AN: I haven't given up on 'On the Origin of Species'. I'm just taking a break to write this short story. It will probably be in three or four chapters.
Thorstar: My Death.
(November 978, in Ribe.)
Thorstar watched his mother, Hanna, practice with her sword, feeling slightly envious. She was a large woman, not slender and delicate like the earl's daughters or emaciated like the female thralls, but well-muscled and sturdy almost like a man. Still, she was graceful and fierce, there was no denying that.
It was at the end of autumn and it was cold. They kept the fire in the middle of the house burning all day and all night, and the thralls spent most of the short days gathering firewood in the forrest. Sometimes, even the earl's family had to help.
They had to be prepared for the Midwinter feast that always lasted at least twelve days. The large house made of wood and shaped like a ship, but only with three rooms; a stable for domestic animals, a smithy and the room where the earl, his family and the thralls all lived. A low bench followed along the sides of the house, where all thirtysix of them slept at night. Except in the cold winter nights, where they preferred to huddle up around the fire.
Thorstar had been taking care of the fire all day, feeding it with wood. He was grateful for the warmth, but also bored out of his mind. Hanna was too busy with her weapon practice to notice her son.
Block high, block low, lunge. Spin around, block, lunge.
He realized with a sudden uneasy feeling that his mother, elegant as she may be, was slower than she used to be.
And wasn't she already starting to look tired?
There were grey streaks in her golden hair and her face was lined. She had to be older than forty by now. If she was lucky, she had maybe ten years left.
Vikings lived hard and died young.
"I wish you would teach me how to use a sword, "Thorstar remarked, knowing he'd said that same sentence every day since he was five, when the other boys his age had started their warrior training.
"Maybe next year, "his mother said, deliberately not making a promise. "But with your vision, I'd hope you'd never end up in a duel."
He had known his training would be different from he was very young. The other boys of the town had been sent away to learn their skills, while he had stayed in the earl's house, his mother watching over his training like a hawk. He had learned plant and herb lore, but not to hunt. He had learned how to make tools in the smithy, but not weapons. He had learned how to build and repair ships, but not to navigate them. She had taught him how to read and write rhunes herself, as she was the only one in the household, who possessed that skill. He had found most of his simple education uninteresting.
He had been eager to prove himself, when he had become an adult at the age of ten, but he hadn't learned how to wield a sword and the men didn't bring him along on their travels. The other boys returned with stories from Norway and England, some even from Iceland or Greenland, while he had stayed at home, harvesting and milking goats.
Soon enough, his desire for adventure had died a painful death, killed off as his mind became more and more disillusioned. Now, he was nearly sixteen years old and had never been farther away from home than the harbour on the west coast of Jutland, where his friends took off on their adventures.
"And maybe in the spring, you and Vigdis can finally get married, "his mother continued.
He immediately perked up. Vigdis was the earl's second daughter and a year older than he. And even though the earl had given his permission for them to be wed, Hanna, who had never been married herself, had been against the union. And he had been horrified, when his mother had offered to buy him a thrall to use as a bed-slave.
His mother was without family in this part of the land, but she was wealthy, being her father's only heir, which made Thorstar a good match for the earl's daughter; His children would be out of a respected family, and Vigdis would be well provided for. The mundr, which was the bridal-price, was high; the price of five cows. But that was to be expected.
Hanna put her sword back in the scabbard, and crouched down beside him. "Why don't you go outside for awhile? I will watch the fire for you."
(Break)
Thorstar walked through the snowy forrest, following animal paths and half-heartedly gathering fire wood as he went. He gasped for breath in the cold air, his lungs never having been strong.
After a while, he came to a clearing and halted, squinting in the clear sun light. Two blurry shapes were standing under a large oak; one a person standing on the snow blanket, the other looked like a man on a horse.
They were talking, but quieted as he entered the clearing. He put down the wood, and approached them cautiously. He were a only a few metres away, when he recognised the man standing on the ground.
Kol Mikaelson.
Kol was beyond strange. First of all, he was unbelievably tall, even taller than the earl. But he didn't stoop, like the earl did. He always held his head high, looking down on the people around him like they were vermin. Second, Thorstar had never seen him eat and he never worked, showing up whenever he liked, being immediately treated like a member of the family. He slept in the house most of the day and only came out in the dark, beating the other young men in swordsplay and drinking with the earl and his brothers.
But the strangest thing, the one that made Thorstar shiver in his furs, was that whenever he showed, people died for no apparent reason. They simply became pale and weaker and weaker, until they finally died days later.
"Kol. Hei, "he said in acknowledgement. They reached out and grabbed each others forearms in the usual greeting.
Then he turned to the horse. Two people were seated on it; a young man holding the reins and a woman leaning heavily against his back, her hair covering her face.
The man on the horse looked vaguely familiar, but Thorstar could not place him and from this distance his face looked slightly blurred. Kol noticed his staring and smiled. "This is Swein, son of Harald Bluetooth and king of the Danes, just returned from England. And his sister, Thyra."
"Vestu heil ok sæl." Thorstar nodded, not feeling in the least impressed. He knew that Svein like his father had been baptized and he did not trust christians; they brought with them concepts like sin and blasphemy, which had never had a place in his own learnings.
"I have defeated my father in battle, "Swein explained, obviously not happy with Thorstar's formal, but impassive greeting, "I have driven him into exile and seized the throne."
"I am sure this news will please your wife, "Thorstar said, not quite able to keep the disdain out of his voice. He had never had any respect for men, who went against their own kin. Family was important, but to kings it was a double edged sword that protected you with one side and slew you with the other.
Swein's wife, Gunhilda of Poland, had been staying at the earl's house ever since her husband had sailed to England almost a year ago. Six months ago, she had given birth to a son and named him Harald after her husband's father, whom she had always held in high esteem.
No, she would be anything but pleased.
And Swein knew this, sending Thorstar a tight smile.
Kol looked back and forth between them, obviously amused. He had always seemed to revel in animus situations; The more strained, the more hostile, the wider his smile. And if it ended in a fight, he was always more than ready to jump in, fighting for one side in the morning and the other in the afternoon.
"What are you doing in the woods, if you've just returned from England? Shouldn't you be at the harbour?" Thorstar asked suspiciously.
The young king and Kol exchanged glances.
"Some things are not for everyone to hear, "the king answered cryptically.
"But ... "he began, but was interrupted.
Thyra gave a deep sigh and slipped from the horse's back and landed in a heap on the snow. Swein frowned but made no move to unmount. Kol simply looked at her curiously.
Thorstar sighed and knelt down beside her. He loosened her heavy cloak, as her breathing sounded troubled. His fingers felt something underneath her collar bone and he gently pulled back the collar of her dress.
There they were; the blisters.
He looked up at the king in alarm. "Smallpox."
AN: Just so you know, I have absolutely nothing against Christianity, but it would be very foreign to Thorstar.
Anyways, most historians agree that Swein Forkbeard (Svend Tveskæg) became king of Denmark in 986, and others believe it was in 978. But who really knows?
'Hei' = hi (Old Norse, informal greeting.)
'Vestu heil ok sæl' is an Old Norse way of greeting a person of high status, it basically means 'good health and soul.'