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Thorstein, Rafn and I set off for the isle of_Bjarkoy_in the part of Norway known as Hålogaland. The journey lasted a week, and we spoke only little while we rode. Even Thorstein, who was always ready to jest, was quiet.

Maybe he was grieving the loss of his father?

But we soon discovered that the reason behind his quietness was the pain in his eyes. The scratches he suffered when king Olav's soldier threw dirt in his face had gone septic, and his eyelids puffed up and cried yellow pus.

Why was this happening? My mother had cleansed his eyes with great skill and applied healing herbs and remedies. Yet, he was feverish and almost blind by the time we reached the shores of_Troms_, preventing any further travel.

Thorir the _Brokkr_was chief of the Bjarkoy clan and ruler of the entire Troms; a vast territory that contained many villages, and bordered lands of the Sami, Finni and the Rus. Thorir was also the younger brother of Kjappi, but larger and stronger, and he had seen much battle. He bore the surname of Brokkr instead of Uffesson, because he was gifted with the spirit of a broc. Like the animal, he turned invincible in combat and had never known defeat. To make this known, his wife hired travelling skjalds to sing of his ferocity, and this alone convinced the neighbours to make friends with him. Thin-haired and grey-bearded, the fighting days were now behind Brokkr, and there was an unpleasant wheezing sound to his breath.

Vigdis, his wife was much younger, and together they had a boy who was also named Thorir. He was of my age and was eager to show me the village. Thorstein, Rafn and Brokkr went into the council hall to discuss the death of Kjappi, while Thorir and I sat down by the fire. The journey had been exhausting, so the warmth of the fire, the simmering stew and the droning sound of the discussion soon made me fall asleep.

When I awoke, Thorir had left, but the adults were still talking. Brokkr was agitated. He paced the floor, waved an angry fist in the air and cursed the dead king and all his soldiers. Rafn and he did most of the talking while Thorstein was tended to by the village healer, and remained quiet.

Thorstein and I were not the only guests to enjoy the hospitality of Brokkr. Harald Grenske of Vestfold was also there along with his wife and their little boy Olaf. Half my age and half my weight, he was still happy to fight with Thorir. Both wielded sticks and carried shields made from hide, and they laughed as they lunged at each other with much fervour. At one point, Thorir's sword broke in two, leaving him unarmed. Throwing the stick away, he made a display of surrendering to the younger Olaf and dropped to his knees.

"Die! Christian soldier," shouted Olaf and stabbed at Thorir with his stick.

"Umm actually, that's of no use," said Thorir. "I'd be wearing chest armour and your sword would glance off. You need to get below the armour."

Thorir took the stick from Olaf and showed how to thrust the sword into the abdomen of an enemy.

"A clean kill works better with a spear."

Let's play again, pleaded Olaf. "I'll be the Christian this time, and you can be the viking."

"Boring!" said Thorir, and turned to me. "I'll show you the woods and we can go hunting."

"Your father is very loud," I said.

Thorir laughed. "That's nothing. Just wait until he gets himself worked up; that's when the shouting starts."

---

The forest was deeper than the one back home, and the trees stood closer, obscuring the line of sight. Hungry wildlife often searches for leftovers around the villages, so the chance of finding game was good. But I only carried a short seax which was useless for hunting, while Thorir carried a boar spear.

"Wait!" whispered Thorir and tapped the side of his nose with two fingers. "Can you smell it?"

I shrugged, and only smelled wet soil and mouldy wood.

"A deer," he said, and pointed into the trees. "Somewhere in that direction."

Thorir followed his nose into the woods, and I followed his back. No human can smell a deer at any distance longer than an arm, but if the legends about his father were true, Thorir too could have an animal spirit. This was exciting, because no one from Farobygd had animal spirits, so I tilted my head back and sniffed the air, just like he did. But all I sensed was the wetness of melting snow.

We tiptoed through the undergrowth for several hundred yards, and following a scent that only Thorir could sense, until we arrived at a clearing. A young deer had discovered a holly bush and was busy feeding on the red berries. In the pale sun, its brown fur almost melted into the dark of the bushes.

"There he is!" whispered Thorir. "The false king of Norway has arrived to dip us all in the lake."

Guess I'm not the only one who plays pretend, I thought. The deer looked around, confused and its ears moved. It was nervous and would bolt if we made any noise, or if he caught our scent. Yet the temptation of holly was too strong, and the stag continued feeding. Thorir motioned at me to be quiet, and aimed his boar spear at the chest of the stag. But just as he was about to fling the spear, the sound of footsteps behind us startled the stag, and he fled.

We spun around and found that little Olaf, had followed us from the bygd.

"You ass!" shouted Thorir at the boy. "I had slain a king if you hadn't scared him away."

"The adults are asking for Askuld," replied the boy. "Something about carrying a message."

Thorir shrugged and looked toward the stag.

"The king has fled," he said. "But he will return, and then I'll kill him."

---

Lars, one of Brokkr's men stood waiting for us as we left the forest.

"You return empty handed?" noted Lars. "That's new."

Thorir sniffed disappointed but said nothing.

"We found a deer," I answered. "Thorir could sense it from far away."

"Trust the nose of a hound," laughed Lars. "And you'll never go hungry."

"What hound?"

"That's what we call young Thorir around here," said Lars and playfully whacked Thorir on the shoulder. "The father may have the strength of a broc, but the son has the nose of a hound. Smells the prey from halfway across the island, he does."

Thorir and I followed Lars back into the longhouse. Brokkr had now worked himself into a state of rage, and he bellowed curses at King Olav and all his soldiers - only louder than before.

"I shall raise an army," he shouted. "unite our friends, the Finni, the Sami and the Rus. Call upon my Olve Grjotgardsson of Egge and his men and Erling Skjalgsson of Rogaland. Together we will march and avenge the death of Kjappi and everyone who has been slain by Olaf the betrayer's men and their foreign god." He grabbed a drinking horn from the table and flung it across the room.

Rafn sat with a smile on his face and enjoyed Brokkr's ranting, while Thorstein seemed half asleep. Many empty horns lay scattered around him, because the healer had filled him with mead, laced with bitter vipermoss to break the fever.

"Be wise, my husband and thane," said Vigdis. "For such army will cost more wealth than your coffers contain and more health than ties with your name. Demand instead his weight in gold as were-gild from king Olaf's weak right-hand man and build an army strong for our young to command."

Brokkr stopped shouting and contemplated the words of Vigdis.

"Thorir? But he's too young."

"Raising an army takes time, father," said Thorir the hound. "Today I may be a child and a hound, but soon Fenrir will grant me strength and then I shall be a man and a wolf."

---

Brokkr came to our tent the next morning, carrying a scroll made from hide. "In this letter, we demand the weight of Kjappi be paid in gold. Otherwise we'll wage war on the remaining troops of king Olaf the betrayer. We would ask you to carry the message to the city of Trondheim and meet with the king's men. "

Rafn bowed before Thorir and reached for the letter, but Brokkr waved him off.

"It is only fitting that a kinsman carries the letter, for our justice is his justice, and our vengeance is his vengeance." The chief then gave me the letter, which I accepted with both hands. Not knowing what to say, I simply nodded.

I thought Rafn would agree with decision made by Brokkr, but he gritted his teeth and marched out of the tent stomping the ground with every step.

"Come on, then!" he commanded and we made hasted preparations to leave. I tucked the roll of hide into the depths of my tunic.

"Do not be upset," I said. 'I'll guard the letter with my life."

"Of that I have little doubt," said Rafn.

The distance from Bjarkoy to Trhondheim was close to sixty dozen_röstir_. Such a journey would take over two weeks even if we followed the coastline, so we used Thorstein's mount as a packhorse, while he stayed behind. Vigdis supplied us with so much food we had plenty for the journey and still had enough to sell at the market in Trondheim. She also fitted us with a tjald shelter - a small tent made from rawhide and wooden poles. It was light enough for the horse to carry, yet large enough to provide shelter for the two of us.

Rafn remained quiet while we packed, but when he saw that Harald Grenske was also preparing to leave, he seemed to lighten up.

"Let me help you up on that horse," said Rafn and lifted Olaf up with both arms. No longer pretending to have a wounded arm, he secured the boy into the saddle. He then reached into his backpack and gave the boy a necklace, which Olaf put around his neck. It was a braided leather strand with a pendant in the shape of a cross, like the one worn by the priest who came to our bygd. The cross was made from silver and decorated with coloured stones that looked expensive.

Olaf was overjoyed and flashed me a toothy smile. I don't think he recognised the pendant as something worn by the Christians, but he sat upright on his horse and beamed like a king. I thought it was a nice gesture from Rafn, but I must admit that I felt jealous, because I had served on Rafn back in Farobygd. But now I wondered why he would give such a valuable item to a boy he hardly knew, and probably wouldn't meet again.

---

We rested at the old ceremonial site of Blaafjella; a magical place where spells have been cast for hundreds of summers. People come here to ask for favours from the gods, by engraving magical symbols into the rocks. Blaafjella is the place in the world that is closest to Asgaard, and they say Bifrost reaches the ground on a rainy day. I searched for a sacred rock where I could carve an inscription, but it was difficult, for there were engravings everywhere. After much searching, I found a weathered limestone where the rain had worn the runes down, and I carved the sign of the great wurm, Jörmungandr.

"That's an unusual choice," said Rafn who looked over my shoulder while I carved. "Are you afraid that we'll grow ill on the journey?"

I laughed. "It's not for me, but for Thorstein so that his eyes may heal soon."

"And what about yourself?" Asked Rafn. "Have you no wishes for yourself?"

I shrugged. "I have two good eyes and two strong..." I was just about to say "arms," but I knew Rafn only pretended to have a wounded arm, so I quickly changed my words to "...friends". Finally, I carved the sign of_Mjolnir_, to ward off any evil.

We know of many magic symbols, but some are used more than others:

Footprints and boats grants you safety on travels.

A bolt of lightning - grants you the strength of Thor.

A wurm - wards off disease.

A bowl - grants you good fortune and wealth.

I wiped the lime off my hands and got back on my horse. We soon passed a row of rune-stones, where people engrave the names of dead relatives to honour their memory.

"I, Hlewagastir cast this engraving, in memory of Harald." I read aloud.

"Do you know how to read?" asked Rafn.

I nodded. "Kjappi taught me so I could copy recipes."

"You are a most unusual boy," he said. "Then you would also understand the words in the letter you carry?"

"Probably."

"Have you not the urge to open it and know its contents?"

I laughed -of course I was curious to know, just how much gold Brokkr demanded from the king. He had loved Kjappi dearly and wanted compensation for his brother, but he also needed gold to raise an army against the Christians. The problem was that Kjappi was old, his frame was thin and he weighed less than two goats, while Brokkr was large and well fed, so I speculated he had stated his own weight to collect more gold. I wouldn't find out unless I broke the seal, but travelling through the country as a messenger was the most exiting duty I'd ever had. It was not something I would ruin by giving in to curiosity.

Rafn too seemed eager to read the letter. I kept it safe inside my tunic night and day, and I caught him reaching for it a few times when he thought I was asleep. But every time his hand got too near, he winced as if he had been struck. He then pretended that he was only reaching out for the water sack, or wanted to stoke the fire. After a few attempts, Rafn resigned from trying again and we spoke no more of the letter.

---

If Rafn had taken an interest in the letter, I was just as spellbound by the visions hidden inside his arm. Every night I tried to stay awake, waiting for an opportunity to take another look. But the days of travelling were exhausting, and I always fell asleep by the fire, moments after snuggling into the sleeping pelts.

Then one night, an owl swooped down on a rabbit, close to where we slept. The sound of the rabbit screaming as the owl tore into him startled me, and I was awake in a blink. Rafn slept on his back as always with the pelts covering his arm, and I thanked the silent hunter for this welcome chance to help myself to another glance. Rafn was a sound sleeper, and if the scream of the dying rabbit hadn't awakened him, surely he wouldn't notice if I uncovered his arm. At first I saw nothing but a dark void that pulsated softly with every breath but little else.

Had all the people left? The other times I had looked into the hole, the visions had shown Rafn's memories of battles and people dying. But this vision was like looking at waves on water; calm, dreamlike -and uninteresting. I then recalled Rafn's words when he told about the dying man on the wooden cross.

I soothed his pain and told him of things to come...

Then tell me of things to come, I whispered under my breath and suddenly, new shapes took form. A landscape, much like the one we were travelling through, but dark and blurry at first, then clearer and glistening in the colours of moist flesh. Only, I saw the scenery from above as if through the eyes of a bird. It was fascinating to see Norway this way, and to soar above the hills and the valleys. Now and then, a village rushed by below me, and I circled above farmers building a fence around their fields. I somehow knew I was not flying alone, and I wished to turn my head and look around, and the vision obeyed as if connected to my own eyes. Many ravens flew around me and kept me company. They were smaller than me, and although I could not see myself and didn't know my form, the ravens and I were united. Then, a strong sensation washed over me - a feeling of loving, and being loved in return by my flying companions..

How can anyone love a bird?

The thought struck me as funny and I giggled at the very notion, and in that instant the vision faded and grew dark. I thought the visions had been exhausted for that night and I was about to cover up Rafn's arm again, when the shape of two men at battle came into view.

Closer, I commanded, and the scenery changed as if I was swooping down towards the men. One wielded an axe, the other a sword. Their moves were smooth and confident, and I could tell that they were both skilled warriors, both expecting each other's moves, as if they had fought before.

"Show me their faces," I whispered, and the view changed. I recognised the warrior with the axe as Thorir the Hound, now a grown man and looking healthy. His opponent wore a chainmail shirt and a tunic, embroidered with a large cross.

So, you get your wish fulfilled of fighting the Christians.

At first, I didn't recognise his opponent, for the face was hidden behind a beard. He wielded a fine sword that was much more expensive than Thorir's axe. Then the sun reflected in something bright around his neck.

"Show me!" I commanded, and the image changed to show me the shining cross that Rafn had hung around Olav's neck only days ago.

Thorir the Hound stuck a mighty blow to Olav, who stumbled and took two steps back until his back was up against the rocky hillside. Thorir threw down his axe, and a man dressed like a peasant handed him a boar spear.

His face no longer resembled that of my friend, with whom I had played only days ago, but that of a hunter who had just cornered his prey. He raised the spear and aimed it at Olaf's stomach, right where the chainmail ended, and his eyes no longer spoke of friendship or mercy. As he made the fatal thrust, I turned away and screamed. The noise awakened Rafn, who sat up and looked around, confused.

"What have you done to the boy?" I cried.

Rafn looked into the hole and was quiet and thoughtful while he watched the scenery.

"I've made him a king," he said.

"You pitted them against each other!"

"In two dozen years, one man dies a king, the other a hero. If I had not acted, history would have forgotten them both."

"Ormstunga!" I cried. "Your stupid gift has turned friends into enemies, and Olaf will die by the hands of Thorir."

"You all die," sneered Rafn. "Only your deeds remain." With an annoyed "grumph!" he covered his arm with the sleeping pelts and went back to sleep.

---

With every bygd we passed, we heard news that Danish King Fork-beard had claimed the entire Norway under Danish rule, following the death of King Olav. Some villagers were unhappy because The Danes and Swedes were enemies, but so were the Rus once and they were our friends now. Other villages remained calm, for Fork-beard was busy conquering England, and would probably leave us alone.

Halfway across the peninsula of Aglo, Rafn suddenly halted his horse. He sniffed the air and stared into the wilderness to the west. It was midday and much too early to settle down for the night, but maybe he could smell the smoke from a nearby bygd. I too, sniffed but found nothing out of the ordinary.

"This way", he said and pointed into the wild. By now, I had accepted that my senses were duller than those of Brokkr and Thorir, so I shrugged and followed behind. Rafn rode towards a clustering of trees not far from the path. As we approached them, one large ash seemed to come alive as dark shadows moved in and out between the naked branches. A murder of ravens had claimed the tree and sat on every branch. Below them, a human body hung suspended by a length of rope.

A hanging tree?

There was but one corpse hanging from it, and even at distance, I recognised the grey robe he wore: the hanged man was the priest who had visited our bygd. We got off our horses, and I picked up a rock to throw at the ravens, but before I could take aim, Rafn snapped

"Stop!"

"Those are my children." He stretched out his arm, and was soon covered by birds of prey. He spoke to them in the softest of voices and they cooed back at him, resting on his shoulders, perching on his arms. Some even landed on his head.

I turned to the greyrobe who hung suspended by his neck. The hands were not tied, and it seemed certain that he had hanged himself. A mouldy log lay a few feet from his corpse, with the dark side turned up. He had stood on it while he fastened the rope before kicking it away. The feet dangled only half an arm's length above the ground and death would have come slow. I looked around for his belongings, but found none. Everything he carried had been lost somewhere along the journey.

Something unusual lay next to the corpse. The greyrobe had turned over a limestone rock, so that the bottom now faced upwards, like the log he had stood on. He had scratched runes into the face of rock. The carvings were clumsy and shallow as if he had been in a state of panic, and spelled out a single word of warning:

"VALRAVN"

• Continues -

G lossary :

Axes and swords: When we think of vikings, we often imagine them carrying swords. Such a weapon however, was very expensive and generally for the privileged few. The most common weapons were axes and spears.

Bjarkoy: An island off the western coast of Norway and part of Hålogaland. It is old Viking territory and was a chieftain seat during the Viking Age and the Middle Ages.

Fenrir , Jörmungandr. - Both were monstrous children of the god Loki and his first wife Angerboda (a giant). Fenrir is a giant wolf, while Jörmungandr (aka the wurm of Midgaard) is a giant snake. Together, Loki and Angerboda also had a third child by then name of "Hel", who later made a career as the hostess of_Niflheim_ - the realm of the dead.

Hålogaland: the northernmost of the Norwegian provinces in the medieval Norse sagas. In the early Viking Age, before Harald Fairhair, Hålogaland was a kingdom extending between the Namdalen valley in Nord-Trøndelag county and the Lyngen fjord in Troms county.

Hlewagastir: the name is known from two golden horns that were discovered in Danmark (in 1639 and 1734 respectively). They have been dated to the 4th century AD, and carried many ornamentations, along with a single line of writing:Ek HlewagastR HoltingaR horna tawiðo - I Laegast of Holt, made these horns. There has been some speculation that Hlewagastir may have been the Danish King_Liudegast,_referred to in the later "Song of Niebelungen" (1200AD).

Ormstungar: Lit. "snaketongue", a liar.

Röstir: A distance, roughly corresponding to a mile. Literally "a rest", suggesting that travellers would stop for a breather with every mile.

Sami, Finni, Rus: Indiginous tribes of northern Scandinavia and parts of present Russia.

Seax: A knife

Tjald_:_ any type of shelter or tent. Also used to describe a smoke-screen: thus,

"To lie in tjald", meant to hide behind a smokescreen.

Thorir Brokkr / Thorir Hundr. In old norse, nouns terminated with an "r" in the nominative case. Translated into modern English, this "r" is generally replaced by the definite article "the". A modern translation of the two names would be: "Tore the badger" and "Tore the hound". In modern Norwegian, the latter is known simply as "Tore Hund" with no definite article.