Thorfinn and the Witch's Curse

by Jay Veloso Batista

  “You killed my brother, Alfenson,” he growled, “Time for a real wergild, eh? A life for a life…Time to die like the pig you are.”

  The two attackers on either side of him slowly circled, their swords held ready, moving closer with each step.

  “We will take your blade from your dying hands, Alfenson,” Magnus continued, “We will keep it from you in death. You know we will keep you from Valhalla. You will be cursed. You will join your father and brother in Niflheim.” Karl grit his teeth and held his tongue while Magnuson taunted him, barking short laughs and huffing with exertion. Karl guessed they would strike at once, each from different sides, his chance of escape lowered by fatigue and minor wounds.

  Behind him, Karl heard shouts of alarm. Magnuson jumped forward, swinging high from his right—expecting this move, Karl ducked under the arc of his blade. Putting all his force into his counter-attack, Karl parried the other assailant’s sword swinging at his chest from his opposite side with a bone jarring blow, then rebounded his blade to catch Magnusson’s return with a scrape. Magnuson snarled and brought his blade singing toward Karl’s head, but anticipating this move, Karl dodged again. The other swordsman huffed and grunted, swinging a roundhouse blow at Karl’s belly, only to be deflected by Karl’s quick reflexes.

  Suddenly, that unnamed man dropped to his knees, eyes wide in surprise. An eerie, high-pitched wail erupted from his throat, and he toppled face down in the gravel. His body went rigid, shaking, his muscles seized and trembling. Magnuson grumbled under his breath and continued his assault. Karl parried his attack, one, two, three, and then swung low to nick his thigh. Enraged, Magnuson pressed forward, gripping his blade in two hands and attacking with ferocity.

  Stay calm, Karl cautioned himself, this is an illegal act, they will pay—no need to kill and forfeit another wergild. He easily blocked Magnuson’s attack from the left, ducked under the return swing and pricked his adversary in his side. Magnuson screamed and brought his sword over his head in a downward slash which Karl deflected to the ground, and taking advantage of the opening, Karl struck him in the face with his fist, smashing his nose with a satisfying crunch. Karl could hear sounds of people entering the boat yard, and behind Magnuson, he saw the taller wounded man begin to back away, his sword gripped awkwardly in his left hand.

  Magnuson, blood streaming down his chin from a crushed nose, seemed blind with anger. His attacks swung wide. Fatigue made him careless. He cursed and spit and smacked the dirt with his strikes. Karl blocked a few of his wild attacks, deflected a swing to the right and slapped his head with the flat of the blade, hard enough to make his ear ring. In a clumsy counter, Magnuson jabbed his blade directly at Karl, who dodged, reached in close and nicked his other leg.

  Witnesses surrounded them on the pitch, the fighters could hear them muttering. After another poke in his side, Magnuson suddenly realized Karl played with him. He wiped his bloody face with his left arm and began to back away from the contest. Karl pressed forward and sensing the blood lust failing his opponent, Karl took the offensive. Changing the tempo, Karl attacked with no discernible pattern, battering Magnuson’s sword with bone numbing frequency. Magnuson paled under the fury of the counter attack.

  As Magnuson retreated, Karl, his face set and emotionless, controlled the combat, carving the air with his sword. The sounds of the battle filled the night. A crowd gathered but none interrupted. Karl pressed his opponent, Magnuson stumbling backwards up the path to the shed, blood flowing from wounds on each leg, from each side and from his crushed nose. He waved his sword in confusion as Karl feinted with his body and his sword danced in the air around his head. Karl led his swing, first right, then left, then before he could recover, sliced his forearm deep enough to cut a tendon. His weapon dropped clattering from his useless hand. Before he could react, Karl snatched his tunic in his fist and without a word, smacked the sputtering Magnuson in the temple with his sword hilt.

  Magnuson tottered, tried to speak and fell forward on his knees. Karl aimed a kick and put his attacker face down in the dirt. With his foot firmly planted on his opponent’s back, Karl faced the crowd assembled in the boatyard.

  “Now, that’s what I call a wedding!” Cerdic shouted at him, “You put on one fine show!”

  Agne advanced up the path to him, concern on his face. He could see most of the guests had joined them in the yard.

  “You are bleeding, brother.”

  “Scratches,” Karl patted his shoulder and his side, to check the damage, “Not too dear, these. I’ve had worse….”

  “Who?”

  “Blood feud. Gani Magnuson, come to avenge his brother.” Karl motioned to the man face down beneath his boot. They could hear Magnuson moaning in the dirt. Below, Karl saw Agne’s men had disarmed the tall man with the wounded arm and forced him to lift the two spasmed men sprawled in the gravel yard. Havar’s head topped the crowd, a worried look on his face.

  “Fool,” Agne spit. “On my daughter’s wedding, no less.”

  “They must have thought we would let our guard down.”

  “We found one of my men, bound behind the barn. He was cut badly, they must have forced him to talk before they trussed him up. That’s how they knew where to find you.”

  Karl nodded, “Aye, I suspected something like that.”

  “How did you overcome them, four to one? And those two that show no mark, no cut or bruise, how did you take them?”

  Karl shrugged. “I don’t know—they were fighting and then… then they just collapsed. Like they were struck down by the gods.”

  “I did it.”

  Both men turned to face the voice behind them.

  There, in the pit house doorway stood Finn, his woolen cap tossed aside and his long, white hair hanging loose over his shoulders. In his hand he held his broken sax.

  “I stopped them,” he calmly told them, his head held high and chin thrust forward, a serious squint furrowing his brow. He held his stub of a sword higher.

  “It was me.”

  Epilogue

  Agne and Karl sat on a bench propped against the barn wall, the summer sun warm on their faces. They could hear the noise of the Verdandi Smiles crew scraping down the hull and tarring the clinker planks, the smell of the pitch hanging pungent in the hot summer air. The boys practiced swordplay before them, Cub facing Mog to practice with a wooden axe against longsword, and Sorven attempting to dominate his younger brother with his weight and height advantage. Despite his size, Finn fought aggressively, ducking under Sorven’s shield and rapping his ribs with his wooden stick. He laughed at his brother’s yelp of pain, and he danced around him, smacking his shield and sword repeatedly. His black raven perched on the eaves cawed encouragement and hopped from one foot to the other.

  “That boy has changed.”

  “Yes,” Karl nodded, watching the scuffle in the dusty yard, “Found his nerve, I’d say.”

  “He’s still convinced he defeated those two men the night of the wedding…”

  “I heard they recovered but have no idea what caused their fit.”

  “Olaf Dornson has sent word. Finn was apprenticed to his wood carving shop. Seems he heard of the vardoger,” Agne sighed. “Says he’ll not apprentice a cursed boy.”

  Karl raised an eyebrow. “Cursed? By old one eye’s beard, that boy’s not cursed.”

  “Ruinda says her spells failed, the boy is still haunted by a forerunner.”

  “What will you do with him?”

  “I don’t know,” Agne dug his boot toe in the gravel, “Perhaps send him off to Cerdic…”

  “No, brother,” Karl put his hand on Agne’s shoulder. “Send him with me.”

  “He’s too young to go raiding.”

  “True, but our first trip is back North to relieve the men I left with MacDonnell. We can give the lad a taste of the sea, and if it is not to his liking, we can ship him back by way of the Scots.”

  “And if he takes to it?”

  “We travel back eas
t, north of the Danevirke Wall, to call on the Wadden Sea isles, the Orkneys, Zetland and North Frisia, and back to Agder and Skane. We can teach him the ways of the sea.”

  “Only ten summers….”

  “Brother,” Karl held his gaze, “I will watch over him. I swear to you no harm will come to the boy while he is in my charge.”

  Agne nodded and they grasped arms and shook. “Teach him our ways and have Jormander teach him songs and runes. I’ll not have him returned illiterate.”

  “He can even bring ‘thought’ or ‘memory,’ whichever that bird is,” Karl grinned, “The men will see it as a good omen…at least until Erik’s falcon takes it for dinner!” They both chuckled.

  Agne looked over at the longhouse door, where Gurid stood holding Neeta in her arms, Yeru beside her shaking out a blanket.

  “It is a pact, little brother,” Agne’s smile faded and he spoke seriously, “Now you go tell his mother that you are taking her youngest boy away to the Viking seas!”

  Dramatis Personae

  --Agne Alfenson, second born son of Alf Ironfist, keeper of his Clan’s ancestral blade Wolftongue, and an iron shield with an imprint of Thor’s hammer on its boss; reputed descendent of Ongentheow, the House of Scylfingar, a son of Skane

  --Gurid of Eddisbury, known as Blue-eyes

  --Agne Agneson, age 16, known as “Cub,” first son and heir of Agne Alfenson and Gurid of Eddisbury

  --Sorven Agneson, age 12, second son of Agne Alfenson and Gurid of Eddisbury

  --Thorfinn Agneson, age 10, youngest son of Agne Alfenson and Gurid of Eddisbury

  --Willa Agnesdatter, age 15, daughter of Agne Alfenson and Gurid of Eddisbury

  --Kara Agnesdatter, age 14, Hilda Agnesdatter, age 7, and Neeta Agnesdatter, age 8 months, daughters of Agne Alfenson and Gurid of Eddisbury

  --Yeru, Gurid’s older, widowed cousin and nurse to Agne’s children

  --Mae, Yeru’s daughter, age 15

  --Bjorn, Smith of Jorvik, shield man to Agne, with wife Hilda

  --Mog, Son of Yrso, Agne Alfenson’s shield man

  --Ursep, Mog’s wife

  --Gaute the Dane, Agne Alfenson’s shield man

  --Tima, Wife of Gaute

  --Old Gyn, Tom, Sven and Ned, Agne Alfenson’s shield men

  --Dundle, a newly hired hand

  --Tormod Tormodson (the Elder), Danish landholder on the western border with Mercia

  --Inga Hansdatter, wife of Tormod the Elder

  --Tormod, Son of Tormod, age 18, called ‘Espen’

  --Heigl, second son of Tormod the Elder, age 13

  --Gisle, daughter of Tormod the Elder, age 10

  --Sven, Son of Gorn and Mono, Son of Hans, Tormod the Elder’s shield men

  --Err Kenjason of Jorvik, shield man to Agne Agneson and an old family friend

  -- Olaf, Son of Dorn, renown woodworker

  --Gani Magnuson, a landholder in the Danelaw

  --MacDonnell, a Scots elder

  --Eanulf, Alderman of Eddisbury in West Mercia, bannerman of Ceolwulf the second, King of West Mercia, Father of Cerdic and Gurid

  --Cerdic, Son of Eanulf, Alderman of Eddisbury in West Mercia, bannerman of Ceolwulf the second, King of West Mercia, older brother of Gurid

  --Karl Alfenson, third son of Alf Ironfist, reputed descendent of the House of Scylfingar, Son of Skane, captain of the snekke longboat ‘Verdandi Smiles’

  Crew of the ‘Verdandi Smiles:’

  --Jormander the Skald*

  --Snorri, Son of Olaf*

  --Goorm Bloodaxe, berserker

  --Erik, falconer*

  --Jorn, known as Wyrm Slayer

  --Kol Skegg, shipwright and pilot

  --Rurik the Saarlased, a Letts Sea (Baltic Sea) pirate

  --Thorvald, fisherman, net keeper*

  --Hagbard, Smithy*

  --Sorli, Son of Gwerd

  --Sven Horseman

  --Arthi, Son of Horl*

  --Hamdir, Son of Ingemar

  --Vermund the Archer

  --Lars, Son of Birgit*

  --Ingulf, Son of Osgulf

  --Marn the Cook

  --Budli Warhammer

  --Havar Darkhead

  (*From Agne Agneson’s household)

  --Kella of Anglia, a Celtic Witch, also known as ‘Kellanthia’

  --Baenoth known as Bearman

  About the Author

  Jay Veloso Batista is an author of technical non-fiction, poetry and role-playing games. ‘Thorfinn and the Witch’s Curse’ is the first book in The Forerunner Saga, the tale of the Agneson clan circa 890 England. Jay loves history and adventures and good craft beer! A frequent traveler, a technology executive, father and grandfather, Jay lives on the eastern Delaware shore with his wife where they can kayak, swim in the ocean and eat lots of blue fin crabs!

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