Ch 16
The forest was quiet that morning. Erik had asked Jakob and a few of the new tribesmen to accompany him to the hunt. They had taken Kahuna, his giant elk and two other female giant elks to ride them while they hunted and to carry all the food back.
He had come out searching for signs of another elk herd, Kahuna's breath misting beside him as they moved through the birch shadows. His bio radar was showing a large group of animals that felt similar but smaller to his giant elks.
But instead of elks, what they discovered was something else when they reached the edge of a broad clearing.
A massive herd of fallow deer, more than forty strong, grazed between the mossy stones. Their white-spotted hides shimmered like drifting snowflakes between the trees. The stags lifted their palmate antlers high, snorting in alarm.
Hrafn, one of the new tribesmen riding behind, whispered, "That's… a fortune of meat, leather, bone—"
But Erik wasn't listening.
His eyes narrowed. Something wild sparked behind them.
"A crazy idea," he muttered. "Crazy enough that it might just work"
Kahuna rumbled in curiosity.
Before the herd could bolt, Erik reached out with his mind, sharp, silent, practiced now. He didn't want to warg with them, just subdue them telepathically. His warg companions, circling unseen around the clearing, joined the pressure. Panic flickered through the deer… and then stilled. Most of them did.
A few broke free and tried to leap away.
Erik's bow answered in a blur.
Three arrows struck three different deer in non-vital areas with paralyzing venom coating the tips. The deer stumbled, muscles locking. Kahuna charged with controlled force, bellowing, cutting off their escape. The psychic pressure deepened.
One by one, the herd collapsed into dreamless, manufactured sleep.
Jakob whistled softly. "What in the gods' names are you planning, lad?"
Erik knelt among the fallen deer, placing a hand on a warm flank.
"Something I've wondered for a long time," he said. "Irish elks… giant elks… they're not true elk. They're closer to these deer. Much closer than the elks."
Jakob blinked. "So? What does that have to do us eating them"
"We're not going to eat them" Erik replied as he got off Kahuna near a comatose deer "Watch and help me. Bring four more deer closer so I can touch them"
They kept their curiosity to themselves and did as he told them.
Erik positioned the deer in a way that allowed him to touch each of them. Placing one hand on a deer , he placed the other on Kahuna.
Then he concentrated. Concentrated on Kahuna. His Bones. Blood. Pattern. Most importantly his Genome.
He visualized the massive form of Kahuna, the towering shoulders, the sweeping antlers, the deep lungs, the dense bones. He selected four fallow deer, lined them side-by-side like components in a ritual.
Then he started overwriting the deer's genome, its bones and blood , everything to match Kahuna's. He then take his hand off kauna and placed it on another deer and slowly consumed its body to make the first deer bigger
Erik pressed his palms to each deer in turn, threading their life-patterns into a single tapestry. Their bodies shimmered, twisted, bones reweaving, sinew stretching, mass condensing into a single giant mass.
It was not clean work. It was not gentle work. But it was precise.
Finally, a new creature rose.
A colossal cervid, eight feet at the shoulder. Heavy muscles rippled beneath brand-new hide. Its antlers unfurled like dark branches, each point glistening with birth-dew.
An Irish elk, born of fallow deer. A hybrid copy of Kahuna with Fallow deer genes mixed in.
Runa stepped back. "Gods…"
"Not done," Erik murmured.
He reached for Kahuna and pressed their foreheads together. A flood of memories poured out from Kahuna and into his clone. Memories like the proper way to run downhill without breaking a leg, the stance to lower antlers for dominance, the learned discipline of riding with Erik, the feeling of trusting him and so on.
The giant elk staggered, then steadied… and turned its head toward Erik with the same intelligent calm Kahuna carried.
"Welcome," Erik said softly. "Your herd grows, old friend."
Kahuna snorted approvingly.
Jakob stared in awe. "If you can do this… gods, lad… we'll have a whole cavalry in a week."
Erik smiled, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked at the dozen of the fallow deer around him and replied.
"That's the plan."
-------
The next few days became a blur of motion as hard and purposeful work hummed through the camp from dawn until well past dusk.
One of first things he had done was rejuvenate Jakob and include him in his inner core of people that served as his officers that he delegated work to.
Teams combed the forests and valleys searching for more mounts, while others gathered wood and hides to construct the additional yurts they desperately needed. Some of his people oversaw the fitting of armor on the best close-combatants, the tribesmen and women who'd proven best in mock combat, those with steady hands, sharp instincts, and the willingness to stand shield-to-shield when battles turned ugly.
The newcomers, still amazed at their good fortune in surviving at all, threw themselves into their drills. His experienced warriors barked orders until voices went hoarse, molding the inexperienced into something that at least resembled an organized fighting force.
Meanwhile, Erik spent almost all the hours he wasn't sleeping or training buried in healing work and creation. His growing skill with life-shaping left him perpetually exhausted but quietly proud. By the end of the third day, he had made over a dozen more giant elk–hybrids that larger, stronger, faster than their natural cousins, with eyes burning with sharp intelligence. He gifted them to his original team, who accepted the mounts with stunned gratitude and immediately surrendered their old elks to the new members.
"Is this what the old stories of southern kneeler cavalry speak of?" Korb muttered one morning as his new elk snorted steam into the cold air.
"Aye," Erik replied, fastening a strap beneath her mount's neck. "But one that hits harder and faster."
Erik only smiled, rubbing the beast's brow. "They'll carry us well. Both in combat and in travelling"
Every night, after the camp quieted and the fires burned low, he slipped away to spend a few sacred hours with the Children of the Forest.
The Singers had asked that he bring Helga and Runa to learn magic as well. When Erike enquired as to why they replied
"Yes," she whispered after a long, thoughtful moment, "those two… they have the spark. Their souls are more deeply connected to the energy of the world. The breath-within-the-breath. They may learn, if they listen."
The singers had taught the three of them runes older than kingdoms, and songs meant to coax the world into listening rather than forcing it to obey.
Every night the four small, ancient beings waited for him beneath the old trees, their bark-woven leg-bindings and leaf-woven shirts rustling softly with each movement. Their three-fingered hands traced glowing symbols in the air as they sang, voices layered and melodic like wind through hollow stone and water flowing over old roots.
And so, the three of them sat through the evenings, learning to hum the soft harmonies that shaped sap and stone, to trace runes in the air with careful fingertips, to listen for the quiet whisper of the world beneath the noise.
-------
The next night
Night settled over the camp, warm firelight flickering against the hides of the yurts. The tribe had just finished dinner, stew steaming in clay bowls, laughter and tired chatter drifting through the clearing. Children half asleep from a full day's activity and full stomach. Warriors lounged on bedrolls or leaned against packs, sharpening blades or braiding elk mane.
Erik stood slowly, lifting his hand.
"Alright, everyone. Listen up."
Voices quieted. Heads turned towards him expectantly.
Erik took a breath.
"I have… guests to introduce. Very special guests." He paused, scanning the faces. "And I'm telling all of you in advance: stay calm. Do not panic. Do not do something stupid like reaching for weapons."
"Erik… what did you bring into camp this time?" Korb asked as he raised an eyebrow.
Gonir leaned forward with a manic grin, eyes wide.
"Oh this is going to be fun. Look at his face! He looks like he swallowed a secret and it's wriggling inside."
Korb muttered, "By the gods… here we go again," and stood straighter.
Erik turned toward the treeline behind him.
"You can come out."
The forest shifted.
Small shapes stepped out from between the ancient roots—four Children of the Forest, moving as lightly as falling leaves. Their eyes glowed softly in the shadows, and their skin bore dappled patterns like fawns. Leaves and vines shifted in their hair, alive with faint magic.
A quiet murmur rippled through the tribe.
Jakob's jaw dropped. "The old gods… alive?"
Helga, mounted gracefully, watched them with a sharp, appraising gaze.
"Not gods, Jakob. But not mere mortals either. They are the children of forest from the legends. Respect them."
Her voice carried the cool authority of someone used to being obeyed.
The tallest of the four stepped forward, Bloom, young but radiant, her presence warm and bright like morning sun breaking through fog.
"We have come, as the Greenseer willed it." She smiled gently at Erik.
Erik nodded back, then turned to his people.
"These four are our allies and guides. They've been sent to help us. To give us legitimacy, knowledge, and guidance."
Korb scratched his beard. "But… they're Children of the Forest. They are Legends of old.None have seen them from centuries"
Bloom laughed softly, her voice musical.
"We live very long lives. Legends happen on their own."
Gonir leaned forward , eyes gleaming, huge grin stretching across his face.
"Ohhh look at you! Little leaf spirits! Little forest sprites!" He tilted his head in that unsettling, amused way. "You're like squirrels… if squirrels knew magic and wanted to stab me with their claws."
One of the children blinked up at him, then simply said:
"We could stab you. But we like him." he said in a deadpan voice pointing at Erik.
"Oh! Wonderful. Singers with humor. They'll fit right in." Gonir gasped, delighted.
"Try not to terrify them in the first minute, Gonir. Or anyone, really." Helga rolled her eyes with slow, elegant disdain.
Bloom stepped past them, addressing the entire tribe with a gentle but confident tone—pure leader energy.
"We were sent because your path affects the fate of the North. The Greenseer sees possibility in you… and danger. Erik has been chosen to walk between the old and the new."
A hush fell.
Bloom lifted her vine-wrapped staff.
"And so we walk with you."
Erik looked at his tribe—some fearful, some hopeful, some simply trying to understand.
"They are here to help us. And beyond that… to help shape the North's future."
Jakob bowed his head deeply—a rare gesture for the gruff old man.
"Then… welcome. Our fires and food are yours."
Another of the Children stepped forward, voice soft like leaves brushing the wind.
"We eat little. We take less. But we will teach."
"And what will you teach us?" Korb asked, cautious but curious.
The child blinked slowly.
"How to live. How to listen. How to move unseen. How to walk paths no human sees."
"And how to become what you are meant to be." Bloom said looking at Erik again, warmth in her bright eyes.
"Ohhh I like them. Yes. They're terrifying and adorable. Perfect combination." Gonir clapped his hands together.
Runa gave Erik a long, knowing look.
"You've collected quite the companions. Humans. Beasts. And now children of the forest." She smirked faintly, voice velvet-smooth. "Are you building an army, or a legend?"
"Why not both?" Erik shrugged with a small smile.
-----
It took another full week before everything finally came together.
Three more yurts rose on the muddy clearing, rough, hurried things made from patched canvas, old hides, and sapling frames. But they stood. Fires burned inside them at night, warm and steady. The newcomers had a place to sleep, the children a place to laugh again, and the tribe a place to gather.
Armorers worked until their fingers cramped. Fletchers and leather-workers until their eyes burned. Erik spent every spare moment merging herds of deer into giant elks mounts, and using his memory-implantation gift to drill the new warriors in techniques they'd never learned yet somehow now remembered.
By the end of seven days, twenty heavy cavalry riders stood ready, armed with short swords, round shields, and bone glaives. And another twenty mounted archers sat on elk-back wearing hardened, green-tinted leather armor that Erik and the tribe's lone leather-worker had dyed together. Light protection but good enough for now.
And behind them were twenty spare elks formed their baggage and supply train. Even now his people packed and stacked the last of their food supplies, cooking utensils, yurts, spare arrows etc onto their backs.
'Nearly sixty people in total' Erik thought 'My people. Thye look like a moving forest of antlers.'
An hour later…
Erik tugged gently at Kahuna's reins. The Irish elk stamped once, impatient, huge antlers rustling leaves from a low branch. Around them, the others mounted up, straps tightened, cloaks pulled close, weapons checked one last time.
"Sixty souls and forty warriors on elk-back. Gods… we look like a migrating herd." Korb remarked exhaling with a long, low whistle.
"A terrifying one. If I saw us cresting a hill, I'd run the other direction." Runa snorted.
One of the newcomers—a young woman named Ylsa, newly trained as a mounted archer, shifted nervously.
"We're really doing this? Leaving the valley?"
Jakob, sitting stiffly atop an elk far taller than him, huffed.
"After all this work? Aye. We move. Though I still don't know how I'll keep my seat on this beast."
The elk snorted, and Jakob muttered, "Stop laughing."
"Oh, come now, Jakob. If you fall, your elk will catch you. Probably with its pointy antlers." Gonir grinned, leaned sideways on his saddle. His eyes gleaming with mirth at Jakob's discomfort "Or its hooves. Depends on how much it likes you."
Jakob groaned. "Comforting."
The few Children left ran happily through the legs of the mounts until Helga shooed them back to their mothers with a stern, motherly glare. Erik watched them with a small smile. They were getting used to this life. Faster than the adults, even.
Finally, all eyes turned to Erik.
Korb straightened in his saddle.
"Alright, chieftain. We've prepared, trained, equipped, built, and butchered enough for an entire winter. Where do we ride?"
Erik sat taller, letting the crisp wind cut across his face.
"We finish what we initially set out to do. We were given a mission and I intend to see it done."
Silence settled. Even the elks seemed to sense the shift.
Erik continued; voice steady and commanding.
"We ride for the raider camp. The same one that's pillaging, raping, looting and assimilating the survivors. The same one we originally set out to deal with before everything… changed."
Hjalti nodded, grim determination tightening his jaw.
"Hjalti ready! New tribe ready! We bash the evil raiders skulls in!"
Jakob clenched his fist on his reins. "Those bastards destroyed some of our allied tribes. They won't survive meeting us."
Gonir's smile turned feral.
"Oh, yes. Let us bring them a message. A loud one. Made of arrows and screaming."
A ripple of dark amusement passed through the archers.
Korb gave Erik a firm nod.
"Then we ride for justice."
Erik shook his head.
"No. Not justice."
Everyone looked at him.
"Closure. For us. For the villagers. For the tribes that suffered. We don't wipe them out in anger—we end a threat before it grows. We subdue them. Take out the truly rotten ones and make an example of them. The rest we give a chance to redeem themselves in the eyes of the old gods by serving out tribe in penance"
A murmur of agreement rolled through the group.
Runa lifted her bow. "Then lead us, Erik. The herd is ready."
Erik looked over his people, archers with hardened leather glowing green in the morning sun, armored cavalry gripping shields, supply elks shifting under bundles of winter tents and food, children waving from the top of their parent's elks ….and felt the strange, warm weight of destiny settle on him.
He raised his hand.
"Mount up. Form lines. We ride in five."
A chorus of elk calls rose, echoing across the forest.
The mighty new tribe began its march.
They travelled for five days guided by the dreams Erik received. The raiders had relocated again and his dreams implied that they were closing in on another small group of nomads.
His tribe's routine was the same as before. They practiced Eskrima in the morning before packing up and heading out. While the tribe travelled, its hunters went out and hunted food and the foragers forages nuts, berries and herbs. Erik also merged any deer herd into their larger ancestors and added another half a dozen Giant elks to his tribe. In the evening they set up camp, quickly setting up yurts and doing more mounted combat drills and practicing team tactics that Eriks had taught them.
Then on the sixth day they finally reached the raider camp.
A wide valley choked with smoke. Crude palisades. Messy rings of firepits. Foul hides strung up to dry. Scattered tents. Piles of stolen goods and weapons stacked haphazardly. The metallic clang of crude forges. The laughter and shouts of undisciplined men who believed themselves safe in their wilderness stronghold.
Dozens of raiders moved below, hulking shapes, rough voices, swaggering carelessness.
Erik and his team crept forward on foot the last hundred paces, leaving the elks tethered and silent behind the ridge. The dark stone outcropping gave them perfect cover. Erik crouched low, cloak drawn tight around him, and pulled from his belt a small instrument, sleek, compact, another impossible innovation for this era.
A monocular spyglass.
He had shaped its lenses using his power, refining a clear plastic until it was clearer and sharper than anything the raiders or even most kings could imagine. When he lifted it to his eye, the valley below snapped into crisp detail.
Runa leaned close; her breath warm on his shoulder. Korb and Henrik crouched beside them, the rest of the unit forming a low line along the ridge, waiting for Erik's assessment.
"What do you see?" Runa murmured. Erik passed the spyglass to her as he explained.
"Two main clusters of tents. The larger group is to the west, maybe eighty people there. Mostly men but there a few women. A smaller cluster to the east, about thirty. Patrols… sloppy. Very sloppy. They wander, get distracted, argue. No discipline at all."
Runa passed the spyglass so others could see for themselves as well.
"Supplies are stacked here. Weapons too. Looks like stolen goods… food, furs, tools, even armor."
Yrsa gave a low whistle. "Rich pickings. None of it as good as ours though"
"Yes. But normal for what everyone else here uses. More than that," Erik said. "If we seize their gear, we can use the best of it to arm the ones who would accept to join us and the rest we'll trade with the villages and other peaceful nomads."
Runa tapped his arm lightly. "What about their numbers?"
Erik scanned again. "A hundred, give or take. Strong ones, but untrained. Brutality without structure." He lowered the spyglass. "We can break them."
Korb grunted. "When do we attack? Not now?"
"No," Erik said immediately. "The fires hide us at night, but they're still awake in shifts. And during the day they're fully alert."
He pointed toward the valley floor, where torchlight flickered erratically.
"Just before dawn," Erik continued. "When the night watchers are exhausted and the day watchers haven't risen yet. Light is low. Shadows deep. And their bodies are at their coldest."
Runa nodded slowly. "Dawn it is. How do we approach?"
Erik crouched deeper behind the stone lip of the ridge and began outlining his plan that would end the battle before it ever became one. Erik drew a rough map in the dirt with a stick and started explaining.
"We strike from elk back," he said quietly. "Mounted archery will be our backbone. We don't let them form ranks, reach their weapons, or even breathe clearly and we'll be too fast for their retaliatory attack"
He drew circles in the dirt representing the tent clusters then placed an X at a point to the east
"First phase: confusion."
He pointed to their slingers. Ketil the Thin, a deceptively wiry man whose arms moved like braided whips. He trained a few more slingers, tribespeople who were not unsuited for mounted archery or even cavalry.
"Ketil, While the rest of us will be firing arrows, your slingers will lob stink bombs and smoke pellets into the camp, the grenade-sized loads. Aim for firepits, tent centers, and anywhere raiders might gather. My raven and owl will also help dropping some precision guided bombs as well"
Ketil grinned, already fingering the leather pouch that held his ammunition.
"Skunk-stench blend, smoke-thick mix. They won't know if they should vomit, cry, or run."
"They'll probably do all" Yrsa commented "The stuff Erik makes is nasty and potent." She shuddered in memory of a combat drill in which she got to experience it's effect first hand.
"Correct," Erik said. "Your job is to wake them in the worst way possible, smoke in their lungs, stench in their faces, eyes watering, throats burning. They should be half-blind and confused before they even stand."
"But won't it affect us?" Helga asked.
"No, it won't" he responded "Your face masks are designed with air filter and you eye slit have plastic coverings. You'll not be affected"
Erik drew more marks on the dirt.
"Second phase: mounted archers."
The warriors leaned forward, watching, listening.
"All riders mount up before dawn. We descend from the east and southeast slopes. Fast. Tight formation. No shouting. Aim for non-vital areas, arms, legs, shoulders, hips. Anywhere the arrows will lodge deep enough to deliver the venom but not kill outright."
Runa's eyebrows lowered. "How strong is the venom dose?"
"Strong enough," Erik said. "It won't stop their breathing. It won't kill them. But it will paralyze their limbs, slow their blood, scatter their coordination. They'll feel like they're drowning inside their own bodies. If someone gets shot with more than one arrow, the double dose could be fatal to a weak person."
Gonir tested the draw of his bow, nodding. "Sluggish, weak, unable to grip a weapon. Easy to subdue."
"Yes, too easy.Hjalti not like it." Hjalti grunted before seeing the look on Erik's face " But Hjalti will follow orders"
Erik continued, voice low and precise.
"The key is speed. We ride past the tents again and again, arrows from elk back. Never stop moving. Never let them know where the next shot is coming from. The smoke from Ketil will mask our silhouettes and sow confusion."
He drew a looping pattern around the camp.
"This is our riding lane. We circle the camp in a figure eight pattern, hit from all sides, keep moving."
He tapped the ground near the central firepit.
"They'll stumble out choking, blind, lost… and before any of them understand what's happening, the venom will have them on their knees."
"While they're choking on smoke, blinded by fumes, stumbling through skunk-stench and half-collapse, they lose all command structure. They won't be able to rally or form a line."
Skaldi touched his short sword thoughtfully. "And once they collapse?"
"Then," Erik said, "we dismount and form up a shield wall together and march in. We subdue and bind the ones still breathing. Anyone who still fights after being hit gets knocked out. Clean, controlled."
He leaned back and folded his arms.
"This way, we lose no one, hopefully. They lose everyone."
The wind hissed softly across the ridge; far below, the raiders roared with drunken laughter around their fires, unaware of the storm taking shape above them.
Erik rose, brushing dirt off his hands. He lowered his voice to a murmur that carried the weight of command.
"Rest now," he said. "Because when the sun's first light touches that valley, they will be finished."
"And then," Erik replied, "we take in the survives and give them a choice: accepts to serve me as penance. Or die."
They had hunted. They had traveled as one. They had trained. Now, they would fight as one.
And they would win.
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