Ch 11
The Next Morning
Erik woke late, sunlight stabbing through the gaps in the wooden shutters and painting thin, bright lines across the room. Runa lay curled against him, breathing slow and even, her hair spilling over his chest like dark silk. She looked peaceful—utterly spent, utterly content.
He smiled despite himself.
Careful not to wake her, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before easing out from under the furs. She murmured something in her sleep but didn't stir.
Outside, the morning air was cool and clean, carrying the distant sounds of gulls and the quiet bustle of early-rising villagers. Erik stretched, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders.
Now to get things ready for departure, he thought. We need more rides… more supplies… tents, tradeables,armors, weapons, edibles… and gods, do we need more elks.
He glanced toward the treeline, already imagining the work ahead.
"First," he muttered under his breath, "I'll have to find more elks. Gotta travel in style. Give a good first impression and all that"
His plans were already unfolding in his mind—routes, supplies, the people he'd bring, the ones he couldn't.
'I think Runa will come' he thought 'and I'll take Ainar as well to continue teaching him. Besides Helga and Gonir that's four people. I need more people. Hopefully Chief Frode will find good people for me'
After taking a shower where Runa joined him and they had some more fun. They had a heavy breakfast where he explained to Runa that he would be leaving in a week or two. Runa quickly left afterwards to try and convince her father to let her go with him.
As everybody stayed up late during the feast which included the children and his other students, school remained closed that day. He decided to use the free time to head to his lab and build a prototype armor he's been experimenting with over the last month.
Entering the lab, Erik paused at the threshold, appraising the chaos he'd built with a craftsman's eye. It looked like a fusion of an armorer's shop, a cloth factory, and a medical alchemist's den. Modern materials—carbon-fiber sheets, jars of resin, bundled rolls of spider silk—lay beside medieval ones: tanned leather, bones, pots of glue, and stacks of straw fiber. Most of it he had grown or shaped with his power. The rest he'd merely… accelerated. The hides from their hunts, for example, had gone from raw flesh to fully cured leather in minutes.
Resin's running short again, he thought, glancing at the half-empty barrel of powdered resin made from plant fibers and other bio-polymer-rich materials. Enough for a few more sets of armor. It'll do for now.
He rolled up his sleeves and began.
Through the entire morning and long into the day, he worked while sunlight streamed through the shutters, striking scattered materials: coils of leather, gleaming threads of spider silk, thin black carbon-fiber strands, cool barrels of natural resin, and a steaming pot where a gelatin mixture thickened.
His mind returned to the inspiration behind all of this.
After much brainstorming he'd based his armor on the giant arapaima fish, an amazon river fresh water creature whose armor had evolved to make it immune to predators like the piranha. It's had baffled hunters for generations, the only freshwater fish known to shrug off spearheads and even small caliber bullet in his old home lands. Its scales were famously bullet-resistant, stab-resistant, slash-resistant and flexible despite incredible toughness.
Amy Dallon had been fortunate to have been asked to heal a pair of them in a zoo once so she barely remembered their genetics but add their brain enhancement and higher intelligence and recreating those scales or something similar but more suitable for human armor was easy.
'The secret was its two-layer architecture' he muttered to himself 'Outer Layer – Hard, mineralized protection that acted like metal, rigid and dispersing force on impact. The inner layer flexed like woven cloth, absorbing the shock and preventing cracks from traveling deeper. In between was a thick collagen mesh that absorbed impacts. Together they formed a defensive system far beyond anything early steelworkers ever imagined.'
Erik could recreate the fish's natural materials but he theorized that he could improve them to suit an armor's purpose.
He laid a sheet of leather flat and spread a thin mixture of natural resin strengthened with carbon fibers, giving the outer scale its hardness. Once cured, it produced a surface nearly as tough as horn but far lighter.
Over this he wove a layer of Darwin spider silk threads in precise patterns—alternating spirals and lattices—to mimic the fish's mineralized microstructure. Spider silk's absurd tensile strength acted as reinforcement, preventing cracks form occurring and if formed from spreading.
Then came the inner layer.
He poured the warmed ballistic gel-like mixture, crafted from boiled animal gelatin and plant extracts, onto a second sheet of leather infused with straw fibers. When cooled, it formed a thick, soft, shock-absorbing pad—flexible, but capable of deforming to catch and dissipate force just like natural collagen.
Finally, he pressed the layers together while the gel was still pliable, allowing it to seep into each other and bind the two halves, just as collagen bonded the fish's scale layers.
When he lifted the finished piece, it was shaped into a curved shiny grey hexagon plate.
A scale. A single piece of the scale armor design he'd chosen to build using his arapaima armor idea.
Erik studied it in his hands, weighing it while recalling why he's chosen to build scale armor and not plate armor.
'Scale armor, unlike plate, offers High protection from blunt force and piercing Resistance to slashes, cuts, and bites Flexibility across joints, letting the wearer crouch, twist, and sprint' Erik recalled his thoughts 'I can design a modular design meaning every plate could be replaced individually and fitting different body shapes would not be a problem as the threads holding he armor could be loosened or tightened to fit everyone. It's also a cheaper and faster production than making plate armor which I would have to fuse and custom shape using my powers while the scales can be made by anyone, I teach it to so long as they have raw materials that I could make in large quantities easily'
'Each scale is light and durable. When dozens overlapped like roof tiles, they formed a flexible, nearly seamless shell' Erik thought proudly 'If a scale was cracked or burned or crushed? I could make another in minutes. Far better than reforging metal which we didn't have any way'
'Now which style of scale armor should I use?. Hmm… japanase style' He thought recally what he's once read in on a museum plaque 'The construction from many small, overlapping plates connected by cords allowed for a high degree of movement, which was crucial for both mounted archery and the agility needed in close-quarters combat.'
He eagerly set to work, producing dozens more, then stitching and binding them onto a leather underlayer until a gleaming grey coat of arapaima-inspired scale armor took shape.
'Now to practically test if it as good as I think it is' He thought as he used various weapons on it 'Now comes the fun part'
He tested it with a knife slicing and stabbing with full force. It didn't even leave a mark. With a sharpened spearhead he stabbed it and the spear tip skidded across, leaving only a faint scratch on one scale only.
With a hammer strike, only a shallow dent in a few scales occured, the impact dispersed across scales and swallowed by the gelatin layer beneath.
"Let's make the full set" he muttered imagning the armor for legs and a matching helmet "It has to be a multi-functional but focused on cavalry style use mainly. The helmet has to have the intimidating factor of a samurai helmet." He started designing more parts and added scales.
'Like the Japanese armor , I'll coat the armor in lacquer, which will protected the plates and the silk and leather lacing from the humid climate and prevented rust and rot. I'll use green lacquer' he thought
Time flew by and much progress was made.
It was afternoon when Chief Frode entered his lab alongside several older people looking for Erik but when they came in and saw the finished armor set their jaws dropping slightly.
"Steel armor" the Chief whispered "This ….this looks amazing!"
"I did promise you compensation for taking some of your clan's people. And it's not steel. It's something better" Erik replied proudly displaying the armor to Chief Frode and the chosen elders, Erik explained
"Metal Plate armor that the southern kneelers use stops blades and arrow well, but it's heavy and cumbersome. It also needs lots of iron and a skilled blacksmith. As we lack both, I have made this scale armor from naturally occurring materials. Leather offer good basic protection and moves well with the body, but it fails against heavy attacks, spears and arrows. This scale armor takes the strength and durability of nature itself and puts it in your armor. It's easy to make and repair. I will teach some of your folks how to do so. When we travel, fight, or hunt, you will be protected by scale armor which is as strong as kneelers steel plate but light and flexible"
"This rivals kneeler steel plate in strength but remains light and flexible. It can be repaired quickly. It can be fitted to anyone. The only disadvantage is the small gaps between the plates where a lucky strike can get through" Erik finished his explanation
Gonir leaned forward, grinning with childlike excitement. "Amazing!"
The elders murmured agreement, running their fingers hesitantly along the overlapping scales as if holding a relic.
Erik crossed his arms, satisfied.
"So," Erik said, folding his arms as the elders admired the armor. "Now that you're done being amazed at what I'm offering… I'd ask what brings you here, Chief."
He glanced at the weathered faces before him—skin like old leather, hands scarred, eyes sharp despite age. Warriors whose years had taken more from them than any enemy ever had.
"But," Erik added dryly, "I think I already know."
Frode cleared his throat and tried to stand a little straighter.
"Yes, well… I brought the others you asked to meet," he said. "The old codgers who no longer have battles or much work left in them here, but who might serve your purpose—if given new life."
Ten elders stood behind him, battered old men and women, each with tools or weapons strapped across their backs. Not for use anymore, but out of habit. And as symbols of the lives they once led.
Erik offered them a respectful nod.
"Welcome, Elders. I know each of you a little. I'm pleased you agreed to be rejuvenated and to leave your village behind… to travel with me, to help in my mission to aid all the freefolk."
His gaze swept across them.
"I would like to hear your reasons. So please. Take turns and tell me."
They exchanged glances before the first limped forward.
The first was an old woman who had a noticeable limped and used her spear as a walking stick. Her hands were knotted like driftwood, scarred from years pulling nets through icy surf.
"I'm Halldis Storm! I was once a Fisherwoman, the fastest fisher in the northern span, I earned my nickname for the way I pulled lines faster than most men could shout warnings. My spear flew straight and true killing any seals and walruses that dared to come in to my sight" Her voice was strong yet weary "A storm two winters ago crushed my boat across a cliff. I survived but it left me weak in my arms and limping. Now I'm too weak and too slow to fish and hunt seals"
She bowed to Erik, eyes sharp.
"Champion! Life Weaver! I refuse to die waiting on a dock while younger fools ruin the tides. If I have a chance to mend my bones and cast nets again… I'll follow you to whatever sea you choose." She offered before stepping back
Next an old bent man shuffled forward. His back was bent like a broken bow, his fingers trembling constantly
" I am Turik the tanner. Once I was the finest tanner and leather maker in our tribe, I had made leather armor, shoes, and belts for everyone. I was also part of the militia and trained in archery. Age stole the steadiness of my hands, and in shame i retreated from my craft. Now my sons and daughters do what I did while I sit and rot away"
"I want to feel the leather between my fingers again," Turik whispered. "I want to make leather goods under the spring sun, not wither inside my own hall. I'd lost the will to live until I saw you make Gonir young again. Make me young Life weaver and I'll serve you" he said before stepping back
The next person to step forward was perhaps the youngest of the elders. She walked straight and showed no illness though she had a pudgy body. She was soft-spoken, her brown hair was long and was starting to get white.
"I am Sigrun of the four sons. I raised four sons, buried three along my husband and lost the fourth to wanderlust. I am a spear wife with decent spear skills. I am known for my tasty food especially my healing soups which I make using herblore Helga taught me. I've served generations by keeping their bellies full and cooked healthy and scrumptious food even in the depths of winters when food was scarce. But my last boy… he's out there and he's the only family I've left" She said "I have given this village all I had. Now… I choose myself. If youth returns to me, maybe I'll find the path my last son walked, or carve a new one of my own. Maybe find him out there or at least know what become of him"
A thin elderly woman stepped forward, her back bent but her eyes still steady.
"I am Eldri Runetongue… keeper of the old histories." Her voice came out as a quivering, scratchy thread.
She pressed a knotted hand to her chest. Her other hand held a worn willow flute. She continued "For decades I carried our ancestors' tales, every lesson, every cadence. But age… age has stolen the sharpness of my memory. My voice, once rich and full, now trembles. My breath not enough to play the flute"
She gave a sad, breathy laugh.
"I still know the meanings behind the runes, and the weight of their power… though the magic never answered to me as it answered my teacher."
Her gaze moved to Erik.
"My stories will not die—others remember them, and retell them. But if I regain my strength… my purpose will not be just teaching lore but adding a very important part of our history that I will bear witness. History that you will carve. I will teach again. Teach the children. Teach your people, when you gather them and make sure your tale is told properly"
She bowed her head.
Next A broad, bald weathered man shoved past the others, lifting the stump of his left arm for all to see.
"I am Skaldi One-Hand," he said, voice loud and ragged like gravel. "A raider's axe took this from me many winters ago… yet I fought on for years with a shield strapped to a harness."
He tapped the wooden cap of the stump with a hard knuckle wincing in pain
"Last winter the wound reopened. It closes then open again if I move it around. Pain drove me from the shield wall and I hated every day of it!"
"Why did I agree? Simple." He looked Erik dead in the eyes and lifted the stump higher."Give me two hands again, healer… and I'll give you a shield-wall that does not break."
The next to speak was a wiry man with a mischievous glint that age had not managed to erase.
"Ketil Stone-Slinger," he introduced himself with a small bow. "I used to hit birds mid-flight with pebbles. Could clip a raven's feather at fifty paces. No one ever beat me."
Then his smile faded.
"But this—" he tapped beneath his right eye, the clouded pupil catching the firelight "—dimmed with the years. Ruined my depth. And these hands—" he held them out, shaking slightly "—tremble now when I try to aim."
He swallowed, jaw tightening.
"I want my eye, my hands… my gifts. And if you grant them, I'll use them for you and yours."
Next was an old woman with tattoos on one side of her wrinkled face and bushy white hair. She grinned toothlessly and he saw that half her teeth had rotted away.
"I'm Yrsa. I was once had once been wild as winter winds, leading raids in my youth. I settled here later when this buffoon" she said smiled teasingly and pointing at the old longbowman "caught me eye and I fell in love with him so I let him steal me from my tribe. I raised our children, and tried to grow old gently. My body's weakened faster than my spirit."
She grinned, showing a missing tooth.
"I've grown bored of dying slowly. I want to roam, hunt, fight and be free as I once was. Fix the rot in my body, I'll give you a fighter fiercer than half the young pups outside." She said then gestured for her husband to step forth.
He walked forward and he could see him wobbling and moving erratically likely due to a curved spine. That combined with only one enlarged shoulder and upper arm bones showing increased bone density and an asymmetrical skeleton showed he was a trained longbowman who's deformed his skeletal structure through decades of practice and at old age it was crippling him
"This is me man Orvar the longbowman. He doesn't talk much. He was the tribe's silent sentinel, a man who could draw a bow heavier than most men could lift. But now his bones all twisted into useless knots, ending his service." She explained about her husband "Untwist all them twisted bones, and he'll put arrows wherever you ask—from here to the next horizon."
They stepped back. Next stepped out a huge scarred man with a missing ear whose back had stooped with age. He had a large bronze two handed axe that he leaned on a bit as he stood in front of him. He wore an old bear skin with the bear's head as a hat on his own head.
"Hjalti Berserkir" he said thumping his broad wrinkly yet muscular chest speaking in third person about himself "Hjalti once a legendary front-line warrior. Hjalti's charges broke enemy lines like twigs but Hjalti's knees collapsed after decades of battle and old head wounds give terrible headaches."
He bowed awkwardly.
"Hjalti want no headaches and strong body back. Hjalti never fear death, never run away from death, but toward it and whatever you build next."
Next was One eyed Korb A tall, wiry man with one milky eye and the other one missing with a patch hiding it.
"You know me Champion" Korb said bowing a bit "But I will speak more"
"I was the best hunter and tracker of the village. I scouted high on the cliffs, guiding hunters and warning against raiders. " he said "I was a warg like you. I had a mighty eagle as my companion. I even taught young Henrik all I knew of warging. I had family. Life was good. Until …"He sighed "until it wasn't. I lost me wife and children to cold, sickness and raids. When my eagle died of old age, I lost the will to live. I was too old, too tired to start again. I prayed to the old gods to give me purpose or take me" He tapped his spear and gestured towards him "But then you came along and I saw the hope you are spreading. I don't want what's happened to my family to happen to others. So I will help you, serve you as you help others. You have given me hope, I'll give you loyalty worth keeping."
The Hall Falls Silent
Frode let the hush settle, then turned to Erik.
"These people… they are not merely forsaking age," he said. "They are forsaking the lives they thought were finished."
Erik looked over them—fighters, artisans, fishers, weavers, storytellers, scouts. Old in flesh, but not in spirit.
He felt the weight of their hopes settle on him like a mantle.
"You all know," Erik said quietly, "that youth will not give you your old lives back. Only new ones. Harder ones. With danger. With purpose. With change."
Yrsa stepped forward, planting her worn spear into the dirt floor.
"That," she said, "is exactly what we want."
One by one, the others nodded.
Eldri Runetongue lifted her thin chin.
"We are tired," she whispered, "of waiting for death. Now death will have to wait for us."
Chief Frode gave Erik a slow, solemn nod.
"These," he said, "will be your first followers. Not because they must… but because they choose, if you'll have them in your new clan"
"I will" Erik inhaled, feeling the moment settle into his bones. "Right then, we'll need…" he paused looking at them all " ..ten, no eleven deer or large animals to power you rejuvenation"
Ketil Stone Slinger frowned. "But we're only ten."
"You are indeed ten" Erik said "I'm adding him" he said gesturing towards the chief "so that's eleven"
The chief blinked. "But—"
"Oh! And I forgot your old lady wife, didn't I?" Erik interrupted. "So that's twelve."
He grinned wickedly.
"Can't leave the village weak with an old fossil like you running it, can I?" Erik joked.
"No. Absolutely not, leave me out of it." Chief Frode stood arms crossed, jaw locked tight.
Helga stepped forward, hands raised in peace. "Chief… listen—"
"I am listening," Frode replied stubbornly. "I don't want it"
Yrsa snorted. "Oh, come now, Frode. Being young again ain't that bad. Quit being stubborn"
Erik drew a slow breath. "Chief, this is preparation. You've said yourself the village needs to be ready."
"Aye, ready," Frode growled. "Not… whatever this is."
Korb leaned in, voice calm, almost gentle. "Frode. You know we need your judgment. If you're not there, the others will argue for hours."
The old chief glared at him, but the edge of his anger wavered.
Runa added softly, "And… it would mean something if you agreed. People follow your lead."
"Also with your wife young and beautiful beside you…." Gonir commented wiggling his eyebrows suggestively
"Shaddup you oaf" Frode shifted, grumbling under his breath. "Gods curse the lot of you. Ganging up on an old man like ravens around a crust of bread. For shame"
"We're all old." Ketil pointed out "So we can gang up on you with no shame"
Fride grunted sullenly
"Is that a yes?" Erik asked carefully.
Frode threw up his hands. "Fine!" he barked. "But no funny business! if any of you start chanting, glowing, or sprouting feathers, I'm walking straight out."