Shimmering light poked through the shields hoisted over Bjorn’s head. Through the gaps he saw glimpses of sweaty men clad in brynja-chainmail, shouting, cursing and stabbing. Steel clashed as he peered through the shields to the front, head fitting over the shoulders of the warriors in front of him like a jigsaw piece.
Shoulder to shoulder with his men and his brodir Halfdan, Bjorn’s spear shot out, stabbing, connecting, metal rings breaking, skin splitting, blood leaking, a body dropping. Fighting in the shield wall was hard, bloody work. Many bodies acting as one, shields raised above to deflect arrows, arms and shoulders burning with battle soreness. Sheilds raised to the front to deflect spear, axe, and seax. Bodies heaving, grunting, sweating, and bleeding as one.
Bjorn was on the second row. His own shield lifted above his head, held just far enough away from his skin as to prevent an arrowhead from gouging his flesh if it pierced his shield. His job was to strike out with spear at the enemy to his front. Small spaces, tiny gaps, moments of fatigue-born mistakes, and he was poised to take advantage of it all. A glint of pink, glistening flesh and he was striking out once more, spear tip finding purchase as it slipped through skin, between bone and the drengr-warrior was falling to the ground ready to be replaced by the man behind him. Ready to take his place at Odin’s side in the great mead hall.
“We’re gaining ground,” Halfdan panted, spear lurching forward and backwards with powerful speed. “But there’s no sign of Eystein.”
“He will come,” Bjorn replied. “These are the last of his drengir, he has nowhere left to hide. Even one as he, who slayed two of my brodir, could not be so craven as to forsake his place in the great hall.”
Halfdan glanced at Bjorn, and for a moment bright blue eyes locked like fjord waters rippling in waves. He nodded, stalwart, and struck out again with his spear. Bjorn flashed him a smile as he did the same, iron bit skin, tore flesh, blood spurted, a body fell, another drengr filling in the gap in the enemy’s shield wall.
“Retreat!” No sooner were the words shouted and echoed through the ranks of Eystein’s men as a deep bellow blasted from a horn, shaking the ground, reverberations gliding though Bjorn’s bones, deep into his gut.
“Push forwards!” Halfdan yelled to a chorus of heja and the front rank were charging, screaming, weapons raised, froth flying from split lips and bloodied mouths.
“Halt!” Bjorn yelled, his powerful voice slicing through the cacophony of his men. “Maintain formation, close ranks.”
Halfdan looked at him, furrow browed and inquisitive. He smiled at his brother, a boyish grin through blood smeared teeth, flecks of scarlet dotting his face like freckles.
“What is it?” He asked, looking between Bjorn and the fleeing drengr like a tik-dog desperate to chase down a fleeing hare.
“Eystein has deep-cunning, brodir.” Bjorn replied, tapping his temple. “Charging blindly after his drengir would make us no better than Hodur.”
“I am no arrow of mistletoe, Bjorn.” Halfdan harumphed. “And Eystein is not Baldur.”
“More like Loki’s arse,” Bjorn laughed. “Still, this blood-feud is mine, this revenge is mine, we do this my way, yes?”
Halfdan nodded, his shaggy black hair draping over his forehead in thin strands, thralls escaping from the depths of the braided prison which hung low against the nape of his neck, thick and sweat soaked.
“What do we do now then, my jarl,” he said, a faint, teasing smile curling on his thin lips.
“You mock me brodir but one day that may well be my title. I am father’s rightful heir.” Bjorn winked and Halfdan’s thin smile faded into straightened lips.
“Ivar is father’s rightful heir, brodir,” Halfdan replied and Bjorn ignored him.
“Have the drengir split into three groups and move slowly up the hill. Keep the shield wall up. Spread the groups out. We will surround them and crush Eystein with our overwhelming might.”
“A deep-cunning plan brodir, but not one our drengir will thank you for when their arms are too tired, from needlessly keeping their shields up, to swing their axes.”
“Would you rather they were stuck like pigs by Eystein’s arrows and spears? Do not question me. Do as I say brodir and order the men up that hill.”
“Heja,” he replied with a nod and soon the men were moving, split into three groups as they advanced cautiously up the hill. Eystein’s drengir were nowhere in sight, but Bjorn knew that they would be there, waiting for them. He did not believe Eystein to be such an easy brood-tik as to bend over for the first Dane to invade his shores.
Whooshing noises gripped Bjorn’s ears and as he looked upwards through the small gap in the shields, he saw a volley of arrows sailing towards them.
“Arrows!” He bellowed and his drengir came to a halt, locking shields, boss to boss, wood snapping together as iron tips bit into metal or pierced the leather-wrapped wood. Grunts, curses, and a few angry shouts cascaded off the shields, bouncing around inside the shield wall, loud and grating on the ears. Bjorn felt a thud against his raised shield, shoulder burning. Looking up he saw an iron arrowhead pierce the shield, stuck barely an inch through the wood.
“Keep your shields up!” He shouted to his drengir, grunts of affirmation replying to him throughout the ranks. The arrows did not stop, raining like hail, damaging shields and draining the strength of the men.
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We can’t stay here, he thought. Steeling his eyes as he made the decision to keep moving forwards. Issuing the command, the shield wall began to move forward at an agonisingly slow pace. Thudding, piercing arrows impacting shields, men grunting, heavy breathing, numb limbs and sweat soaked brows. The shield wall edged forward bit by agonising bit until, through the slight gaps in the front rank’s shields, Bjorn could finally see the crest of the hill.
Eystein’s drengir stood tall, all in a line, defending their position from the high ground. Unheard words were shouted, then shields were locking, crashing into place, feet were moving, warrior’s stances, dropped low, legs separated, spears levelled ready to engage Bjorn’s forces.
We can’t fight them on uneven ground, he thought, trying to glimpse Halfdan’s troops on the left, or Old Svik’s on the right. He couldn’t see them, shields tight against each other in an all-round defence, blocking his view. I will have to make the hard choice. Thor, grant me strength.
“Charge!” He yelled, warriors responding with primal, feral screams as the shield wall broke away, light streaming all around Bjorn, crunching snow dyed crimson as the drengir valiantly raced forwards with axe and spear. The front line crashed into Eystein’s men, shields were forced back, ground gained, bodies hitting the snow with thuds and screams.
Glancing left and then right, Bjorn saw that both Halfdan and Svik still had their drengir in the shield wall. Good, we will crush them between us. Dropping his shield, he slid a hand axe from the loop on his leather belt then grabbed his seax from the sheath at his back. With a final glance towards Asgard above, he let out a bellowing, primal roar and charged into the fray.
Drengir fought against the line of Eystein’s men and Bjorn sprinted towards them, leaped and crashed down onto the shield of a brynja clad warrior with an iron helm and a blood-slicked spear. Kicking off the shield, Bjorn regained his balance, threw himself forwards, axe punching out, beard gripping the top of the man’s shield and pulling it down. Seax shot forward, slicing neck gristle, gullet punctured, the man screamed, falling to the ground, gurgles and blood leaking from him and painting the snowy canvas scarlet.
Darting forward into the space, Bjorn hacked at the drengr next to the man he had felled, axe biting the nape of his neck, bone crunching, body falling. A slice through air, wind threatening to chop his own neck, Bjorn spun, parrying with his seax. Before him stood a bloodied man holding shield and axe, he roared, charging towards Bjorn who ducked down, coiling his legs like a serpent, and springing upwards, shoulder barging the shield. The drengr staggered, throwing his axe at Bjron in desperation and he was ducking again, slicing, seax biting into meaty tendons and the drengr was falling as Bjorn chopped his hand axe into his face, nose splitting, eyes bulging, blood spilling.
“Drengir, with me!” He shouted and his men charged through the gap he had made in Eystein’s shield wall. Breaking through the defence, his drengir were quick to the task of battering Eystein’s men who screamed, yelled, fought, and died well.
Now trapped in the middle of a circle of Eystein’s men, Bjorn smiled widely for he knew that in a moment, it would be over, the battle won. Though he could not see them, he knew that Halfdan and Svik would have their drengir charge from the outside of the human circle, trapping Eystein’s men between them and Bjorn.
The gods smile on me this day, he thought as he slashed under the armpit of an advancing, brynja clad warrior with yellowed teeth. He howled and Bjorn slapped his cheek with the side of his axe, kicked his shield and then threw his axe which spun through the air, biting into the man’s forehead as he dropped like a sack of stone. Dashing forwards, Bjorn wrenched his axe from the skull of his attacker and then turned, throwing it a second time towards a large man holding a two-handed axe.
Grunting, the man pulled Bjorn’s axe from his shoulder and it dropped to the floor with a thud. Tugging his spear from his back, Bjorn adopted an underhand grip and darted forward. The man blocked, wood clacking against wood as haft met haft, Bjorn slashed with his seax but the man avoided it and raised his axe high above his head.
Bringing the axe down with a mighty woosh, the man growled and Bjorn was diving, rolling, then slashing at the man’s ankles. He grunted, grabbing Bjorn by the back of his brynja and launching him through the air. Yelps bit into his ears as he crashed into two of his own drengir, the world spinning, arse throbbing. Staggering, he lent on the haft of his spear and climbed to his feet, then the man was howling, charging, head down like bull, horns atop his helm adding to the imagery as Bjorn steadied himself. Taking a deep breath, he dragged his spear backwards through the air, then he launched it, the weapon soaring through the space between him and the large drengr.
A crunch followed by a squelch, then a wheeze, and then the big man was falling, spear pressing further through his impaled body. Staggering forwards, Bjorn picked up the man’s two-handed axe, the head scraping on the floor as he dragged it, then brought it up and through the air in an arc, whooshing down as the man’s head separated from his body, rolling across the blood soaked, snowy battlefield.
“He nearly had you there,” Halfdan grinned, trotting up next to Bjorn.
“No he didn’t,” Bjorn replied. “Why are you here?”
“The drengir on the left are all dead.”
“Eystein?”
Halfdan shook his head then bent down and passed Bjorn his hand axe which he slid back into the loop on his belt. “Looks like you were wrong, brodir,” he said. “Seems he is craven after all.”
“No, he’s here,” Bjorn said, blue eyes piercing through the swath of heaving, fighting bodies. “I am certain of it.”
“Ragnarssons!” The shout came loud and clear, rising above even the deafening sound of the battle-slog. Drengir on both sides stopped, turning towards the source.
Sitting atop a huge cow, a beast covered in glowing runes with dark eyes and a horned helm buckled to its large head, was Eystein. Fur-clad and wiry, the man held out a single axe which was pointed straight at Bjorn’s chest. His eyes flashed dangerously, his braided and oiled beard devoid of any dirt or blood swaying gently in the breeze.
He has not fought, Bjorn thought. Maybe Halfdan was right.
“Bjorn Ragnarsson,” he shouted again. “Why do you invade my jarldom? Has your father not left you any land of your own that you feel the need to go vikingr in mine instead?”
“You know well why I am here, bacraut,” Bjorn replied, hot rage circling his veins, fists clenching, teeth grinding as he spoke in a growl. “You murdered my brodur, Eirek and Agnar. I come to avenge them; this is a blood-feud skreyja slefja. Come, face me in a holmganga and I give you my word that your drengir will be spared. Though from how pretty those furs look, I doubt you know how to use that axe for more than chopping wood.”
Eystein’s eyes flashed once more, he pulled on the reigns and his monstrous cow reared up, hooves striking the ground like a hammer striking iron.
“You will have your holmganga,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “But only if you can best Sibilja first,” he nodded to the cow and Bjorn’s brow furrowed, then he was laughing and all his drengir joined in, Halfdan slapping his leg.
“Why would I do that?” Bjorn asked, opening his arms. “My drengir have already won this battle. You are in no position to make demands of me.”
Eystein smiled, raised his arm and from out of the woods stepped dozens of warriors, all with arrows nocked, all aimed at Bjorn and his drengir.
Old Norse Glossary:
There are lots of Old Norse words (which are used more like Pig-Latin) used in this fiction, below you’ll find a miniature dictionary for them. It is also worth noting that many Norse words which have a “D” towards the end of the word are pronounced with a “th” sound. For example, brodir would be pronounced bro-th-ir. In the same vein, the letter “J” is pronounced as a soft “y” sound in Old Norse. So heja would be pronounced “he-ya” kind of like that song by OutKast.
Aesir – Norse Gods from Asgard
Althing – Meaning “All Thing”, this word means gathering or council. This is also the name of the Icelandic parliament, the oldest surviving parliament in the world founded in 930AD
Asgard – The heavenly dwelling of the Aesir gods and slain warriors
Bacraut – Asshole
Brodir – Brother
Brodur – Brothers
Brynja – A type of chainmail
Drakkar – A large warship known for its single sail and vast storage space, typically could hold 70-120 people.
Drengr – Tested and brave warrior
Drengir – Plural of drengr
Djoful – Devil / demon
Fifl - Fool
Fukka – I’m sure you can guess what this means…
Galdr – Magic born of runes of incantations
Galinn – Crazy
Galkn - Monster
Gellir - Screamer
Grendel – A troll from the Anglo-Saxon epic poem Beowulf
Heja – A cheer, often used in place of “come on” when referring to a team
Holmganga – Single combat / a one on one duel
Karvi – A small longship, which was able to sail in shallow waters, such as rivers. Typically crewed by 25-30 people.
Jo Furr – Warriors of the cult of the boar, known for wearing helmets with the boar insignia and their worship of Freyr and Freyja.
Jotun – Frost giants from Jotunheim (a mystical ice-world from Norse mythology)
Midgard – The mortal plane (Earth)
Mj?lnir – Thor’s hammer
Saga – A story, usually told in poetic verse
Seidr – Ritual magic, often associated with religious leaders
Slefja – Dribbler
Skald – A poet / storyteller
Skitr – A stronger word for poop
Skreyja – Incompetent
Tik – Female dog
Ulfhedinn – Warriors of the Odin cult, famed for wearing wolf skin headdress
Vikingr – Raiding / to go raiding
Winnigas – Wrapping, usually worn from the ankle to just below the knee.
Mythology Stories Referenced:
Occasionally mythological tales are referenced within this story. Norse and Danes told these tales often as fables (stories which have a message and help people to learn things). As such, some of them are referenced in conversation. For those which were not explained in the story itself, I have expanded on them here. However this is not an exhaustive list of mythological stories and is merely a brief expansion to help moments in Battle Born Berserkr make more sense. If you are interested in learning more about Norse mythos or simply want to read some of these stories yourself, there is a wealth of knowledge online and multiple great books available which tell these timeless tales.
Hodur & Baldur – In this story Loki tricked Hodur into throwing an arrow made of mistletoe at Baldur after discovering that it was his only weakness (Baldur could not be harmed by anything else). Baldur died immediately and his blind brother Hodur was killed by a new god called Valli.
Nornir – The Nornir were female beings of both benevolent and malevolent intent. They draw water from the well of Urdr to nourish Yggdrasill (the tree of life) and prevent it from rotting. The Norse believed that they controlled the fates of both mortals and gods, often depicted as weaving strings of fate on large looms. There were three main Nornir, Skuld being one of them. Think of them as the Norse equivalent to Fates in Graeco-Roman mythology.
Odin & his ravens: Huginn and Muninn:
J?rmungandr:
Midgard (Earth / the realm of mortals), biting its own tail. Thought to be located under the sea, it was believed that when he released his tail from his jaws it would signal of the coming of Ragnar?k (the end of the world).
Ragnar?k:
Ivaldi (the inspiration behind the dwarves we know and love from many modern fantasy stories) to create unbreakable chains to bind Fenrir for all eternity. Of course, in this story one can’t defeat fate no matter how hard they try, even if they are a god.
