The Tale of a Wolf

Child, sit down near the fire.

Do not get so close to the flame. The winters are always cold, but the fire burns hot to soothe our troubled souls. It is said that two wolves cannot share a mountain. They will fight each other until one is dead. The black wolf circles his brother, the white wolf, on top of a high mountain. The snow is blowing hard against their fur. The croak of a raven echoes; the companion of the black wolf since his days as a pup.

The two wolves fight each other with their fangs digging into their skin. Blood soaking the mountains in their blood. The white wolf is heavily injured from the battle. His cries calling out to the black wolf. Brothers by name only, not by flesh and blood. The black wolf could see how close his brother is to death, when a brown wolf stands in the middle of the two. Preventing further injury. The brown wolf growls low. Wondering how two brothers could fight each other when they were close.

The answer was not simple, child. You see, the black wolf was to betray his brother. The black wolf was chosen by his gods to see things no other could. Child, there is a war that has been raging on for centuries. The black wolf showed doubt. He showed little interest in the way of the brown wolf, but it was through time that he understood. The white wolf loved his brother and wanted to share the mountain.

Child, the tale of the wolf is not an easy one. There is grief. There is anger. There was joy, but it did not last. The black wolf had his own ideals, for honor was tattooed in his veins. The white wolf wanted something more and grand. The brown wolf was not alone in the teachings of the order. Two other darker brown wolves stood by the side of their companion, for there was something brewing within the mountain.

You sit there, staring at the fire, trying to find an answer, child. It is not easy to speak of such things when one was not there. The blood that soaked the land, the curse that was placed upon them. The two wolves would find their own mountain. The white wolf injured from his fight, losing his arm and paw. He would fall from the mountain, while the black wolf mourned deeply. Blood dripping from his fangs and the three brown wolves stared at him from behind.

Their ears lowered, watching the black wolf rule two mountains.

A never-ending cycle of a wolf chasing its own tail, but I have heard that this wolf forever chases the sun.


FORNBURG

The journey was a long and tiresome adventure, filled with tales of men and women of longs past. They had thanked their gods for their safe return after being away for some winters. Raiding in foreign lands that were not their own. Meeting people of many skin colors and languages that they have not heard before. These brave men and women were fair skinned, wearing heavy clothing that better suit their environment. Furs of animals that they had hunted to keep warm during the colder months. When one was not telling a story, they were singing to pass the time. The waters were smooth for sailing back to their homeland, without the waters being angered.

Three figures sat silently, keeping more to themselves instead of participating in conversation. It was best they let the Norsemen feel joy and continue to sing their songs. The three figures were dressed differently from those that rowed the boats or talked with laughter in their voices. Their robes clinging to their bodies for easy maneuver instead of being heavy. They spoke differently, with accents of their birth country. But the Norsemen saw something different with their three traveling companions.

Their left hand was missing a finger, which was wrapped in cloth. The three strangers rarely talked, only speaking to each other or to Sigurd: son of Styrbjorn. The young man was one of humor, vigor, and held leadership within his axe. One could see him as a future king of his land, but behind those bright eyes held something that the three could see.

Maybe he will be the sign we have been waiting for. She thought. The cold chill of the air going up her spine. The wind could be unforgiving, they were told. The wolves of winter starve with little food to catch. The birds above flying in the gray sky, with the wind against their feathers. The fish in the water jumping in a skittish manner from the long boat disturbing them. Many of these creatures have learned to stay away from the long boat. They have learned to stay away from the arrows. The wolves stayed away from the fire.

The wolf chases the sun. She had heard someone say. Looking up to the cloud cover, she wondered if the sun ever shines upon the land. Maybe the wolf finally caught the sun and swallowed it while, until it decides that the sun shined upon the land. The croak of a raven echoed through the mountains. She had remembered Sigurd speaking about a raven that was a companion to his brother. She cannot recall the name of the raven at the moment.

"We are getting closer to Fornburg." Sigurd spoke from his position on the longboat. Anticipation filled his beating heart with joy. The smile never leaving his face as he could feel the wind of the cold air hitting his face. A feeling he has missed after two long winters.

"I can almost taste the mead. Hear the songs in the longhouse as they welcome us back home. It has been a long time since we have had a true feast with our kin!" His voice roared with excitement. The others soon followed with shouts of applause and gratitude of their return.

She looked over to her companion sitting next to her. The young man smiled lightly, while the older man across from them held little expression. Basim always knew when to show emotion. The two younger adults that have accompanied him on his journey were not new to the world outside. Hytham was eager for his first mission that could finally put a foothold for the Hidden Ones. Months of studying his target had prepared him for this moment. The chance to meet a man such as Sigurd was truly a sign. They had to be grateful for such, but they also had to keep their agenda hidden within these lands.

Though she did not have a target assigned to her yet, Kaya was granted the opportunity to assist both Basim and Hytham on their journey. Not a novice, Kaya already earned her roll and rank within the Hidden Ones. Her mentor was a tough man who never went easy on her. When she first killed, she had to remember that her target wanted to control. Basim thought he could use someone like Kaya. Her speed and skill with the blade could be useful to the cause at hand.

"You have many questions, Kaya." Basim said. The older man had been watching both Hytham and her throughout the journey. Their cause was hanging over them like shadows. The Hidden Ones were dwindled in numbers. Recruitment could do them good with men and women, with ideal minds like Sigurd.

"When do I not have questions, Mentor Basim? This journey was to be Hytham and yourself. What good could I achieve when Hytham has his target within his sights? Could the brotherhood elders be wrong in choosing me to accompany you both on this treacherous cause? The land is cold and dark. Their stories fascinate me. Was this the right decision?" She whispered her doubt to the older man.

"You know the cause, and the darkness it holds over these people. They hide in plain sight, just as we do. Your mentor sought it best for you to see how deep the darkness lies. You have accomplished killing one of their own, liberating a city from their rule. Without our cause, the world would lose something precious." Basim stated as he placed his hand on Kaya's shoulder. Reassurance was needed within these times.

Hytham nodded his head in agreement. He and Kaya had grown a bond since they first met. A fond memory for the young woman, but it would have to be hidden in the back of her mind. She looked down to her hand, seeing her missing finger. The hidden blade underneath her sleeve.

"It's the dream again?" Hytham asked.

"Hytham." Basim warned. Taking his hand from her shoulder, the older man gave Hytham a side glance. The dreams of Kaya had to be kept between the three. He knew Hytham was worried for his friend, but it was best to not speak of such things so openly. One could interpret the dream as a bad omen.

Two wolves, fighting for the same mountain.

"Ah! Basim. Hytham. Kaya. You three will have full bellies of warm mead. My people would show you, our ways. You are no strangers to my land, that will be mine. For all that you have taught me, I shall repay you." Sigurd always had honey in his words. Kaya found that admirable about the man. He was not as complex as many had made Sigurd out to be. He cared about his people, as does a future king. Talking about his homeland with fondness and the people he dearly loved. The respect he had for his father was a relationship built on a foundation for father and son.

Then there was his wife, who he had been married for three short winters. Randvi, a woman who he described as an equal. It would seem that the marriage was a political alliance; Kaya would not hold judgment on such a thing. A man could talk about his wife for so long before he starts to miss her.

But there was one person he talked about with admiration and love. This Eivor, who Sigurd had said was his brother- not by blood. Eivor was held in high regard. Tales of their childhood would put Sigurd in a good mood; sometimes melancholy, depending on how much he tends to recall past events. Kaya and Hytham did not mind Sigurd's stories about Eivor. It had passed the time for slower days or when Basim had spoken about what was needed to be said.

Kaya smiled lightly, but kept her focus on the shoreline. Her mind wandering to the new possibilities of what the land holds. The stories they were told and how close to the gods, that they could feel them. Kaya wanted to close her eyes to rest her weary head, but when the sound of the horn blowing overhead, she would have to wait for later. The start of a new journey was now set in stone.

The wolf chasing the sun.