Voyage Of Destiny
Chris J. Biker
This novel aims to convey to readers the characteristics that have made these two peoples great, which although so different from each other have recognized themselves as one great soul.
Ulfr, son of the Viking King, and Thorald, the only son of a very wealthy man Jarl, had bonded as children, like their fathers before them, by the oath of brotherhood. At the age of 16, following atrocious retaliation by Thorald to avenge his father's death, the King orders the two young men to leave for a long journey at sea. During the crossing they are suddenly caught in the relentless fury of nature that endangers their lives, and risks sinking their ship, Knorr, with all the crew. But fate has something different in store for them, and they reach the shores of a new, rich and fertile land: America. The confrontation with the Natives turns out to be the most important for both peoples, so different from each other, yet at the same time similar in pride and moral integrity. It is a meeting that radically changes the lives of some of them. This is a journey into a world that is now lost, where Love and Respect are the fundamental foundations of the natural right to live of the human being. Because only then is there union with everything!
Translator: Barbara Maher
Chris J. Biker
Voyage of Destiny
Translated by Barbara Maher
© 2021 - Chris J. Biker
cover image by the artist Emiliano Movio. Conversion into files by graphic designer Pierluigi Paron, for Print Service.
1 Preface
Dear readers, I would like to clarify an historical incongruity that you will find when reading this novel, which is set around 900 A.D. At that time Native Americans did not own horses, which came into their lives more than half a century later. But tell me: when we think of them, don’t we have an image in our minds of feathered horsemen, galloping free over their lands? I really couldn't forgo that wonderful sight.
To my daughters, Sara and Janis, who day after day, enrich my life with the greatest gift, of inestimable value, pure love.
1 Chapter 1
During the great era of the Vikings, in the village of Gokstad, Norway, the eldest son of the Viking king Olaf, named Ulfr, was born.
Olaf was awakened at dawn by a strange moan. He glanced to his side and saw that his wife Herja was not there. As he sat up and looked around, he could see her standing by the wall, dimly lit by the first light of morning filtering through the small opening in the wall. Her torso was bent slightly forward, one hand clinging to the tapestry hanging on the wall, the other holding her belly.
“Call the midwife.” Her words came through gritted teeth. Olaf sprang quickly to his feet and crossed the room with huge strides. He went through the door, calling the servant women loudly.
“Hurry! Hurry!” thundered in the silence.
Within seconds the house came to life, the women running here and there as Olaf kept repeating agitated: “Quick! hurry!” remaining at the door so as not to lose sight of his wife. Two women entered the room at full speed, squeezing between the door jambs and the man's hips. They quickly lit small fires, using fish oil which was kept inside some semi-spherical iron containers scattered along the walls, that served as lamps.
“Move away from there!” ordered the voice of a woman who was holding a steaming bowl, with pieces of cloth wrapped around it. It was old Sigrùn, the midwife, the only woman who could speak to him like that. No one knew her age, but she had to be very old. In fact, she had earned herself the nickname of Sigrùn "The Immortal", since she had delivered everyone in that village and enjoyed unquestioned respect.
“You're as big as the door!” she added as she went past him, followed by another woman who closed it behind her.
Olaf stood still a few moments staring at the decorations carved into the wood, entrusting his prayers to Frey and Freya, the gods of fertility. You turned to them to ensure the birth of a healthy strong child. His wife was already in excellent hands, those of old Sigrùn, also considered the Priestess of the Sacred Runes which she had engraved into the palms of her hands, and no-one ever underestimated her prophecies...
A lemon-like scent filled the room, released by the tea of verbena, or rather dragon claws, as the old woman called them. She poured some into a cup and went to Herja who was panting, her eyes wide with fright as she felt the strong spasms.
“Drink it, it will relieve your pain,” she urged her. Herja did not make her repeat it. She would have swallowed anything to soothe the stabbing pain, and besides, the aroma of the tea was fresh and inviting.
Assisted by the midwife and other women, the mother-to-be was exhausted by hours of labor. When the moment arrived she was made to bend forward onto her elbows as they urged her to push. Old Sigrùn intoned a chant of incomprehensible words as she placed her bony hands on the young woman's body, pressing and massaging her belly. Herja's breath was coming fast and her cries of pain made Olaf’s pace increase even more as he walked nervously back and forth outside the door.
His wife's last scream forced him to stop and he held his breath until the moment of birth, when his son's first little wail was accompanied by a chorus of magical songs. After cutting the umbilical cord, old Sigrùn washed the small body with water, wiped it dry and smeared it with an ointment of clover as protection against bad luck bringing knowledge and wisdom, and lifting the baby up to the heavens she entrusted it to the forces of nature and their God Odin.
At last the door opened.
"You can come in," the midwife announced, as she was leaving with the other women in tow. Olaf went to his wife who was holding their firstborn in her arms.
"It's a boy!" she said smiling, placing the little one in his strong arms. Olaf smiled at her and, looking proudly at his son, said: "We must give him a name that is worthy of his lineage." But he'd been thinking about that name for months, hoping it was a boy.
"I’m sure you’ve already chosen the right name for him," added Herja, with the complicit gaze of someone who had already figured it out. Olaf glanced at her mischievously and burst into a sonorous laugh. With the little one in his large hands he raised his arms to heaven and in a solemn voice uttered his name.
"Ulfr, may the gods give you a glorious life, like the one your grandfather lived!"
The choice of name was considered very important for the Vikings, as they believed it would affect the person’s character and destiny: for this reason he was given the name of his paternal grandfather, esteemed King, valiant leader and skilled merchant, who spent most of his life at the command of his knorr, splendid Viking boat with the bow masterfully carved in the shape of the head of a fierce animal covered in gold and silver. On his was a wolf, because Ulfr means "wolf".
1 Chapter 2
At the same moment, in the plains of North America in the tribe of the Great Sky, Golden Falcon was born. She was the firstborn of the chieftain, Great Eagle.
The early light of dawn was appearing in the new day.
Forest Flower was awakened by an excruciating twinge. She sat up, her breath short, and in the dim light searched for the face of her husband lying by her side. Great Eagle had not noticed anything and she decided not to wake him.
She got out of bed slowly and went out, trying not to make any noise. The air was cool and light. Taking a deep breath she walked slowly towards her mother's tepee, got down on all fours and pushed aside the flap of hide at the entrance.
“Mom...” she called in a low voice, so as not to wake her father, Three Moose.
“Is it time?” asked Morning Dew, pulling herself up into a sitting position.
“Yes,” the young woman replied, her face contracting as she gripped the flap of hide forcefully.
“Wait here! I’ll go and call your aunt,” she told her and started running towards her sister's tepee.
Forest Flower nodded, but didn’t listen to what her mother said and set off, slowly, to a special hut where the women of the tribe gave birth. Another stabbing twinge came all of a sudden, and made her bend over in pain. The two women ran to her quickly and, giving her some support, they helped her into the hut.
Her aunt, Blue Star, rushed to the river to get the water, as her mother prepared a soft bed and made her lie down on it to await the birth. The wome prepared an infusion with leaves of red raspberry was prepared.
“Drink some, it will help to make your labor shorter,” explained Morning Dew. But the contractions were still too far apart. That infusion had always worked for the women of her tribe as they were giving birth, but it seemed to have no effect on her.
“Do you feel like walking?” her mother asked her.
“Yes, yes,” she answered, not completely convinced.
"You must walk, that way the birth will be quicker," she explained. While Morning Dew and Blue Star prepared everything that was needed, Forest Flower walked outside the hut, between contractions, as the sun rose compltely.
Great Eagle woke and when he noticed that his wife wasn’t there, rushed out of the tepee. He saw her walking slowly, then suddenly freeze with her torso bent forward, moaning in pain.
“Forest Flower!” he called, running to her. He put one arm around her back to support her, and offered her the other to lean on.
"I must walk," she said as soon as she caught her breath.
"All right! We’ll do it together," Great Eagle offered, concerned.
They walked for more than an hour. The contractions were becoming more frequent and she wanted to scream each time, but she restrained herself and uttered only a suffocated lament, so as not to frighten her husband. But he felt how much she suffered, because her hand squeezed his arm so hard. The force of her grip matched the pain she was feeling. Until she finally let go.
"It’s time, take me inside," she said, breathless.
Great Eagle entrusted her to the expert hands of his mother-in-law and the aunt. They lay her down on the soft bed as her mother explained how to breathe to relieve the pain a little. But the pain became more and more intense and excruxiating, her breathing increasingly labored. The two women helped her get onto her knees, she was soaking with sweat and at the height of the pain she arched her back and let out a cry that was heard throughout the camp. Then everything was over in an instant. The baby was born. When she saw her small creature, the labor seemed like a distant memory to her, all the pain had already been forgotten.
After the umbilical cord had been cut, they gave her another root-based infusion which the Natives called the "root of birth", because it stopped the bleeding caused by childbirth. While Forest Flower took small sips, the two women took care of the newborn girl.
They washed the baby and the little body was rubbed with aromatic herbs and greased with a mixture of fat and red clay. They wrapped her in soft skins and laid her in the crib. The umbilical cord was entrusted to the grandmother, who wrapped it in sage leaves, placed it carefully in a small leather bag decorated with natural pigments and hung it on the outside of the cradle. This amulet would accompany her throughout her life and beyond.
At the moment of her birth a falcon flew across the camp and, kissed by the sun, it looked as if it were golden. The newborn’s first wail was joined by a long powerful howl coming from the sacred rocks that stood not far away, behind them. Great Eagle and the rest of the tribe watched its flight as it went towards another figure standing there motionless, looking in their direction: it was a wolf. When the falcon reached him, they both disappeared beyond the rocks.
The Shaman prophesied:
"This falcon has flown beyond the confines of our mountains. Towards that wolf, the pioneer, the free spirit of nature intact and wild... " the man stopped suddenly, Morning Dew had come out with the news of the birth.
"You can go in and meet your daughter!" the woman announced. Great Eagle entered the hut, he was excited and the sight of that little creature filled his heart with such great joy that it gushed from his eyes too. He waited for the women to go out, then took the little girl in his arms and told his wife about the flight of that falcon at the moment of her birth.
"I think Great Spirit has suggested her name to you, Golden Falcon is perfect for the daughter of a great chief," Forest Flower approved.
"Let the Great Spirit’s will be done!" he said satisfied. He knelt down next to his wife and handed the little girl to her so that she could suckle her. As he stood there watching his daughter's first meal he thought there could be nothing more wonderful than the sight of a mother breastfeeding her child.
Four days after Golden Falcon's birth, the naming ceremony was organized. No-one knew it yet. Forest Flower sprinkled the baby’s face with sacred white cornflour, then wrapped her in the most beautiful blanket and together with Great Eagle took her outside for the first time to present her to the rising sun and to the tribe. The birth of a child was always welcomed with great joy, as the most precious of gifts. A child did not belong only to its family, but to the whole tribe.
At dawn that morning Great Eagle spoke.
"Great Spirit sent his messenger who crossed our camp in flight." He took the little girl in his hands and raised her to heaven, proclaiming her name.
"Her name is Golden Falcon. Great Spirit gives this daughter the qualities of the falcon, so that she may grow courageous and strong, generous and selfless."
The blows of the drums echoed in the air, and the Shaman sang a sacred song with the entire tribe adding their voices, and accompanying the words with the sacred dance.
1 Chapter 3
Eight winters after Ulfr's birth, in addition to his blood sister Isgred, a new member of the family was added: Thorald, of the same age, who was the son of Harald, Jarl of the nearby village of Oseberg (t/n The earl/jarl is usually seen as a chieftain of a particular territory – souce: Wikipedia).
There had been a very strong bond between the two clans for generations. Following the loss of his wife Sigrid, who had died along with their second child during its birth, Harald was a shattered man. He decided to entrust the education and training of his only son to the family of his great friend King Olaf and his wife Herja, for a few years.
The couple looked at their friend worried. Harald was a handsome man in his 30s, but the pain of the terrible loss was visible in his face, which was strained and tired and made him look much older. Olaf rested a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Be strong, my friend! Don't worry about Thorald, he'll be fine here, we'll take care of everything," he tried to hearten him.
"I'm sure of it!" affirmed the man, in a tone of voice that did not reveal the despondency that, instead, he was feeling. Harald looked at his son, sitting by his side, his head bent and his eyes fixed on his little hands. Harald’s heart skipped a beat and he stroked his hair. The child raised his head and looked up at his father, clenching his young lips so as not to cry.
Herja took two receptacles made from natural cow horns and decorated with engravings and gold plating. She filled them with mead and handed them to the two men, then turned to Thorald.
"Come on!" she urged him, with the sweetness of a mother, holding out her hand, "Ulfr is waiting for you."
The child turned to the father who nodded his head. "It's going to be alright," he reassured him, forcing himself to appear serene. Thorald took Herja's hand and they crossed the room together, but before leaving, the child turned to his father again and smiled at him, as if to reassure him in turn.
Olaf waited until they had gone out and then raised his horn, imitated by Harald.
"Let's drink! To the memory of Sigrid and all our ancestors," he proposed to his friend.
"Drekka Minni!" they toasted in unison, emptying the horn in one gulp. Olaf ran the back of his hand over his mustache. "Now you have to think about getting over this moment; you could leave for a long journey," he suggested.
"I’ve thought about it. If Thorald had been older, I would have taken him with me."
"We can do this instead; you’ll travel and do some trading for me too, while I’ll take care of raising him to be educated, healthy and strong," Olaf proposed.
"My friend, you have never let me down!" declared Harald, as the two men exchanged glances full of deep affection and mutual respect.
"I'm sure you'd do the same for me!" Olaf asserted, without the slightest doubt, putting the palm of his right hand towards him in a gesture that his friend reciprocated.
Harald traveled for many years, and spent many of them wintering away from home.
For the two children, education and training began immediately. They were taught about laws, history, woodworking and ironworking, and learned all the secrets of metallurgy. They learned to familiarize themselves with weapons, and practised several disciplines on a daily basis.
In the long evenings of the freezing Norwegian winter, the whole family gathered together in the warmth of the domestic hearth. While the women weaved and the men carved wood, the family and clan history was handed down to the children though the tales of the elders, along with the principles, values and code of honor that a good Viking should never break.
Ulfr and Thorald grew up healthy and strong, they studied and trained together, and a strong bond of affection was created between the two. Like their fathers before them, they became sworn brothers, according to an ancient magical rite.
Winter was over, the Viking ships sailed the Scandinavian waters, and the Vikings who had wintered away from home finally returned to their families. To everyone's surprise, Harald returned that spring too.
It was the ninth summer for the two little Vikings, around the middle of April, when they consecrated their fraternity. That day, it was their first training with the bow and everything had been set up outside, at the back of the house from where the panorama of the whole property could be seen.
"Put your left leg forward, it will help you take a better aim and get more power," suggested Bjorn, the best archer of the clan. The two children positioned themselves as suggested, holding the bow with the arrow ready, and pulled the string as hard as they could, squinting their eyes to focus on the target they had to hit. Two straw-filled sacks were used as puppets, with the target painted at heart height.
"Now!" Bjorn ordered.
The two small archers shot their first dart and a disappointed expression was painted on their faces as they followed the flight, a long way off the target.
"For Odin's good eye!" a man’s voice swore. All eyes turned in that direction as Leif, a big red-haired man, came out of the bushes with a dead goat, pierced by the arrows.
Bjorn looked at Olaf and Harald astonished. "They killed it dead at the first shot!" he said in disbelief. The children’s proud and satisfied expression aroused a feeling of fondness and amusement in the men. "What was this goat doing outside the stable?" asked Olaf as he pulled the arrows from the poor beast.
"She had run away and I was trying to get her back to the others," the man explained.
"You were lucky, it could have been you instead of the goat," Harald remarked.
"You’re right!" exclaimed Leif, opening his gray eyes wide. "The arrows hit her as I was grabbing her," he added, looking at the two children, who gave him a half-smile of apology.
"I survived a thousand battles in my youth and I certainly don’t want to go to Valhalla at the hands of two children!" he exclaimed in an ironic tone, "And I'm not sure the Valkyries would let me in... Dead chasing a goat!" he concluded joking, making everyone laugh.
"My good friend, when you make your entrance into Valhalla it will surely be worthy of the great Viking you have been! Now take her to the cook, and tell her to prepare it for dinner," Olaf said with a laugh. Leif agreed, bowing his head in a sign of respect before setting off towards the kitchen.
"Now focus on the target... " the archer called the children to attention, "because when you fight an enemy you will not win it by slaughtering the cattle."
"You have to admit that the first arrow of their life is a good omen for the future," Harald declared, in a tone between smug and amused.
"So it seems,” replied Bjorn. "Now they have to work hard, to prove that they deserve this omen," he added, addressing the two small archers, ready and waiting for a command.
A noise behind them caught the attention of Olaf and Harald. The doors of the stables opened and, after six months, a multitude of animals poured outside. Among mooing, grunting and bellowing, some men of the clan were trying to maintain order so they could lead the more than 500 head of cattle into the lands where they would leave them free to graze.
"Get the cattle out of here, or these two will kill them!" exclaimed Olaf, teasing them. Amid all that hustle and bustle Leif appeared, heading in their direction at a quick pace. He seemed eager to tell them something.
"Old Sigrùn saw the goat and said to tell you that she’s waiting for all four of you in the sacred glade,” the man informed them, as soon as he reached them.
“Good!" Olaf commented, exchanging a knowing look with Harald.
"You will resume training when we return," he told Bjorn.
"I’ll be here waiting for you," replied the archer.
The four set off, leaving the village behind them. The earth had freed itself from the frost and, with the first warmth of the sun, everything had started to come to life again in the village of Gokstad. Olaf's property was beautiful, and very vast, stretching along the coast and towards the hinterland for miles and miles and he was proud of it.
The fields were divided by a low stone wall which surrounded them. There were some peasants busy plowing the fields, while others were sowing the many different crops: rye, the precious barley, all the vegetables and oats, the latter destined to become fodder to feed the large number of livestock during the coming winter.
The first flowers dotted the vast meadows of clover, which were strewn with berry plants, blackberries and raspberries, and extended to the point where the terrain rose up to become rock walls and hills that bordered Harald's lands. With the thaw, the waterfall had once again begun to slide down the rocks, covered with lichens, swelling the stream that crossed the forest and the sacred glade.
The road they were following was lined with rows of apple trees and hawthorns which were in bud, and the first white flowers were already beginning to appear. They continued in silence, amid the sounds of nature that had awakened with the sun's rays filtering through the trees. The first birds’ nests could be seen and hanging from some of the branches were spiral-shaped straw baskets in which the bees had begun to build their hives. By the end of summer they would full of honey, with which the Vikings would produce an excellent mead.
They arrived at the sacred glade, where old Sigrùn awaited them. She was standing near an oak tree, wrapped from head to toe in her black cloak. Two white braids fell from the hood down to her hips, and her eyes stood out like two aquamarines. Perched motionless on her shoulders were two crows, creatures linked to the worship of their God Odin. The old woman held her arms up to the sky and the two birds soared away in flight, cawing over their heads, before disappearing into the thick of the trees.
"Your fathers planted this oak tree when they were about your age, and it grew as healthy and strong as their friendship," she declared with a nuance of pride in her voice. Then she bent down to pick up a shoot born from the roots of the tree and raised it to heaven.
"Today the gods have expressed their will, through your darts, and Thor's tree has generated a new life. You are ready for your Oath!" old Sigrùn declared, handing the shoot to the two boys.
The two little Vikings chose a point not far from the oak and turned over a clod of grass, over which they cut into the palm of their right hand, then mixed their blood with a handshake, swearing mutual fidelity; they fertilized the clod with it and used it to cover the base of the shoot they had planted, thus sealing a pact of brotherhood for life.
In addition to the education which the children of a noble house were given, Isgred had to learn how to govern the house, especially when her husband would have embarked on an expedition. One day she too, like her mother, would have to run the farm, educate her children, and administer her husband's affairs. One day she would also wear the bunch of house keys hanging on her belt, a symbol of the authority and respect which a woman enjoyed in the family.
1 Chapter 4
The Natives’ childhood passed serene and tranquil.
Children were taught by their parents to make small weapons, traps, how to recognize the wood suitable for building canoes and all the techniques for learning how to hunt and fish. From their mothers the girls learned to build tepees, grow crops, cook, tan hides and make clothes.
But the practice that was the basis of the good and peaceful soul of the Natives, was undoubtedly that of silence and meditation. Because the Great Spirit is everywhere, that was the reason the adults taught their children the simple practice of watching and listening. Because He is in every thing or living being.
When evening fell, and each family had retreated into their tepees, they sat around the fire while the family elder told his tales, rich in history and cultural traditions. The elders possessed the most important virtues of a human being, they were the custodians of the culture and wisdom of their people. In that way, the teaching of generosity, courage, respect and love for all living beings was handed down to the children.
Year after year the little Natives grew... and the moment of puberty arrived for Golden Falcon too.
Outside the tepee everyone was busy with the preparations for the party that Great Eagle had organized to honor his daughter. At the age of 14, you could already see the beautiful woman she would become. Her mother explained to her the significance of the change that had taken place in her.
"This is a very important moment in a girl's life... you are becoming a woman." With infinite tenderness she began to comb the long black hair, her gaze lingering on the little fringe that covered her forehead. That hairstyle symbolized the virginity of the young girls.
"You can let this hair grow too, the fringe will no longer be part of your hairstyle as a woman, since from today you can be courted and requested in marriage," she paused, as she divided the rest of the thick hair in two, to proceed with the hairstyle.
"Always listen to the voice of your heart. It will speak to you and guide you on your journey through life. One day you will get married and have children, you will take care of your family as I have done with you, and your husband will take care of you as your father has done with us," her mother explained as she fixed some red falcon feathers between the colored laces that kept the long braids in place.
Golden Falcon listened in silence and guarded those words as the most precious of treasures, depositing them in her heart.
"This dress too will no longer be part of your status as a woman, it will be donated to a family more in need," added the woman, inviting her to take it off.
The young woman undressed and handed the clothes to her mother, then put on the dress in buckskin which her mother had sewn and richly decorated for her. The seams of the sleeves and the bottom of the dress were adorned with fringes that swayed sinuously with each movement. She had decorated the neckline of the dress with her favorite colors, yellow and red, and the leggings repeated the same motif.
Someone peeped inside. It was her grandmother, Morning Dew. The woman's dark, lively eyes ran over her from head to toe.
"You're really beautiful!" she admitted proudly. “The man who marries you will be a very lucky man." Golden Falcon gave her a smile full of affection.
"I think we're going to have to start building her tepee soon," her grandmother chuckled as they went out.
They went to the center of the camp where the Sacred Fire was burning and a small altar had been set up for the ceremony, on which there was the skull of a bison, a pipe and a bowl with red tincture. The Shaman invited her to sit down crosslegged, and all the members of the Tribe in their most beautiful clothes which they wore for the great feasts, formed a wide colored circle around them.
The man lit the pipe and took a puff, then blew on the muzzle of the bison's skull, wrapping it in a cloud of smoke, dipped his finger into the tincture and drew a red line on the forehead of the skull. His voice rose in a sacred and propitiatory song, and his body began to dance in front of the girl, with movements that represented a bison and, each time he approached her, her mother put sage leaves on her womb.
Then the Shaman invited her to sit in the manner of a woman, which she had become, with both her legs to one side. Her mother let her hair fall loose and the man, after pushing aside her fringe, painted a red line on her forehead too which went across her hairline. She was blessed with the sacred yellow pollen, receiving the purification and female power to bring prosperity and health to her people, who celebrated her with joy and devotion.
The aromas of vegetables, soups and meats, which had meanwhile had been slowly grilling on the coals, had spread throughout the camp, heralding the lavishness of the banquet. As she took her seat next to her best friend, Red Moon, the girl thought back to her mother's words. She closed her eyes for a moment to listen to her heart, and the image that revealed itself made it beat fast. She reopened them and... the vision was right there, before her, looking at her pleased. It was Blowing Wind.
Handsome and charismatic, rather tall in stature and with sculpted muscles, his dark eyes gave him a magnetic look and the beautiful features of his face were framed by long black hair. She had been in love with him since she was a child. She gave him a shy smile that he exchanged with a wink.
The feast in honor of Golden Falcon was proving to be a real success: the food was delicious and the atmosphere serene and joyful.
"Do you think he’ll declare himself one day?" she asked her friend.
"Do you have doubts about that?" Red Moon answered in disbelief. "Can’t you see how he looks at you?"
Blowing Wind could not take his eyes off her and she really seemed to appreciate it.
"Can't you smell it?" Red Moon asked her, sniffing the air.
"Smell what?" asked Golden Falcon.
"The scent of love!" Red Moon laughed, shaking her head. "I agree with your grandmother when she says they're going to have to build the tepee for your wedding soon!"
As the two young people continued to exchange glances and smiles, Lynx Eye approached the boy and asked him when he would declare himself.
"When I come back from my Vision," Blowing Wind confided to him.
"I'm sure she'll like that very much," his friend commented.
"I hope the line outside her teepee isn’t too long," the young man commented with a shadow of concern.
"I doubt anyone would dare so much!" replied Lynx Eye, laughing.
All the boys knew that he liked her and given the respect he enjoyed within the Tribe, no one would have dared challenge him in the conquest of that young woman, also because the two had chosen each other from the time they were children.
At the age of 15, Blowing Wind already had the makings of a great warrior: excellent archer and horseman, he was undoubtedly the best hunter of the Tribe. With the arrival of puberty, the most important moment of his life arrived too, the search for the Vision.
His father, Dappled Deer, invited him to sit around the fire of their tepee as his mother, Dancing Stream, filled a bisaccia with food. The man filled the pipe and with a solemn gesture offered it to heaven and earth, then lit it and began to speak.
"My son, the time of the search for the Vision arrives for all men. No man will ever be himself if he has not yet had his own Vision." He paused to take a long puff, then passed the pipe to his son and went on.
"You will isolate yourself in a sacred place, and you will stay awake fasting for four days, and wait patiently to receive, through a dream or vision, your Protective Spirit which will guide you through life."
The boy listened to his father's words in respectful silence. Dappled Deer emptied the pipe and hung it on the wall of the tepee, then turned to his son once again.
"Now sleep, tomorrow with the rising sun you will prepare to leave." The young man nodded in assent and retreated to his bed for the night.
With the first light of dawn he went to the "sweat hut" for a purifying sauna. Then he set off towards the sacred place he had chosen to receive his Vision.
On the third night in solitude, this was granted to him. In the sky a large silver moon watched over him, he had reached inner silence, he was one with mother Earth and father Sky. The image was clear, the surrounding world was an immense sea, a silhouette was approaching from the north, walking on the waters: it was a wolf.
A noise diverted him from the much-awaited objective. He opened his eyes resigned, and there was the same wolf with a tawny coat a few yards from him. They looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds that seemed interminable. A terrible shudder ran through his body when he saw his face reflected in the animal's eyes. He remained motionless as a light breath of wind stroked his skin and the wolf's fur. Paralyzed by fear, he held his breath, praying to the Great Spirit to be spared.
As if he had understood his discomfort, the animal retreated a few steps and, before leaving, let out a howl that resounded throughout the valley. Then it disappeared into the darkness of the night.
It had been a very intense experience indeed, and he was happy and grateful, but he could not get to sleep. With the first light of dawn he prepared to return to the camp, and had traveled a few yards when something attracted his attention. He bent down to pick it up. It was a wolf's tooth. He squeeed it in his hand, turning his gaze full of gratitude to heaven, then carefully placed it in his medicine bundle and continued on his way.
The reddish light of the sky filtered through the flap of Blowing Wind’s tepee, announcing the arrival of twilight.
"The sun is setting," said the young man looking at the upper opening, then turning to his parents he informed them of his decision to declare himself to Golden Falcon. Dancing Stream stood up and went to a basket, made from a weave of river reeds and yucca which she had been keeping next to her bed for some time. Dappled Deer lit his pipe and took a long puff of it before he spoke, addressing his son.
"Your choice is an important step in a man's life, you are committing yourself to taking care of this young woman and the children who will be born from your union."
He looked at him intently as he passed him the pipe.
"This decision is a reason for pride for all of us," added the man, receiving respect and gratitude in the eyes of his son in return. His mother smiled happily as she handed him the basket.
"I have often wondered what was in here," said the young man as he pulled out the contents, unfolding a blanket in bright colors.
"I had my sister make it for you, for when this day would arrive," Dancing Stream told him.
"Thank you!" said the young man, giving her a loving look. "The sun has set, it is time for me to go," he announced as he stood up.
The mother folded the blanket and put it on his forearm before he went out. As soon as he was outside, the young man quickly glanced in the direction of Golden Falcon’s tepee, and saw that there was no line of suitors outside. He sighed with relief and, as was the tradition, he crossed the camp which was almost deserted, carrying the engagement blanket. The few Natives who were still around were returning to their tents.
When he arrived outside the tepee of his young beloved, he pushed aside the flap of hide at the entrance and met the gaze of Great Eagle, sitting in front of him.
"May I come in and sit beside Golden Falcon?" he asked with great respect.
The expression of joy on the young woman's face left no doubt about the outcome of that long-awaited visit.
"Of course, come in," Great Eagle replied.
Blowing Wind went in and sat down next to the girl, then wrapped her close to him in the blanket. They were officially engaged.
1 Chapter 5
Gokstad, 915 AD.
It was a hot June day. Ulfr and Thorald, 15 years old, were preparing to enter the adult world. Everyone was busy preparing for the party, to which the family members of Thorald's clan had also been invited. The aroma of roasting meat hung in the air: King Olaf had had two large wild boars felled for the occasion.
The boys were putting on the chain mail when they heard Olaf greeting someone warmly.
"Welcome back, my friend!"
"Olaf!" answered a man’s deep voice. Thorald recognized that voice instantly and rushed out.
"Father! You're back!" he exclaimed overjoyed.
"My son, I wouldn’t have missed such an important day for anything in the world!" declared Harald oening his arms wide. They embraced vigorously, clapping each other on the back.
"Let’s go in Harald! We must toast your return," Olaf said, putting his strong arms around his friend's shoulders.
Inside the house the servants were busy preparing all sorts of food and Herja was directing the various tasks as only a perfect hostess can do. Her youngest daughter, Isgred, was working with the servants too, as her mother had done as a girl, believing that only if she knew how to perform all tasks would she be able to direct them properly.
Isgred was 14 years old and in one or two years she would certainly become engaged to a young man of the same rank as her. Her mother wanted her to arrive at marriage perfectly prepared to play her role as lady of the house.
Herja was checking the bread baking in the oven when the two men, followed by their respective children, came into the large kitchen.
"Harald!" she exclaimed, opening her arms wide as she went towards him.
"Herja, you're always gorgeous! Even with flour all over you!" They burst out laughing, as she pestered him with questions as Olaf took two horns and filled them with mead.
"Let's toast to your return!" he proposed, offering one to his friend.
"Drekka Minni! " they toasted in unison, raising their horns, and then emptying them in a single sip.
Harald ordered his men to bring a large wooden trunk into the house.
"The gods protected me on this journey and led us to a city called Kiev, one of the largest trading centers I have ever seen. We sold all our cargo at twice the price we did at Hedeby, and we bought goods that earned us a fortune." He opened the trunk and took silk and jewels out of it.
"These are for Herja and Isgred!"
"This silk is beautiful," Herja said, opening her eyes wide, "and these jewels! Come and see Isgred!"
Curious, the girl rushed over and gasped at the sight of those wonders.
"These silver cups and spices are for the whole family, and this is for you," he said addressing his friend. He handed him an elegant red wool mantle edged with fur and silk decorations and a large gold filigree brooch to close it.
"If it wasn’t so hot today, I’d put it on immediately," said Olaf, making everyone laugh as he continued to admire his new cloak, fit for a King.
"Thank you, Harald, my friend! I really appreciate your gift." In their eyes was all the affection and mutual respect that had united them all these years since they were children, when they had chosen to become sworn brothers. Harald then pulled out of the trunk two wooden sheaths beaten in leather, on which he had had the triangular rings of bronze and gold embellished.
"And these are for you... " he said, giving them to the two boys.
"They're very beautiful, very nicely decorated, uh... perhaps a little light," Ulfr noticed as he weighed them in his hands.
"Don't you think something's missing inside them, father," Thorald asked.
"Not for long... " replied Olaf, who had meanwhile called the blacksmith who came in with a wooden box. He opened it, revealing its contents.
"How wonderful!" exclaimed the two young Vikings.
"We had them forged especially for you, with the best iron, the one that comes from Rhineland," he told them proudly.
The two young men wasted no time in taking them into their hands and were nothing short of enthusiastic about them. Their first sword! The most beautiful they'd ever seen! Both with the double-edged blade, sharp and shiny, the handle embellished with inlays, and gold and copper coatings with their names engraved in silver, so that they would shine like their respective blades.
"You must give your sword a name to celebrate its strength," Olaf said.
"Right now?" asked Thorald, somewhat worried because not a single one, worthy of his sword, came to mind.
"No," replied his father amused, "unless you want to use it right away against someone!"
"I already have a name! " Ulfr said, pulling it out, "Thunder of Fire, and I will use it for today's battle!"
"Then I will call mine Lightning of the King of the Seas!" exclaimed Thorald, pointing it towards the ceiling.
"They seem to be two names really worthy of your swords," Harald commented.
All the guests had arrived in the meantime and the four went out. The boys finished preparing themselves. Their training was complete: cultured, bold and very skilled in handling any weapon. They had grown up healthy and strong and were about to prove their manhood. They put themselves to the test with fervor in a duel that impresed everyone present, especially their fathers who were so proud of them.
A lavish feast had been prepared with every kind of delicacy, plenty of beer, wine and mead. When everyone took their place, the banquet and a grand libation began. The atmosphere was joyous and fun, everyone was talking to everyone else and having a great laugh. But the real surprise was yet to come... Olaf stood up and asked for everyone’s attention.
"Harald and I will set sail in a few days, and we will return before winter comes."
Thorald fell silent, he could not believe he was hearing those words. His father had just arrived, he couldn't leave again in a few days. His thoughts could be read in the expression that crossed his face, sad and disappointed. He was still lost in thought when he heard these words...
"Of course our boys will come with us," Olaf declared proudly. "This journey is our gift to honor your adulthood," he added, addressing the two young men.
The two youngsters jumped to their feet, barely able to contain their enthusiasm. It was very important for a Viking to demonstrate his ability to face a long sea voyage. Because a Viking was first and foremost his ship. Everyone raised their full horns to toast and wish the two boys a glorious future, like that of their fathers.
Isgred had been talking to a good-looking young man for a couple of hours, who never took his eyes off her.
"Who's the young man talking to my daughter?" Olaf asked, turning to Harald.
"Heidrek, he's the son of Gunther, my second cousin."
"He seems to be rather interested in Isgred."
"My friend, if that is so you can rest easy, he is a good boy and is of noble rank as well," Harald informed him. "It would be good if you exchanged a few words with him before you leave."
The two friends exchanged a intoxicated look, raising an eyebrow and bursting into hearty laughter. The effect of beer and mead was making itself felt.
Isgred went to join her father. "Father, I'm retiring for the night, I'm rather tired."
"I noticed that you were in good company this evening," Olaf said slyly.
Isgred's white cheeks turned red. Her eyes, blue as a clear sky, spoke for themselves. She lowered her gaze with a shy smile.
"You're going to have to wait. When we return from our voyage we will arrange a meeting between the two clans." Isgred's shy smile turned into a small suffocated cry of joy.
"Thank you, Father!"she exclaimed enthusiastically, kissing his cheek with its bushy, long, reddish beard.
The young woman set off on her way home, but before crossing the threshold she looked back at Heidrek who was watching her. They exchanged a smile and a slight nod of consent.
The festivities continued until dawn amid songs, dancing, laughter and much drinking.
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