The Sire Sheaf

by Russ L. Howard

  Finally, the ground was stable enough that he gave the horse his head and, at the same time, gave out another shout, hoping to distract the bear once again. But the damned beast ignored him this time and was now attempting to reach the girl. With one mighty burst of energy, the grizzly lunged upright on the stone anchoring its feet on the lower shelf of the rock. Its mighty claw swiped at Sur Sceaf’s daughter. She hurtled off the rock to the ground some fifteen feet below.

  Sur Sceaf caught a glimpse of red spread over her white tunic and shouted, “Brekka, freeze, I’m coming!” But Brekka had already scrambled to her feet and, with renewed vigor, plied her shaking spear adeptly against the jaws of the monster, which was clumsily climbing down from the stone. Obviously enraged, the bear shook its head and snapped its bloody jaws at the obsidian spear point that challenged him.

  Towering over her on its hind legs, the grizzly parried the spear thrusts with a massive paw while at the same time attempting to bury those claws in her flesh.

  Deftly deflecting another murderous blow with her spear, she danced backward and poked at its eyes. “You killed my sheep! Now I kill you!” she shouted.

  Now within ten feet of the beast, Sur Sceaf uttered another enraged war cry. This time the bear roared back. With a leg signal Sur Sceaf caused White Fire to rear up. Another signal brought White Fire’s hooves down like sledge hammers, one hoof on the spine and the other on the head of the bear. The troll-beast staggered, before falling to all fours.

  Sur Sceaf kicked free of the stirrups and leaped off his horse onto the stunned bear’s broad upper back, his breath rushing out of his lungs from the impact as he clung to the rancid fur of the beast. With his left hand anchored in the fur, he pulled his scramasax from its leg sheath and stabbed the razor sharp blade repeatedly into the beast’s flesh. Each jab of his knife ratcheted him higher up its back until he reached a good grip of fur at the head.

  The grizzly shook his head in a rage, rose up, and tried to free himself from Sur Sceaf’s grip. But Sur Sceaf wrapped his legs tightly around the bear’s upper rib cage, and gripped even tighter with his hand. The bear turned slavering snapping jaws to one side towards him. Its turned head created enough torsion on the monster’s throat to allow Sur Sceaf’s blade to sever the jugular. Sprays of hot blood pulsed through the cool morning air. The troll fought desperately to free itself, but Sur Sceaf held tight, feeling the hot bloody blast of the monster’s nostrils splattering across his face in the frequent exhales.

  Still the beast refused to die. Tightening his legs to avoid being thrown off, he sawed with the scramasax until he heard the gurgling of blood rising from the grizzly’s throat. The steady spurts of red blood gushing through the air in ever heavier pulses signaled to him the bear was dying.

  With one last effort the mountainous beast rose up and fell backwards over Sur Sceaf, its life force spent. Exhausted, and his heart pounding, Sur Sceaf pushed and pulled his way out of the acrid bloody fur, then with a forceful push he managed to slide out from under the monster’s weight.

  Stiffly, he rose to his feet still clutching the dripping blade with a bloody hand. Turning, he gasped for air just as his daughter launched herself into his arms. A sigh of relief and gratitude to Freya escaped his lungs. Brekka appeared shaken, a torn bunny with her dress askew, blood running down her arm, and her wild hair a tangled mess.

  “Fa, I was so scared, I thought I was going to die!” Brekka let out amidst racking sobs. “The bear chust came charging out of the thicket and mauled the flock before I could find my spear. I did my best to save the flock, but I was nothing more than a yapping little dog to him! So I plunged my spear up his ass.”

  “Brekka,” he managed to push through an emotion-constricted throat, “I don’t care a damned thing about the flock. I only care about you!” He wiped a smear of blood from her freckled cheek before gently pushing her away. “Let me see those claw marks on your arm.”

  “It’s nothing Fa,” Brekka said. “Really, I’m fine. Only my pride hurts.”

  Sur Sceaf sheathed his scramasax, held her arm, examined the cuts through the torn blood soaked linen, then took the scarf from around Brekka’s neck and made a sling. All the while he sang silent praise to All Father Odhin for preserving his daughter alive.

  “Looks like the wounds aren’t all that deep, but we need to wash it off in order to see better.” Glancing over at White Fire, now grazing calmly in the tall grass, he said, “I’ve got bandages in my medicine bag. Let’s dress these wounds properly and then I want you to explain to your fa what you are doing this far afield and all alone. Where is your older brother?”

  Before she could answer, he heard shouts coming from the wood behind them. He quickly moved between Brekka and the wood and readied his scramasax. Braced for battle, he turned to see two young men racing towards them. It didn’t take long to realize it was Arundel, his eldest son, and his son’s blood brother, yellow-haired Xelph of the Sharaka Bear Clan. He sighed heavily and found himself torn between both relief and rage. If I hadn’t come at the moment I did...

  The young bloods halted a few feet from the grizzly’s lifeless carcass, with mouths agape.

  Sur Sceaf bellowed, “Arundel, why in the hell is my daughter here all alone? For Woon’s sake, she’s only thirteen. I ought to cut the both of you from nave to chaps and skin your hides on the spot. I damn well would... had anything happened to her!”

  His eldest son looked up in shock, shook his long brown hair from his face and said, “I’m sorry Fa. There is no excuse.”

  Brekka stepped in front of Sur Sceaf, a tiny protectoress of her brawny big brother. “It’s no one’s fault, Fa, the bear chust came out of nowhere.”

  Mad as he was, Sur Sceaf was amused with her fierce stance. “It’s not only bears that you have to fear, my dear. How many times have you been warned that Pitter raiding parties are everywhere these days? Only last moonth a mushroom gleaning party of young women disappeared from the Table Top settlement south of here. Turns out they were taken by a band of Pitter hell-rats. Fortunately for them, the Wose killed the rat pack and brought the girls safely back home.”

  Xelph cast a guilty look at the bear and lowered a sack with a small keg in it to the ground before saying in a low voice, “Forgive me, my Lord Sur Sceaf. As Ary’s friend, I cannot defend such stupidity. When we heard Brekka’s scream and the grizzly’s roaring, we rushed back as quickly as we could make it.”

  The young blood appeared genuinely contrite, but Sur Sceaf was not in a forgiving mood. “What if I hadn’t come along? What if she had died? What would you say then?”

  Brekka frowned and touched her father’s arm for emphasis. “But you did come along, and, besides, when I was a child, Ary taught me how to fight with a spear and to hold my ground against any beast. You strike the butt of the spear to the ground, then thrust alternatively. It disorients the beast. Ary taught me a warrior always carries her spear, and so you see, I had it near.” She turned her face up at him with her twinkling green eyes and her little dimples manifesting her most charming personality. It was a look she affected whenever she wanted something. It usually worked, but not this time.

  “I’m not saying I’m not glad you came, Fa. You were truly magnificent, but please don’t be mad at Ary and Xelph. By the Goddess Yster, you are here and it’s no one’s fault that the bear attacked our flock.”

  Arundel straightened his white tunic beneath his red sash, token that he was of the bloodline. He slid his scramasax back in its leg sheath and declared firmly, “You don’t need to be my advocate, Sis. I will answer for myself.” Meeting his father’s gaze he declared, “I’m sorry Fa. It’s obvious I am derelict in my stewardship.”

  Sur Sceaf felt some of the tension releasing in his muscles. Once again he stilled his heart with thoughts of praise to the gods. For all his youthful mistakes and follies, his son was becoming an honorable man.

  “Fa, I’m honestly glad it happened,” Brekka said earnestly. “Now I have claw marks
of distinction. It’s like you always say, good can come out of evil. Let’s make it so.”

  Sur Sceaf looked down into her green-gold eyes. “In all my thirty three years this is the closest I’ve ever been to Hell. What if you had died?How could I ever live without my little lioness?” He tousled her hair and drew her close to him in a warm side hug.

  “But I’m here.” She smiled, her dimples deepening. “Aren’t you proud of me though?”

  “Brekka, my little lioness, yes, I’m proud as corn of you. You’ll make a great warrior someday. Just like the Lady Knight Myra-El of long ago. I can already see that spirit in you.”

  Brekka beamed, “Oh Fa, do you really think so?”

  “Never been more sure than just now, Spear Shaker.” He grasped her red ringlets with his fingers, taking note of the warrior spirit in his daughter, and gave her a grip to enforce his assurance. He pondered, Even now at only thirteen winters, on the edge of fourteen, she is indeed a Herewardi warrior. Most anyone would have crumbled under such a fierce attack, but she stood every inch of her ground. He considered the time she showed Hrothgar her skills as an excellent horseman in a tournament contest and knew she was a head above any other riders of her age, even those far older than her. Brekka, you beautiful child of my soul. He cleared his throat and said, “But my heart stopped when I saw you, a little slip of a girl, going up against that monster troll of a bear. Anyone of less courage would have been shredded before I could have gotten to them.” He felt his body quake at the thought.

  “Like Mother once said, you always over-react when one of your kids is in danger and that we just need to be patient until you cool off.”

  Sur Sceaf laughed, feeling the last of the tension leave his body. “I praise the All Father that you’re alive and that his spirit directed me here when it did. And as usual, you always manage to soothe my temper. Come here, you little wild cat! Let me give you a long hug, so I can know you’re truly alive and this is not some horrible nightmare.” He took her in his arms and squeezed, remembering how bright she was. Even as an infant he recognized there was a brightness that exceeded anything he had ever seen in a babe before. He gave her one last squeeze and said, “Thank the gods, my little fire-faery is safe.”

  Xelph kicked the bear with his lambskin boots. “It’s really all my fault, my lord. After breakfast, I led Ary away from his duties to get a keg of ale we had stored in a rock cairn last fall. All seemed peaceful. We saw no tracks. We had no idea there was even a bear in the area until we heard the grizzly’s roar, Brekka’s screams, and your war cry. We ran back as fast as our legs would take us.”

  Sur Sceaf looked around and sniffed the air. “The smell of cooking bacon is probably what drew the bear down here in the first place. Not a good sign that the trolls are now here in the valley.”

  “We should have cleaned up after breakfast. Since the fault lies with me,” Xelph said, “I will make good your losses from my flock.”

  Sur Sceaf noticed beneath Xelph’s shock of thick golden hair, his sickly ashen color was turning back to its usual bronze hue, the same color as his buckskin shirt. “I thank you for the offer, Xelph. The loss is not that great as long as you all have learned the lesson, to always put the interest and protection of the innocent first.”

  “No, please, I have got to cut back my flock anyway. I have to apply myself to my studies in wyrt-cunning. The plants are taking more and more of my time and even the Lady Redith is saying I’m a healer of unusual skill. So I insist on paying you from my flock, and that’s that.”

  Brekka said, “Oh, will you teach me about plants too, Xelph? Fa Mo Redith says you will be one of the greatest medicine men ever to walk the Ea-Urth. Said it was in your blood and spirit.” Brekka beamed, “Will you teach me?”

  Xelph looked bedazzled by her interest. “I will, if you promise the next time Ary says you can’t come with us, you will obey,” he said. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t tagged along.”

  She glowered at him and opened her mouth to reply when Sur Sceaf declared, “My dearling, that’s excellent advice Ary’s blood-brother gives you. A fyrd warrior always follows their commander’s directives.”

  Brekka jerked her chin and Ary said, “Sis, you better swan swear to this.”

  “Alright,” she said, turning back in half-disgust, “I swan swear.” She raised both arms to the square.

  “A warrior will always keep her word,” Sur Sceaf said as he looked around. “Now that that’s settled, let’s assess the damage, and tomorrow I want y’all to take the flocks back into Namen Jewell. If the grizzlies are coming down then the wolves are sure to follow. It’s safer there and my stewards will have instructions for you.” He thought about how much he regretted leaving his family and what joy he took in each one of them, but the commission came from the governing body of the Roufytrof. Out of love and devotion for the commonwealth, no honorable Herewardi would deny any request from the Roufytrof, for the Roufytrof were always the good shepherds of the people and had long earned the love and trust of all Herewardi.

  Sur Sceaf said, “I noticed a pond over there to the south where Brekka and I can wash off the blood. Then, I need to dress Brekka’s wounds better.” He grinned at Arundel and Xelph before adding, “And after that, you boys can pour me some of that ale you were so set on fetching.”

  Brekka grinned. “Make it a big one, Xelph. He deserves it.”

  Chapter 2: The Haligryft in the Umpqua

  By late afternoon of the third day, as Sur Sceaf followed the Umpqua River towards its head waters, he found himself riding into a sun dappled glen. Smooth sinewy branches of madrone reached out of the multi-colored blankets of shooting stars, orchids, deer’s tongue, and wild ginger that colored the pallet of the forest floor like a soft comforter.

  The weather could not have been better. It was as if the gods had smiled on his journey. Though he was eager to reach the Sharaka Camp at DiAhman, the first stop on his mission was the Haligryft, a sacred stone that had followed the Herewardi longfathers since the dawn of their reckoning of time.

  The journey was a long one and as experience had taught him, best taken at a steady pace so as not to weary either man or steed. The deeper he got into the forest, the more the days passed like dreams. The trail to the DiAhman was always clear, kept so by the much grazing of sheep and goat flocks that moved through there, in order to keep safe trade routes opened for merchants, travelers, and armies. The road had been built by the Master Builder Muryh and, except for some stretches, made for easy movement.

  From time to time, he went off trail and stopped for meditation and prayer. Ancestral voices tended to whisper through the soughing of the tall fir trees. More than one of the great voices from the past imparted wisdom to his heart. One needed only to attune one’s heart to the still small voice of the Ur Fyr and then the voices of the beloved departed spoke through the seed code. Such was the religion of the Herewardi, the belief that the Kingdom of the Gods could be accessed through the heart.

  The Thunder Waters of the Umpqua roared even more loudly as he rode through the area surrounding the Sylph Falls and into yet another open glen. The sound of White Fire’s hooves were muffled by the soft moss underfoot. Sun beams streamed through the towering firs, lighting their massive trunks like the spires of an ancient Herewardi temple.

  A sense of piety and reverence filled him, as though this peaceful meadow was rich with magical powers usually veiled from mortal eyes and only understood by Heathen hearts. To his left rose a shear face of basalt wall which was crowned by ancient trees that seemed pasted to the sky far above his head. Coming from between rock and sky, waters fell into view from a shimmering cascade to break over the rocks below where a large crystal pool threaded many streamlets in all directions. To the east across the flat forest floor stood the moss-covered Harrow Stone of weathered granite known as the Haligryft.

  Placed on a Holy Site by the first Herewardi settlers to the Umpqua, it stood six feet tall with a large
smoothly worn hole at the crown, through which, in times past, people on each side would clasp hands in a manner the high priestess called the marriage grip and swear oaths of betrothal, fidelity, or divorce.

  A short distance from the Harrow Stone lay a large granite crypt with ritual objects for immediate use by any worthy traveler or pilgrim versed in the Old Time Religion of Odhin, what Outlanders referred to as the Heathen Religion, the religion Sur Sceaf held most dear to his heart, though he loved the Sharaka Gods and the Christ as well.

  Beyond the crypt was a smooth yard-cubed jade stone named the Perfect Ashlar that was set in the center of the glen, perfectly oriented to the four points of Heaven. The Harrow Stone was directly four man lengths to the east from the ashlar and allowed the worshiper to pass between them with a horse during the forty-four perambulations required at the Rite of the Haligryft. The glen, the water falls, and the stones all constituted the Haligryft or the Holy Grounds.

  This was the ancient home of the water spirits and had consequently become a place sacred to both the Herewardi and Sharaka peoples. It was a place Sur Sceaf had been to many times. As a youth he would come here with his father, Sur Spear, to seek kingly inspiration, for those of king’s blood were admonished to visit the Haligryft moonthly in fasting and prayer. Here, the water sprites were known to bestow clarity of vision, purpose of mission, and divine enlightenment upon sincere seekers.

  These ancient Haligryft rituals had been designed to protect the seeker from dangerous beings. For this portal, once opened, could admit either good or evil entities. He knew Hryre Seath, the Dark and Damned, could at this very moment have his Black Priesthood scanning their corrupt seer stones to spy on him, for the spirit of the Dark Elf had blinded the Pitters and taught them an imitation of the true gift of seership that had come down in purity to the Herewardi.