Aukai's story

[Njorn]

((Wrote this once and lost it, rewriting hopefully will make it better))

When moonlight glints off metal, it does not shine. The metal seems to melt and waver in the uncertain light. The young Vanir had observed this phenomenon over the course of seven different raids. This would be the last before the raiding party returned to the north. This time they would collect captives, not just the one or two that they kept for amusement, and that only lasted a short while before their victims expired. No, this time they wanted slave for trade.

Reaching up with one pale arm, the young raider stroked the blood splatter head of his mace.  Rusted red as his hair, the mace was terrifying to behold even if the one who wielded it was less than frightening. A battered second-hand helm that he had looted from one of his own fellows rested on his brow. Chain mail covered his chest, but just a simple kilt protected his thighs and legs. Boots filled with furs for warmth and a thick cloak, looted from the last village completed his gear. In his belt pouch he had several coins and the broken pieces of a necklace he had been given before leaving for the raids on Cimmerian lands.

Looking to his left he saw the rest of his band. Twenty strong, and he, the youngest, had already shown remarkable skill. He grimaced; mostly that was a matter of luck. A distracted chieftan had met his death on a wild half-swing of his mace. The notoriety of that kill had emboldened him to more reckless feats which he was lucky to survive.  "Natural talent," his superior said.

Glancing around he spotted the same man. The enormous axe the leader of the war party held, had slain many men. Blood stains to up to the haft proved a vicious history. The war-leader  stood slightly ahead of him, staring intently to the east. Northward lay a Cimmerian village, its sentries  dead, throats cut by silent scouts.

The warrior could see that beyond his leader, guards still patrolled the walls. The moon was bright enough for the Vanir to see, but the fire-blinded Cimmerians would never see them coming. To the North of the village another, small group intended to strike their prey, while its villagers were busy repelling the attack from the south.

He shuddered at thinking about who was with that smaller band. Jerking his attention back to the present he almost missed the signal to advance. Twenty hard-bitten icemen of the north, quietly ran to the walls of another village, to torch, pillage, and plunder.


 
Smoke wreathed along the ceiling of the hut, seeming intent on not pulling properly out of the small hole cut in the thatch of the roof. Thoral did not have the skills of a builder, yet he had done fairly well in outfitting the small hut he shared with his wife, Yanir, and their children. Well for a crippled man. I long sword wound had hampered him for many years after being taken on a raid against a rival clan. Now he barely fended off the predators hunting his flock of sheep.

Thoral looked at his wife and smiled contentedly. They had done well by each other and their children. Thinking of his children drew his attention to the small bundle of furs tucked up next to the circular hearth.

His foster-son slept, tangled amongst those furs. The yellow-eyed, pale child, was ill with another winter fever. Thoral did not believe Aukai would live through the winter. Perhaps this was for the best.

Ever since the raids increase in frequency last winter, there had been rumors of blonde, yellow-eyed giants of ice. The raids had continued into the summer. On one of these raids one of the giants put in an appearance. The Ymirish, as they came to be known, were terrifying. Able to take on half a dozen warriors, those monsters of the north wore little in the way of armor, seeming to take no bite from the harsh winter air. Even as the skies darkened into the current winter, the raids continued.

The result of this was terror in the outlying farms of the clan. People either left for the south, or whole families disappeared overnight. Farms were blacked marks and scarlet stained the snow. Aukai's coloring did him no favors. The people began to draw conclusions between his looks and that of the Ymirish.

Thoral sighed. "Let this winter end."

His wife patted his head while continuing to bustle around the cooking pot. "It will dear, it will."

Thoral smiled at her reassurance and watched her fussing over the other two children. His daughters, almost grown now.

"Catch up the kettle for me Cyaith?" asked his oldest.

Grinning Cyaith said, "Catch it up yourself! Can't you see I am knitting?" She held up her hands. "See? Too full for catching up of anything"

Thell grinned before mock-berrating her sister, "No respect for your elders! None at all!"

"Elder by two years? Dearest-," interjected their mother.

Cyaith interrupted, "Oh I don't mind her being an elder. Ancient and wise!"

The comment earned a sharp look and would have portended to some violence by Thell except that Aukai moaned in his sleep distracting all of them. Cyaith and Thell both hurried to his side, pushing up his blonde hair and alternatively wiping his forehead and whispering sympathy to the boy.

Then again it might not be for the best if he died, thought Thoral. Even if the rest of the villagers cast scowls whenever the boy walked by, his girls and wife adored him. For that matter, it was like having a son for the tall rangy man to whom nature had only gifted daughters. Someone he had been able to impart his woodscraft and battle knowledge too.

The child had a natural talent for that as well. Thoral remembered fondly the time Aukai and he had stalked up to a fawn sleeping with its mother. Aukai had been able to touch the baby deer before quietly retreating, an awed look on his face. He showed potential as a warrior as well.

Thoral turned from these thoughts hearing his wife say, "Well the soup is done."

"It smells wonderful Mother," chimed Cyaith.

Thell nodded, "Much better than someone I could mention."

Cyaith scowled and was about to rap Thell on the head with her wooden spoon when a sharp, resounding crack stopped the family. They stared at each other for a moment before hearing screams and war cries from the southern end of the village.

Yanir cried out, "The gate has been taken out!"

Thell and Cyaith wasted no time, diving for their bows, quivers, and a long knife each. Their mother grabbed her bow, as well as Thoral's great axe. While he could no longer swing such a weapon, she could and would. Thoral instead went to tuck the furs more firmly around Aukai and then tossed those from his bed over the sleeping boy. Plucking the poker from besides the fire, he grabbed a short cudgel and the four slipped out the door.



 
Outside chaos reigned. Villagers ran in all directions. Some called for reinforcements to the south and others to the north. The surprise had failed. The Vanir had missed one sentry who had raise warning before screaming his death at the hands of the Ymirish warrior.

Still the battle looked to be in favor of the raiders. Once the village had boasted twenty families, now there were only ten. Thoral's family was the largest and there were few men to protect the clan now. Thus women and even children who could draw a bow, fought to protect themselves.

Thoral raced off to the heaviest knot of fighting battering his way in. The three women quickly join other women in climbing up on top of a roof so as to rain arrows down on the Vanir.

Cyaith crowed, "I got one! By Crom's hairy..." She looked at her mother, "I got one."

Thell had no time to laugh at her sister's wit, one young red headed raider was trying to climb the house they were perched on. She could not get an angle for a shot so resorted to her long knife, leaping at the encroaching Vanir shouting, "For Crom!"

Her cry ended abruptly when the warrior wildly flung his mace into the side of her head. The sharp crack caught the other women's attention, seeing Thell down, bleeding and possibly dead, galvanized them to action. The young Vanir was swarmd by angry women and his abused corpse showed the true savagery of a Cimmerian woman. Unfortunately this distracted the women from the battle.

The Ymirish warrior to gleeful advantage of their situation slewing them from behind with a giant club of hard, knotted wood. Having dispatched or incapacitated the women, he turned to the thickest part of the fighting. His initial charge resulted in two dead Cimmerian's before he slowed to counter the strike's from Thoral's weapons. Thoral lasted three strikes before the enormous club met with his skull, cracking it open and spewing gore onto the village lane.
 



Thell glanced around herself desperately. "Aukai?" she whispered.

The Vanir raiding party had made camp just outside the circle of the ruined village. Nothing besides black smudges and scarlet stains on the snow marked where she had lived her whole life. Broken huts, piles of burnt and broken timbers lay all around. Mute testimony to the efficiency and brutal nature of the raiders.

She was tied to a line of other captives, barely recognizable now as the tattered remnants of her clan. Her face was swollen and bloody, her clothes tattered. After being found to still be alive she had been ill used by the Vanir, then tossed into the line of captives.

"Aukai?" She did not see him which meant he was probably dead. Like her sister, mother and father. Better that he be dead. Better that than the foul amusements of the Ymirish giant. The one other boy to survive the battle had been filleted alive while his mother was forced to watch. The mother had screamed with her son before being murdered herself. The entire time the yellow-eyed demon had seemed to be enjoying a bards performance, rather than performing a gruesome execution.

At last giving up her hopeless search, Thell fell back amongst the other captives ready to find her fate.

"A harsh wind blows o'er the mountain's,
A cold wind blows o'er the sea,
May wanderer's lost and grown weary,
Find comfort at my cabin door."

The child grimly crawled on hands and knees away from the wreckage that it thought it once called home. Ice crunched as white powder beneath shuddering limbs. Forward progress could not be measured accurately, cold white needles had started sometime during the dark time. The wind seemed to howl, then closer growl. Snow had become hot and wet.

Suddenly there was warmth. Warm, very wet, and pink wash rags seemed bathe his body.  Then warm furs were pressed around him, warming his core. The blanket to his right breathed in contentment. The steady beats seemed to sync together, lulling the cub asleep.

A year passes. And then, perhaps more than a year. Like every wolf pup male eventually does, the cub left the den and travelled south.

[Njorn]

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
   Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
   Over the sea to Skye.
Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
   Eigg on the starboard bow;
Glory of youth glowed in his soul;
   Where is that glory now?

The wolf travelled by night and slept by day. Unlike his four-legged siblings he took long loping strides on two. A traveling merchant chanced to look up from his fire once. The strange sight probably gave the man night-terrors; A boy running faster than an Elk along the moonlit ridge.

Hunting was another problem he had encountered during his time as a cub with the pack. Sharp peices of flint in either hand solved this problem. Another item, a bow and arrow, lay across his back. He no longer remembered why he had that item, or where his skill came from. No other wolf could wield such a weapon.

His search took him south and west towards lands more thickly populated. What he was searching for he did not know. Human thought took too much effort after his time in the pack.

Eventually his easy lope came to a halt. The smell of salt was getting stronger in the air. Some salt flat? A saltwater lake perhaps? He wondered as he continued to cautiously approach the setting of the sun.

Suddenly he fell to his knees once again. Stretching out for miles, beyond any sight he could see, lay water. Running down upon a wet sandy beach he raced towards the water, only to race away again with a scream of fear as the water chased him back up. Seeing the water retreat the wolf-boy grinned ferally, howling for the first time in days.

Eventually the game of chase and retreat with the waves wore thin. Gathering up his gear again, he found shelter nestled between two boulders. Like all young things he was asleep almost instantly.

[Njorn]

"I have had better days," mumbled the old man, as he rowed toward shore. His small skiff's mast, lay in tatters behind him. The woven reeds that held his catch was empty. Not that it had started the day in that state. "To lose such a fine catch," he said, wrinkles creasing on almost every inch of his skin.

With a few deft, if creaky strokes of the oars, he cast his little boat onto the sand. With swiftness that belied his apparent great age, the fisherman leapt from his boat and pulled it further ashore. Certain that his boat would not be taken by the tide, he turn his back on the ocean and headed into the pine forest.



Quiet returned to the beach. Eventually the sun started to set but not before being disturbed by the arrival of a child. He had matted grimey hair that might once have been blonde. His eyes were yellow, like a wolf's and his frame suggested a diet with many gaps between meals. Draped over his emaciated body were furs of various patchwork designs and of many beasts. Elk hide, rabbit fur on the inside, was held together by a belt of white fox fur. His legs were bare but for strips of hide hanging from below his belt, and his feet were shod with a curious aglamation of furs, leaves, and wood.

Sighting the water, the child began a curious dance with much howling and screaming. Deep into the wood, these noises rang. The fisherman, having hewn a few straight boards to use on repairs, shivered at the noises. Had some foul beast attacked his boat?

Eventually the noises ceased. The old man finally  gathered his courage with the setting of the sun and headed back towards the beach. Spying carefully from the trees he saw nothing. With wary steps he gained his vessel and quickly went to work building a fire. He had some vague idea that fire would keep any animals at bay.

The fire burned low all night. Eating from his store of smoke salmon, the fisherman stayed awake the night through. To sleep could be a folly on this unexplored shore. Eventually he laid out a plan to explore his vicinity before beginning work. Nodding to himself, reassured by this plan, he sat out the rest of his vigil.


"Boy?" whispered a raspy voice. "Are you alive?"

Snatching suddenly awake, the wolf boy growled and settled into a protective stance.

A chuckle greeted this. "I'll not hurt you boy," said the fisherman, "Least ways you don't go about trying to sharpen those stones on my ribs!"

The heavy laughter confused the boy long enough for him to drop his guard. Seeing that the man had no intention of doing him harm, he relaxed slightly more.

"What are you doing out here child?" The man asked patiently.

Looking up into the man's eyes the boy saw a kind and gentle soul. "Doing here," he intoned mimicing the man. While Aukai might have remembered Cimmerian still, he had not been exposed to any other languages. Realizing this, the wrinkled face scrunched up and began to pantomime a story of a man getting tossed about a sea and his ill fortune to land somewhere far from home.

[Njorn]

The hut was warm and smokey. A small fire kept off the ocean breeze's chill. Huddled in a corner, a bundle wit yellow eyes watched a thin old man cook a meal.

"We will have to go out tomorrow. Our supplies run low and we need to have something in our nets to trade for grains." The yellow eyes blinked slowly, listening to the fisher. "I'll have you work the oars again on the way out, you seem to have a sixth sense as to where the fish will be thickest." The words held a trace of a grin.

"Reamus," cracked a young voice, "I use nets?"

Aukai was a quick study for languages, but had a long way to go before he would speak any language with ease. Reamus turned to the youngster. "Aye?" he asked. "You feelin' for the nets now?"

Aukai blushed and ducked down, hiding his head behind his legs. The last time he had tried to use the nets, the wieght of the fish had pulled him overboard. Luckily Reamus had been teaching him to swim. Even so they lost what was in the nets that day.

Reamus relented in his teasing, "I think we can give it another go." The old man pondered for a bit. The boy had grown in the last few months. Filling out, getting taller, and best of all he had stopped howling at the moon three months ago. Living far from a village Reamus had his privacy, but those howls carried. When he had gone to market for trade, he heard village gossips discussing the 'imminent wolf threat.'

Thinking of this caused Reamus to tally up the weeks. Startled he realized that his 'wolf cub,' which he called the boy, had been with him for a year.

"We," Reamus began, "Need to have a celebration for you!"

"Sell a," Aukai copied, "Bray Shun. What is a Bray Shun and why do we sell it for me?"

"Celebration is a word, it means to have fun, or recognize something special."

"What is special about me?" asked Aukai.

"More things than you can imagine," replied Reamus. "But we need to have something because one year ago today is when you came to me."

Aukai, who was still confused by the concept of time passing without seasons, asked, "What many moons is a year?"

"Twelve or Thirteen," replied Reamus, eager to see how his pupil fared with this idea.

"Moon have 29 days," Aukai said, concentrating, "349 or 377 days? Which." The last was a demand for knowledge"

"Very good calculations." Reamus was indeed proud of this accomplishment, perhaps it was time for Aukai to come with him on a market day as well. "Somewhere between the two, we don't really count the days exactly. They change."

Aukai nodded, satisfied with this answer for now. The child loved the grey areas in any area of study. Reamus took a moment of reflection. Such a long fall for a nobleman of Aquilonia, from a lord's son, to poor fisherman and tutor to a savage. Still the old man took much delight in the barbaric youth. A good end to his days, he thought.


The next day dawned clear and with a slight breeze landward. A good thing thought Reamus. It would save them time on their return. Already, as the sun rose, Aukai was pulling up one of the nets they had laid during the dark of early morning.

"You are getting stronger," murmured Reamus.

With a terrific lunge, Aukai got the last struggling, squirming mass of the net on board. The boat swayed greatly with this motion. For a moment Reamus worried that they would capsize. Aukai, with the swift grace of youth, leapt to the other side of the boat, balancing the load, even as he caused more warbling. Soon the boat settled and Aukai was bent over another net, hearing praise from his friend. "Excellent catch! That move was a little unorthodox but great work cub!"



They got back to shore, Aukai beaming with pride.

"Would you like," began Reamus, "To help me sell these at the market?"

Aukai's face peeked out from his long blonde hair, "The market?"

"Aye, fish to sell."

The lad shifted nervously from foot to foot. "People there?"

"Aye"

Some more shifting about. Finally, a long pale arm that refused to tan reached up, pushing hair out of yellow eyes. "I go."

Reamus sighed with relief. He had thought for a moment that the boy would refuse. Something he had not expected. What was this reluctance? Shaking his head in wonder, Reamus gathered up the gear. Loading them both with their catch, he started towards the closest village. Aukai trudged alongside, head high, eyes keen with interest.

As the came closer to the village, the sights and smells assailed the youngsters senses. He began to lag behind again. Unlike the huts he was starting to remember as home, and the hut of Reamus, this village had houses of stone, some two stories high. Reamus, noticing his young protege's absence from his side turned back and hurried the boy forward into the press of the market place.

Finding a shady spot Reamus began hawking his fish, gathering a small crowd of housewives, servants, and hangers on. All haggled merrily over the price of his catch. Aukai stood in awkward silence, back to the tree.

Boys and girls his age wandered the streets. The people were of many skin tones and shapes. A fat man, with skin so dark in reminded the boy of charcoal strolled past, gold rings and necklaces glittering all over. A woman who could have been Cimmerian walked at his side. Other people's from places Aukai had never dreamed wandered here.

One girl stared openly at Aukai from across the way, tending her own wares of crocks, and other pottery. The boy shifted nervously at her gaze and looked down at himself. Gone were the smelly, half cured furs that he had worn before meeting Reamus. Now he wore a pair of linen pants, patched and a little threadbare but cooler to match the climate. He wore a thin cloth wrapped about his middle and over hsi shoulders to protect against the sun, which, while not tanning his skin, could give him a terrible burn. His thick hair was held into braids and a cloth strip to keep it out of his eyes.

Bare feet digging into the soil at the base of the tree, Aukai hid his gaze. The girl thought him a strange sight. Sudden longing for furs and thick boots tugged at the boy. Reamus noticed this interaction but said nothing. Time enough for the boy to learn discover the cause of the girls interest.

"Fine looking boy, Reamus." This came from one of the fishwives in a stall next to him. "He's already caught the eye of every young lass in the market square. Ye'll be havin' to bash 'em off him if you plan to get any work done in a year or two."

The laughter of the adults was lost on young Aukai, who, overwhelmed with everything was starting to tire. Finally Reamus finished his last sale, trading a dozen shining fish for a big bag of cornflower. Handing the last over to Aukai, he motioned for the boy to follow him and headed down the trail back home.

"What do you think of the market?" The question caught Aukai deep in his own thoughts. Thoughts that centered on a half remembered village and clan. A loving family. Warm fire.

"It was smelly," Aukai said, wrinkling his nose. "Many people! Did see man with charcoal skin and shining gold? He had Cimmerian woman with him!" Aukai's face showed his amazement at the sight. He did not mention the girl across from their spot.

"Oh aye, he is a slave trader. The woman was probably one of his wares." This silenced Aukai who looked uncomfortable.

Knowing the reason the old man spoke, "Slaver is not illegal out here, so close to Tortage. These islands are home to those who would find cold welcome elsewhere."

"I do not like slavery."

"Aye, not something I look upon fondly either." Reamus looked thoughtful, "I would say it is an evil on par with those who use dark magics."

"Demons?" asked the boy.

"Aye, demons, undead, dark witcheries."

Aukai would have asked more but they had arrived at the hut and both set to the task of settling their wares amonst the other items in the small space. The evening meal that night was boisterous and enlivened with ale, purchased to 'celebrate' Aukai's first year. Reamus had even obtained a small gift for the boy, a necklace engraved with a wolf's head and made of copper.

Still Aukai remembered their earlier conversation and mulled it over as he fell asleep that night.



Several weeks later these thoughts were far from the forefront of Aukai's thoughts. Their boat had been caught out at sea in a violent storm. Luckily nothing had been damaged and both the old man, and the boy worked to set things to rights when something unexpected occured.

"Ahoy there!" A ship had slipped up on them while they had been about their chores. A large ship with fifty oars plowing the waves. A large man stood on deck sorrounded by his crew, who, Aukai saw, were armed.

Before Reamus had a chance to shout for Aukai to raise their tiny sail, they were upon them. One boy and an old man do not put up much of a fight against twenty armed pirates. Aukai was dragged aboard first, and unconcious Reamus behind him. The boy could look no where but at his friend, looking for some sign of life.

"The oldster lives," said a crewman to the captain.

"Good, put him below and chain him to one of the empty oar seats."

"The boy, captain?"

"He is too small for the oars, set him as our new drummer. He won't go anywhere with his father chained to an oar."

With that the pirates were off. Aukai disconsolate, had to be beaten, kicked and cursed at before he understood his new duty. Beat time for the oars. Beat time that Reamus, his friend, would have to keep. The thought of how that work might kill his friend caused tears to fall. A slap of a leather strap kept him beating time, even as his eyes poured out his grief.