or rebellions, they were eventually made full members of the tribe, once the rituals had been completed. Very little is shared of the ceremonies endured to attain membership in the tribe, but the sagas do note that both withstood the trials without fear, or complaint.

Logan’s Tale: Fyrsta

Having gained the trust of the clan, and completed the ritual, Logan was initiated as a Karl, albeit still as a farmer. Came then an event of strong Fortune, which would alter his destiny, and as you will eventually learn, yours, as well. One morning, while the thaw still held back its mercy, raiders were spotted, and there was no doubt they came to ransack his village. They were crazed with hunger, as the winter was particularly harsh, and they were as ruthless as they were ravenous. Though wild, they retained sense enough to wait until the fisherman, who were also most of the warriors of the clan, left to hunt the seas. Their numbers depleted, the remaining men, mostly elders and infirm, called upon the Karls, and even some slaves to help hold off the pillagers. The wife of his former master called upon Logan, and presented him with the arms and armor of her husband, his former master. Determined, Logan called all the able freemen and slaves to do likewise; procure the armor and weapons of their masters, and muster in the fields, those same fields to which most of them were tied since childhood as slaves. Inspired, they prepared themselves, most of them for the first battle of their lives, and ran to meet the raiders before they reached their hamlet. Once afield, the farmers, smiths, and porters charged the murderous rabble that threatened their way of life. Power and grace, engrained from years of wielding a thresher, dragging a tiller, and hoisting bales, raged from Logan, where he watered the fields in which he toiled since his childhood, but now with the blood of villains, rather than rainwater. Though he fought fiercely, and devastated the initial wave of attackers, the village would have fallen without the astute commands with which he directed the newly-minted defenders. At day’s end, after hours of tempestuous battle, Logan stood in his field, ankle-deep in mud; his clan’s own land, now sodden with the blood of raiders. Seeing their victory, his men cheered, and carried him back to the grateful village. When the Council Elder thanked him, and asked Logan what they could now give him as a reward, he replied only “Now that our people are safe, my only hope is their blood brings favor to our fields and bears us great bounty.” That he demanded not great fortune, or high position both amused and impressed the Elder. “Unto you, I give you this gift; henceforward, you shall be known as Logan the Gardener, as your heart leads you to support the community, and not serve yourself. That you fought with the ferocity of a berserker in the very fields in which you toiled for many years confirms this honorific as proper.” Satisfied that Logan, stunned by this honor, had regained his composure, he continued; “Now, you might remember recently when a messenger arrived, as quite a stir was caused. He was from the king, requesting staunch fighters to serve with his housecarls. It is our mind that we would send you to honor our village and defend the king.”

There was little Logan could say; that he advanced from field slave to free Karl after years of toil was more than he could have hoped for. Having gone from a farmer to the king’s private guard in less than one day’s passage was nearly inconceivable. In short order, the fishermen returned, and were regaled with the story of Logan the Gardener, and his defense of the village. The Magnate, chief of the clan, wholeheartedly agreed with the Elder’s decision. “Logan the Gardener, I see in you the core of a drengr; these are the valiant men who exert a good influence. I would send you to serve the king but tell you this; though it has been your fate until now, you were never destined for servitude. Complete your service, but seek greatness.” The Magnate then stepped back and drew his sword. Holding it forth, he then handed it to Logan. “I hand unto you the one thing most Norse warriors may only dream of, as very few have had the great fortune to obtain one. I give to you not only the sword of a Magnate’s own sword, but an Ulfberth. Of Frankish make, an Ulfberth had no equal. Take hold and demand your destiny.” Not for the first time that day, Logan stood awestruck. He took hold of the artifact, and swore his oath upon that Ulfberth, wholly committed to his newly assigned duty. He then prepared himself for his voyage, and assembled a crew to sail for Østfold, where the messenger had told the Council the king was at this moment mobilizing his retinue of Housekarls.

Bronach’s Tale: Fyrsta

Bronach reviewed the village’s larder; she knew what had been laid in at the last harvest was not going to be enough for the clan to survive a normal winter, and the völva had foreseen a particularly harsh one in the entrails. She had hoped her earlier estimations were wrong, but what she found there only confirmed her fears. The Council was meeting; she had requested entrance to the conclave to present her findings, but having only been freed from servitude recently, she was certain her request would be declined.

A young girl tugged at her apron; “You have been called, Bronach; the Council said to bring you to the Thing; the folkmoot.” Having endured so much in her youth, she was not nervous, but was careful to look back at the stores as to give an accurate accounting. Moving quickly without rushing, she made her way to the longhouse where the conclave was assembled. “You requested time to address the Council” an Elder stated, “Speak quickly.” He looked her directly in the eyes “And carefully, child. It was not more than last summer that you were Þír. We have no time or patience to waste.” Bronach nodded to the Elder. Having worked closely with him over the past year assisting in organizing the stores, the workloads, even the new construction and schedule of the tides, she knew his words were more for the Council members than her, but she also knew them to be true. “Venerable Council, I thank you for this opportunity. I have done the counting of the stores several times, and with the recent capture of several dozen slaves, and the recovery of the missing warriors from the last raid, we absolutely do not have enough food to support the village over the winter. A winter that I need not remind you is fated to bring strong forth a stormr of terrible power.” “We have no reason to doubt your veracity, Bronach” said one of the women, “your countings have never been inaccurate. But do you have any suggestions of what we can do? You spent much of your time studying the outlying lands; is there anything that can help us?” Bronach had hoped that someone would ask her that; she had spent weeks planning, researching, and traveling the woods and shores, looking for solutions. “Honored elders, I have several ideas.” Having carefully canvassed the region, she laid out her plans, using old words of their language, which she knew they would respect. “To the east lies eski, a forest of ash; I watched elk take water from the bekkr within. I also followed their patterns and tracked them to a lundr where there were bushes loaded with winter berries. If we take our best hunters, we could fell several elk, and gather up the berries, as well as some root vegetables I noticed growing in that same grove. Also, I discovered that the bekkr, the stream, ran down to a hot spring, that then flowed to the coast. The heat of this water leave a holr in the ice, where fish gather in the warmth.” The Elder smiled. He knew, from his time with Bronach, that she would not leave them hungry. “We know what we have to do now.” The Magnate stood and called for his hunters to prepare for the journey. With a curious look, he turned to Bronach and demanded, “Give us directions to these woods.” Bronach, born with the pride of Éire and the fire of the Danes stated clearly “No. I will lead your party. I know the way, and the perils therein. Also, I have my own.” Having said this, she unwrapped her cloak, and withdrew a bow from within. “I have been practicing for months. Where do you think we got all the rabbits and game birds for the feast at Jól’?” The Magnate looked sternly at the Elder, who smiled and shook his head, signaling that it was not a fight that could be won. “Granted. If we are prepared, then we are off.”

Several days into the journey, Bronach signaled for the party to move quietly. They neared the stream in the woods, just as she had told them, and she didn’t want them to scare off any game. Creeping up to a rise just above the stream, they saw several elk and a particularly thin moose taking water. Suddenly, the animals all looked up, jerking their heads towards the depth of the woods, then in an instant they all darted off in the other direction. The Magnate, gestured to his men towards the noise, and crashing through the woods came a giant creature of stiff fur and teeth; huge paws with razor sharp claws, that could tear flesh with a slap. With a sigh, he gained his resolve; a might bear had stormed the þvait, or clearing, and had a look of hunger and fury in his eyes. Spotting the party, he charged them, tearing up clods of frozen earth in his path. With well-trained movements, most of the hunting party moved into strategic positions and unleashed a torrent of arrows, while others lowered their spears in preparation of the charge. As feared, the arrows slowed but did not stop the monster, and only from their years of coordinated training with bow and spear could these young warriors drop this beast.

The Magnate turned to Bronach, sweating and heaving, but smirking and said “You never mentioned bears! And where were you, you thought yourself a mighty hunter, but you’re not even facing the right direction!” Bronach lowered her bow and pointed behind the Magnate. Lying in a pool of blood, pierced with several arrows, including one in each eye, was a boar, tusks pointing directly at the Magnate. Looking directly at him, Bronach told the Magnate impassively “You’ll want your men to take him and the bear to the lodge. I’ll collect the roots and berries and meet you back home.” With that said, she turned away, tucked her bow back into her cloak, gathered up her pack, and walked towards the clearing.

Here ends Book Two of The Chronicle of Logan and Bronach.