Ch 13
A week later, the entire village gathered at the gates to say farewell to their once-elderly, once-frail friends and kin. Now those same men and women stood tall and proud among the crowd, unmistakable in their emerald-green samurai scale armor. Even at rest they looked magnificent—almost otherworldly—each suit shaped to their newly restored bodies, each scale glimmering like a leaf slick with dew.
But when the snarling faceplates were lowered and the antlered helmets set in place, they became something else entirely: fierce, intimidating, like spirits of the forest marching to war.
Twelve of them rejuvenated. Then with young Ainar and Runa , it added up to fourteen
Erik counted again. fourteen… enough for a beginning, he thought. But not nearly enough.
The rejuvenated Chief Frode approached, his once-stooped posture replaced by a youthful steadiness. His wife walked at his side, graceful again after years of pain. Together they embraced those departing, giving blessings, teasing old friends, and thanking Erik again and again for what he had done—for the armor, the composite bows, and the impossible gift of renewed life.
A brief ceremony began. Each of the fifteen stepped forward in turn, placing a hand over their chest and declaring their choice of Erik as their chief and leader. Their voices rang out proudly, echoing off the wooden gates.
At the end, Frode lifted a carved staff—his old symbol of authority—and touched it to Erik's shoulder.
"Before all witnesses," Frode declared, "I name Erik son of no man, walker of beasts, maker of miracles… the chieftain of a new tribe. May his strength guide you. May his wisdom guard you. And may the road before you lead to greatness."
The villagers cheered. Some wept. Others cheered. A few looked angry and scorned.
Erik bowed his head, accepting the weight of the title.
Moments later, the fifteen warriors mounted their great elks—massive, antler-crowned beasts shifting eagerly beneath them. Erik vaulted onto the back of his own Irish elk, the creature snorting clouds of steam into the cool morning air.
With a final wave to those they left behind, Erik signaled the departure.
The elk herd thundered forward, hooves striking the earth like drums of destiny, carrying the new tribe out of the gates and into the wilds beyond.
As they rode out from the village, the sight of them became something almost unreal, sixteen figures who looked as if they had stepped straight out of a fantasy tale. A small band of nature's own warriors, shaped by the wild and armored like ancient forest spirits. Their emerald scale armor gleamed with every movement, their compound bows strapped across their backs like alien relics. Round shields of green scales hung at their sides, and in each hand rested a bone-white carbon fiber reinforced glaive, sharp as winter and elegant as carved ivory. Together, astride their towering elks, they looked less like people and more like an unstoppable force of nature sweeping into the world—something primal, ancient, and destined for legend.
A beginning. A turning of ages. And the world would remember this day.
---
Erik looked back at the village he could barely see now. He had done all he could for the stubborn bit of civilization in this savage land sitting atop that rocky cliff. He'd given them ways to get ample food with the orca partnering with the fishermen. He taught them salt extraction to preserve fish and other foods for the long winters and to trade. He had given them armor, spears and bows with enough raw material that they make them for all their defenders and for his party when they needed replacements.
Turning his gaze to his right, he saw Runa sitting atop her elk looking wistfully at the village. Thinking about her brought back the memory of Runa's father and their last conversation
FLASHBACK
Hrolf stood in the doorway of the longhouse like a carved monolith, unmoving as if carved from stone. His grey eyes fixed on Erik with the weight of judgment. His beard bristled as he glared at Erik.
"So. Champion." He spits the word like it's a challenge. "You stand before me claiming you want my daughter. Yet…"
He leans forward.
"You have not stolen her. And by our custom, no man earns a wife without stealing her. So tell me—how in all the free north do you expect to have her?"
Runa rolls her eyes so dramatically several nearby hunters snort with laughter.
"Father, for the love of the gods, must you puff up like an old mountain bear every time you speak to him?" Runa asked annoyed
"Hush, girl. I'm intimidating him." Hrolf reprimanded her
"You're not" she stated "If anything you're annoying me."
Erik gives a slow exhale, folding his arms behind his back
"I'll speak plainly, Hrolf. Your tradition of stealing women… it's wrong." He replied without flinching. "Someone always suffers. A father loses a daughter. A woman loses her freedom. And sometimes the man who takes her loses his honor of his life. That is not a cost I will ever pay."
Hrolf's eyebrow twitches, but he keeps his scowl.
"I am the Champion, yes. But even before that, I have believed in justice, in doing right, in protecting those who need it. I will not steal any woman. Not Runa. Not anyone. I won't be part of an atrocity just because tradition demands it."
Runa smirks approvingly, stepping closer to Erik, chin lifted in pride.
"Hear that, Father? A man with a spine and a conscience. A rare combination." Runa said
Hrolf shoots her a look, then grumbles under his breath.
"Fine then. If you won't steal her… what exactly are you asking?" Hrolf asked in irritation.
Erik meets his gaze firmly.
"Runa likes me." He glances at her for a heartbeat, and she arches a brow with a slow, sly smile.
"And I like her. Deeply. If she chooses to come with me, I would be honored if she stood beside me, not as plunder, not as a stolen wife but as a partner. For as long as she wishes."
Runa steps forward, linking her arm through Erik's. She looks at her father like she's daring him to object.
"Father. I've chosen him. Try to argue and I swear I'll steal him." Runa said
"That's not…..that's not how stealing works!" Harolf sputters.
Harolf stares at them, frustrated, defeated, and begrudgingly impressed.
"Fine. Fine! If you both want each other without kidnapping or clubbing or any sensible tradition—"
He waves his hands dramatically. "—then go. But if he hurts you, girl, I'll—"
"You'll do nothing. Because if he hurts me, I'll handle it myself." Runa replied
Erik smiles softly at her boldness, then bows his head politely toward Harolf.
Erik:
"I will treat her with respect, Harolf. And with choice. Always."
Harolf grumbles again, but there's a deep father's pride hidden in his huff.
"Bah. Fine. Take her, then. But know this, Champion, she's fiercer than winter and twice as stubborn. Just like her mother"
"Thank you, Father. That's the nicest thing you've ever said about me." She replied sarcastically
"It wasn't meant as a compliment!" Hrolf replied scowling
Runa drags Erik away before her father can continue, calling over her shoulder.
END FLASHBACK
"We'll return in a couple of months to replenish the raw materials and trade it for the finished products both to replace and supply armor and weapons to my new followers" he said to Runa on her Elk beside him.
"I'll miss him, you know. My old man." She stared ahead jaw tight. "And the village. The smell of woodsmoke in the mornings. The idiots arguing outside the longhouse. Even the damned ocean"
"Father will pretend he's furious for weeks. Muttering about lost traditions and ungrateful daughters. But he'll be proud. Eventually." She continued. "I'll miss home. But I won't turn back. Not now. Not ever." Her smile turned sharper. "Adventure is ahead. Blood, glory, chaos… everything worth living for."
"Come on, Champion. Let's go build this damn future you keep talking about." She said as she tapped her heels lightly against her elk, urging it forward.
After about an hour of steady riding in which they marveled at the speed at which they were covering ground. Korb now bright-eyed and seeing clearly from both eyes for the first time in years guided his elk closer to Erik.
"So… where exactly are we going?" he asked, scanning the horizon.
Erik pointed west. "That way."
Runa nudged her elk forward, violet eyes narrowing with curiosity. "And what, precisely, lies that way?" she asked, her tone sharp and dry as only she could make it.
Erik exhaled slowly. "Last night I communed with the old gods at the heart tree," he said. "I asked them how I could gain more people. More followers. Enough to one day build a village and then a city"
Yrsa blinked. "What's a city?" she asked looking genuinely baffled.
Erik smiled faintly. "Imagine a village—but ten times bigger. Hundreds of homes. Thousands of people. Markets, blacksmith halls, arenas for combat, entire districts for trade, craft, learning. A place strong enough that no tribe, no army, no winter could ever break it."
Yrsa's mouth fell slightly open. "You're telling me people just… live packed together like berries in a barrel? And no one murders anyone?"
"Occasionally they do," Erik admitted, "but there are rules. And walls. And leaders. And order. It's… complicated."
Yrsa shook her head, muttering, "Sounds crazy."
The group listened in silence, elk hooves thudding like steady drums beneath them.
"Anyways….The old gods answered with visions," Erik continued. "A band of raiders, large, brutal, and growing in numbers as they move across the land. Stealing. Burning. Violating. Destroying every tribe, they come across an assimilating those who surrender They are a plague. And we," he lifted his chin, "are well equipped to purge a plague from the True North. We shall purge them Erick explained pointing in front of him "They are what is that way"
A murmur of anger rippled through the warriors.
"We're going to intercept them," Erik said. "And stop them. But we are not killing them. Not unless they force our hand."
Runa raised a brow. "Then how do you plan to stop a band of murderers without killing them?"
"With my power," Erik replied simply taking out an arrow gleaming with some liquid "And with the stun-poison arrows and pellets I've prepared. They cause temporary paralysis as the Botulinum neurotoxin in them blocks one of the types of chemicals that nerve cells use to send signals to other nerve cells and to muscles. Nothing permanent, nothing fatal. Just enough to bring them down and end the fight quickly. Nothing permanent. Nothing fatal. Just… incapacitating."
He lifted a pouch. "Combine that with smoke pellets, stink pellets, and the fact that they'll be on foot while we'll be riding, chaos will do half the work for us. Our intimidating looks and order will do the rest"
Hjalti growled in frustration, his massive hands tightening on the reins. "Hjalti wanted to bash some skulls," he muttered. "Break bones. Smash bad men. Hjalti hates using fancy bows and gimmicky arrows"
"Blasphemy!" Sigrun gasped dramatically. "Hear that? The great Hjalti terrified of craftsmanship!"
Ketil snorted. "Careful, Hjalti. If you keep complaining, we'll give you reading and writing lessons."
Hjalti stared at him, appalled. "Hjalti would rather eat his own beard."
"Please don't," Eldri said. "The beard is the only pleasant part of you."
The group chuckled, the tension easing.
Erik gave Hjalti a sidelong look. "You'll get your chance. Once they're captured, they'll stand before me and choose their fate. They will either serve me and pay penance… or they will face death by combat. Their choice."
Erik gave him a sidelong look. "You'll get your chance. Once they're captured, they will stand before me and choose their fate. They will either serve me and pay penance for what they've done… or they will face death by combat. Their choice."
Hjalti's grim frown slowly twisted into a savage grin.
The others exchanged looks some grim, some eager, some curious.
A mission from the gods," Eldri mused aloud, her voice carrying just enough to reach them all. "A chance to make our tribe stronger. And a promise of justice delivered by our new chief." She smiled, thin and knowing. "The first chapter in our fables begins."
The westward road suddenly felt charged with destiny.
----
They traveled as they talked, the rhythm of hooves and shifting gear becoming part of the conversation. Above them, Erik's raven circled lazily on warm currents of air; ahead, his fox darted through the brush in bright, clever flickers; and somewhere along the treeline, the shadowcats glided like pieces of night.
Erik's eyes briefly glazed, the look he wore when warging and then he inhaled sharply.
"Game ahead," he murmured. "Boars, deer and some rabbits, moving slow. Orvar and Ketil, split off and hunt them. Take Ainar with you. He needs to practice hunting. My fox and the shadowcats will guide you. The raven will track from above."
Orvar grinned, already unshouldering his bow. "About time"
Ketil spat into the dirt and smirked. "Try not to miss this time."
Orvar rolled his eyes. "One time! I miss one deer and I never hear the end of it."
Hjalti rumbled, "Hjalti miss deer too, because deer head always explode in bloody gore when Hjalti smash them."
"That isn't missing," Runa muttered dryly. "That's obliterating."
The two hunters split off with swift purpose, disappearing into the landscape guided by the soft flicker of the fox's coat and the near-silent tread of the shadowcats under the watchful of the raven circling above.
The rest continued westward.
----
A few hours later Orvar and Ketil returned triumphant, elk laden with dressed game a deer, two boars, and more rabbits than anyone expected.
"Good haul," Erik said, nodding approvingly.
"Thank your animals," Orvar replied. "The fox practically chased that boar into my arms."
Ketil snorted. "Shadowcats tried to steal a rabbit from my bag."
Runa raised a brow. "Sounds like you lost the argument."
Ketil muttered something under his breath along the lines of "thieving demons."
They dismounted in a small clearing and set to work. Fires crackled to life; meat sizzled; the smell of roasting game filled the air.
Yrsa sighed contentedly. "This is the best part of traveling. Food tastes better when you earned it."
"Food tastes better when someone else cooked it," Sigrun countered as she was the unofficial chef for the group, turning a spit with surprising deftness.
Korb lifted a freshly cooked strip of venison. "Food tastes better when you can actually see it properly," he said happily, winking his newly restored eye.
Laughter rippled through the group.
Runa sat beside Erik, leaning her shoulder into his ever so slightly. "So. Vision from the gods. A destiny. A future villlage. And now some nice, fresh lunch. Quite the day so far."
Erik smirked. "I like to keep things interesting."
"You do," she murmured. "Infuriatingly so."
They ate their fill, then doused the fires and continued westward.
A couple of hours an hour before dusk,They came upon a clearing. Erik raised a hand.
"Here," he said. "We make camp."
They found a sheltered hollow beneath tall pines. Tents were pitched. Elks were left to roam and eat. Packs were sorted. The soft amber of sunset bled through the branches while distant wolves called to one another across the valley.
They chose a sheltered patch beneath the tall pines, and instead of pitching separate tents, Erik motioned for them to unload the frame pieces, felt panels, and rope bindings of a single Mongolian-style tent called a ger.
"We'll all sleep in one for now," he said. "Faster. Warmer. And until you're quicker at assembling them, one is enough."
Under Erik's guidance the group worked together, fitting the wooden lattice walls, raising the central crown, and sliding the poles into place. The felt covering came last, heavy but warm, stretched and tied down with care.
Even so, it took them nearly an hour.
Korb wiped his brow. "Feels like we built a whole house."
Erik smirked. "Next time you'll put up two."
He winked—blatantly, shamelessly.
Runa's lips twitched despite herself. "Careful, chief. Make too many promises and I'll hold you to all of them."
But he didn't let them rest.
No sooner had they stepped back to admire their handiwork than Erik clapped his hands sharply, the sound ringing through the clearing.
"Training! Mount up if you're shooting from elk-back. Everyone else—on the trampolines!"
A chorus of groans rose around him.
Ketil slumped dramatically. "We just built a whole house!"
"Hjalti not tired," the big man declared—right before yawning loudly.
Yrsa pointed at him. "Liar."
Sigrun muttered, "You'd think being chosen by the gods would come with less sweating."
Erik folded his arms. "When you can hit a target while bouncing, swaying, turning, and swearing—then you can complain."
More groaning.
"Good," Erik said. "Use the frustration. It builds discipline."
And just like that, training began again under the deepening evening sky.
Yrsa muttered, "You are a tyrant."
"I know," Erik replied. "A benevolent one."
They had been practicing mounted archery for over a week—firing from moving elk, from a sprint, from a turn. But Erik had given them more than just lessons. With his power he had implanted the muscle memory and refined technique directly into their minds, letting them absorb months of training in mere weeks.
Still, refinement took sweat.
The two trampolines were quickly assembled—simple wooden frames, tightly stretched hides, strong enough to bounce a grown warrior. While most of the group rode in circles firing at targets, a few took turns climbing onto the trampolines.
Ketil bounced first. The surface flexed beneath him, launching him up and down in uneven rhythms designed to mimic the wild rise and fall of an elk in full gallop.
"Bow steady," Erik called. "Core tight. Don't fight the movement—flow with it!"
Ketil loosed an arrow at the peak of his jump. It clipped the side of the target.
Yrsa, waiting her turn, snorted. "That's barely a wound."
Ketil glared. "Let us see YOU do better while the ground attempts to throw you into the sky."
Yrsa grinned wickedly. "Gladly."
Meanwhile, Hjalti thundered past on elk-back, loosing an arrow that buried itself dead center in a wooden target.
Erik blinked. "Good shot."
"Hjalti pretend target is raider's face," he said proudly.
"Ah, whatever works for you big guy" Erik said. "Motivation helps."
Even though they were weary, they couldn't help but praise another of his creation, the compound bows.
"Gods save me," Yrsa muttered as she drew the compound bow for the twentieth time, "this thing is a miracle. The pull is easy until the break, then it just… holds. You can aim forever."
Orvar nodded while firing from elk-back. Even the quiet Orvar couldn't keep quiet about it "And the power, look at that shot! Straight through the target. No dip. No wobble. It hits like thunder."
Ketil laughed, bouncing on the trampoline as he loosed an arrow. "I hated it at first. Now? I never want to touch a normal bow again. This is cheating."
Runa, controlled and calm, loosed two shots in quick succession—each landing within an inch of center. "It rewards discipline," she said. "But it makes excellence attainable."
Even Hjalti, who once complained about "fancy bows," grudgingly admitted, "Bow good but not as fun as bashing heads or caving in chests. Hjalti approve."
As the sun faded and the firelight flickered across the clearing, arrows thudded into targets, warriors bounced and shot from the trampolines, and Erik worked tirelessly—correcting stances, adjusting elbows, shifting grips.
Their breaths fogged in the cooling night air, but none of them slowed.
They trained until the stars fully emerged with the moonlight proving insufficient and until arms ached and legs trembled.
Only then did Erik finally call, "Enough! Inside the ger. Rest."
They stumbled in, limbs heavy, breaths ragged, but smiling with that quiet satisfaction that only hard work gives. Together they helped one another unbuckle armor straps, tug off greaves, loosen shoulder plates. Every clang of metal on the floor sounded like relief.
As they worked, voices rose in tired admiration:
"These elks…" Ketil said, rubbing his sore legs but grinning, "by the gods, they make the journey easy. No sleds to drag. No trudging through mud."
Yrsa laughed softly. "I still can't believe how fast they are. A whole day's march covered before lunch. If we had these years ago, half our problems would've vanished."
Hjalti patted the flank of his elk through the tent wall. "Hjalti loves elk. Elk strong. Elk fast. Elk make Hjalti feel like wind. Hjalti bash in enemy head fast and from top. Better. Angel, better swing. Good smash"
Even Runa nodded, stretching her back. "They carry our supplies without slowing. They don't complain. They don't tire. You chose well, Erik."
Erik simply smiled.
Once the armor was fully off, they sat around the fire—tired, hungry, letting muscles unclench. As they ate the last of the game, more comments rose:
"This armor," Orvar said, flexing an arm and watching the plates shift smoothly, "it feels like cloth when moving… until someone hits you. Then it's like hitting stone."
Eldri tapped her chest piece. "Flexible, light, warm, strong. I've worn many things in my years. None like this."
Ketil raised a hand. "But noisy for hunting," he complained. "Try creeping up on a deer with this. You sound like a drunk spirit rattling bones."
Orvar nodded sharply and grunted "Aye" in agreement.
Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Then don't creep. Shoot from farther away. Problem solved."
Erik smirked. "I'll make quieter sets later. These are for war. Not stalking rabbits."
Inside, the firepit at the ger's center glowed softly. They settled around it, tired and hungry, and made short work of the remaining game Orvar and Ketil had brought down earlier. Grease crackled, the smell of roasted meat filled the warm circular space, and for a little while they simply existed, letting exhaustion melt into comfort.
When the food was gone and their bellies were warm, they lay down in a wide circle along the curve of the ger wall, heads toward the fire, feet outward like petals around a flame. The fire flickered, painting shadows across their faces.
Soft conversation drifted through the room—small things, idle jokes, murmurs about the day's ride, guesses about what tomorrow might bring.
Runa teased Erik about his "tyrant training."
Yrsa argued with Ketil about who bounced higher on the trampoline.
Hjalti quietly boasted that he never got tired, right before snoring mid-sentence.
Skaldi and Turik bemoaned at not being able to hit targets well.
The warmth of bodies, the steady crackle of fire, and the gentle hum of voices all blended into a soothing lull.
One by one, they drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow they would ride closer to danger.
But tonight, they slept shoulder to shoulder in the warmth of the ger, a tribe in the making, bound by firelight, sweat, and the promise of the future they would build together.