The Bok of Syr Folk

by Russ L. Howard

  Ahy looked a bit dazed. “It certainly is an eye opener. So much of what the Herewardi teach through their rituals leaves much for individual interpretation, yet the main message is very clear. We’re engaged in a constant effort to survive, and preserve the bloodline of Howrus. With you as our leader, Sur Sceaf, I am convinced that we shall ultimately triumph.”

  Not a day passed that Sur Sceaf did not treasure the beauty, intelligence, and company of this choice wife. He looked deep into her cornflower blue eyes and realized their love was eternal.

  Sur Sceaf continued to interpret the action and pageantry on stage. As they watched the pageant they saw the unnatural beasts overtaking the fleeing Herewardi.

  Taneshewa looked upset and wide eyed as she said, “Is there no help for the widow’s orphans of Herewardom? The enemy is overtaking them.”

  “Be patient. The fanisk burns to arise from the ashes, each time a little more purified and stronger than before.”

  “The actors aren’t really saying much!”

  “Bees work in silence, so does virtue.”

  Chapter 2 : Tolerance Takes Root

  The winter wore on like an unwanted guest on the Isle of Ilkchild. The settlers placed buckets under thatched roofs that dripped with rain and slogged through the mud of unfinished roads.

  During a break between rain squalls, Sur Sceaf exited the Stone Hall into the deep fogs of early morning and walked straight to the livery. After saddling White Fire, he rode out to assess the damage done by the recent storm. Branches from trees had been carried by wind and lodged like forests into nearby wheat fields. Riding along the beach he noted numerous boats were torn from their moorings and deposited upon the land.

  He hurriedly rode back to the Stone Hall and sounded an assemblage of his fyrd. He directed them to clothe their horses in their finest garb and to wear their knightly uniforms. Sur Spear had taught him that to be a king requires glamour, so in accord he had the horses clad in colorful blankets and the knights that rode with him flaunted the most colorful of banners as they set out in a procession to ride the circuits between the settlements and help where they could with fallen trees, damaged roofs, and harvesting the fallen timber.

  It was after one of these processions that he retired to the Lord’s Chamber in the stony walls of the palace at the Ram’s Head Fortress. Seating himself at his desk, he took a moment to ground himself between sky and ea-urth by practicing his breathing. When he had achieved a measure of calmness and peace he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and gazed deeply into the glass inkwell that Redith the seeress had gifted him and from which he had often divined the future.

  The room grew dark and smoky. It was so quiet he could hear the beating of his own heart. Slowly, images took form, first in the inkwell, then expanding to the walls surrounding him. Vivid visions opened of tremendous battles; of clashing blades and speeding arrows; of warriors felled and warriors triumphant; of blood and gore and death untold.

  He saw many tribes of people gathered for battle beneath flags he had never seen before. He saw waheela, the monstrous bear-wolves, coming out of the North, and ravenous dire-wolves afflicting farmsteads and forcing people to flee ever southwards before them. Pitters and the Vardropi waited in the South to exploit and enslave the tribes in labor camps scattered throughout the newly emerging drowned lands of the Mys-Isis basin.

  He beheld Pitter banners flapping in charges on innocent and defenseless villages, wreaking mayhem, rape, and ruin. Again, he saw long lines of slaves and caravans of endless numbers of people being driven into corrals. The land crawled with vile creatures of dark legend: trolls, shadow shooters, vampyrs, succubi, waels, niccors, and creeps.

  Like a great darkness covering the land, Pitter hordes, as numerous as locusts in multitude, enslaved the peoples of the world, leaving devastation, waste, and destruction behind. The vision shimmered and shifted, then revealed a large black wave of Pitters crashing against the Golden Obelisk atop Godeselle.

  Chaos ensued. Entire tribes ran to and fro in the land like schools of fish fleeing a shark attack. Emerging from the Golden Obelisk came a queen with flaming red hair all dressed in white, who brandished an elf blade above her head and a shield with the aegis of Herewardom. She went forth on a great white steed against the Pitters, conquering and to conquer.

  Completely drained, he closed his eyes and laid without moving for a time—minutes, hours, he knew not. His strength slowly returned to his limbs. He rose, then, to leave the chamber and call an elder moot for a moot fire in the mooting hall. When the elder moot had assembled, he related his visions to the thirteen present members of the Roufytrof.

  Sitting at the head of the large kauri table Sur Sceaf listened as Aonghuswyrd declared. “It is clear to me that this vision you have had came to you because you are the Anointed One of Odhin, but we, as members of the Roufytrof, must try it and prove it to know of a surety its truth. Would you go over it once again so that we might examine it more closely?”

  Much discussion arose, and much dismay. Sur Sceaf was asked to describe for the third time the vision in detail, during which recitation he was frequently asked to provide his interpretation of what he had seen.

  Finally, Long Swan petitioned for the floor. He pulled down his hood. “It is very clear to me that this vision falls in line with the prophecies of the Longfathers. I believe it means we are going to come upon very dark times soon and out of these dark times there will arise a woman warrior. Dare I say it betokens the day of the Seed of the Woman is at hand. The hour is dark and it is time the light be unhooded and come forth to break the darkness. I yield the floor.”

  Aelfweard was granted the floor and rose, clothed in the Saxon-green robes of an entered apprentice lore master. “I have often said there is no way for the woman seed to perform her mission if we do not have an Order of Lady Knights to aid her in the final destruction of the Pitters. In light of this vision, I suggest that it is time to search throughout all the Herewardi kingdoms for qualified women warriors and charter an Order of Lady Knights. I yield the floor to the young godhi, Aonghuswyrd.”

  Aonghuswyrd pulled back the beige hood of his godhi robe, as is custom before one speaks, revealing his mane of tawny hair. “I agree we need an Order of Lady Knights, but first I believe we must wait for the gods to show whom they have ordained to lead it.”

  Long Swan said, “A logical suggestion, Aonghuswyrd. We can only hope that it is made known unto us soon enough. But in the meantime, I feel it would be prudent to mark some potential lady knights and encourage their gifts with proper training. At this point we will not officially designate them as lady knights.”

  Sur Sceaf asked for approval of Long Swan’s suggestion. All raised their right hands to the square and said in unison, “So mote it be!”

  “Are there any other proposals for the benefit of the Herewardi or the Confederation in general?” He paused for answer. “Then hearing none we will close this matter and I charge all of you to begin looking for likely recruits for the Order of Lady Knights.”

  “And Long Swan, record this vision in the Syr Tongue of the Elfabet on scrolls of vellum and record that it is the will of the Roufytrof to support the order of the lady knights. Then submit it to the Council of Women for their final approval.”

  After the elder moot had departed, Sur Sceaf and Long Swan lingered. While the scribe was scoring and finishing up the vellum, Sur Sceaf looked out the window and pondered the idea of having lady knights once again. When Long Swan was done they made a few minor corrections and added a few comments and pictures in the gutter of the scroll.

  “Excellent recall, as always,” Sur Sceaf said with a tired smile. “I would that I had your memory, brother.”

  “And I would that I had your wives!”

  “Fat chance! They were too hard won. Which reminds me, when are you ever going to get started on a bride-covey?”

  He smote upon his breast. “There’s just too much pain in here.” He shook his head and wi
nced like a man with his hand upon a hot stove. “Too much pain!” He was referring to his loss of Faehunig’s love to his best friend.

  Long Swan finished rolling up the vellum before inserting it into a red leather tube. He spoke to Sur Sceaf, “If you had applied yourself to the academy’s mind training sessions with the same diligence and the dedication that you showed in weapons training and battle planning, you most likely would have outpaced even Master Aelfweard in the art of recall.”

  Sur Sceaf laughed. “True enough, I admit. But as I told Master Aelfweard, I would always have you to prod my memory, should it ever need prodding.”

  Long Swan cocked his head and lifted one eyebrow. “And you know this how?”

  “The stones.” Sur Sceaf patted the pouch that hung from his belt. “They have never failed me. They tell me you will be with me to the end, my brother.”

  His brother returned his writing materials to his pouch, “And do they tell you when the end will come?”

  “Alas no, for such would infringe on the powers of the Norns which they jealously guard.”

  Long Swan said, “We don’t want to mess with the fabric the Norn’s have woven. That would rip apart the threads of our mission and leave us vulnerable to the whims of the Dark Elves.”

  * * *

  Long Swan’s Log: After the Winter Fest, this winter moonth is called the Wolf Moonth and it is the thirty-first day, held sacred by both the Norns and the Valkyries. The year is 585 HSO. On the main land of Panygyrus, our meager fyrds do battle against the newly arrived invading Pitter rat packs that have swarmed over the land coming from the east and now have their base of operation out of the Eugene zonga.

  On the Isle of Ilkchild, this moonth was spent in consolidating the settlements, setting up schools, building parapets on the fort, constructing cabins in the newly secured satellite areas and building the roads to connect all of them in a network to Godeselle.

  The population on the isle has passed four million, half of which are Herewardi, a fourth Sharaka, and the rest Quailor, Hickoryan, Columba, Jywds, and a superficial mix of far reaching tribes. The crowded conditions, despite the vast progress in building and colonization add increased pressure for exploration and expansion.

  Gardening, animal husbandry, and expanding the water works consume many man hours of labor. Ships arrive daily with supplies and wares, along with more workers, artisans, and builders.

  New settlements are approved weekly. Massive water wheels have been employed to make the isle a well watered land with irrigation accessible to the ever increasing cultivated fields. Pigeon cotes are flourishing so that hardly a homestead is without them, and messages are constantly traded between Godeselle and Witan Jewell or Ur Ford on the main land, keeping us all well informed.

  This month massive flocks of goats, sheep, cattle, wisents, horses, and mules arrived in shipments to be allotted to stewardships throughout the isle. Horse studs and jack stock were set up to supply the great number of mules for hauling and plowing. Warehouses and granaries are springing up throughout the land, while the sewers are still being completed throughout the other safe settlements.

  The skirts of Godeselle are spreading in all directions. Sur Sceaf declared the time has finally arrived to complete the exploration and mapping of the isle. So by the Moonth of the Skipping Lambs, or even earlier, he hopes to assemble the exploratory crews to map out the rest of the isle’s interior.

  Sur Sceaf spent this entire winter moonth governing, judging, managing conflict, and settling disputes. He’s always dreaded Winter Shut Up, but was determined to put the enforced inactivity to good use by improving his knowledge and refining his governmental policies.

  Onamingo continued the selection process for judges and an independent judicial system while taking on active cases testing the very fabric of our infant confederation. In addition, he has mediated marriage problems, ironed out the occasional conflicts caused by cultural ignorance and intolerance, and attempted to correct the insensibilities of the three tribes as he seeks to shape them into the Syr Folk, so that they can function as one.

  All the Wolf Moonth long, Sur Sceaf, Mendaka, Elijah, and Muryh have made plans on how they could work the greatest good for the greatest number of their people. And it was in this moonth that a band of Hickoryan cattlemen and a band of Herewardi cattlemen came nigh unto starting, if not a war, then a full fledged rift. The Hickoryan cattleman, Jon Henry Stewart discovered a herd of his long horn bullocks in Hrafnbeard’s corral. Enraged, he gathered his cow hands around the corral to confirm they were his when some of Hrafnbeard’s cowhands told them to leave. A fight ensued and Stewart’s men sorely beat Hrafnbeard’s men bloody before retrieving their cattle.

  As Hrafnbeard’s bested men returned to report what had happened to the bullocks, Hrafnbeard assembled all of his forty nine sons and rode into the ranch of Stewart fully armed and bent on sore revenge.

  Fortunately, Jon Dee Lee was visiting the Stewart Ranch at the time Hrafnbeard rode up. Lee asked J. H. Stewart to remain inside his house. Hrafnbeard and his sons drew swords and demanded the bullocks they had rustled fair and square be returned. Stewart had no more than ten cattle hands and they were grossly outnumbered.

  Jon Dee Lee stood between Hrafnbeard and the Stewart House and appealed to the decree that Sur Sceaf had issued which said no dispute between tribes could appeal to customary law, but must be presented to the chief judge of the land, Onamingo. Jon Dee Lee also appealed to his personal friendship with the Lord Sur Sceaf and told Hrafnbeard he would present the bullocks to the common corrals by Leofday and have Onamingo render his judgment as to whose bullocks they truly were.

  On Leofday the case of Stewart versus Hrafnbeard was heard by Chief Onamingo. Hrafnbeard claimed he had rounded them up as wild long horns from the savannah and had intended to use them only as terminal sires. Not only did Stewart’s Circle J Brand appear on all the bullocks, but it was also pointed out that the Herewardi raise only Red Angus and do not brand their cattle.

  Onamingo ruled in favor of Stewart and fined Hrafnbeard ten solidus for payment to Stewart for injuries. Stewart’s men were charged with creating a public disorder and ordered to render a day’s communal labor at the stone quarry.

  When the case was related to Sur Sceaf he issued a new decree stating no one may possess mixed cattle from this point on to prevent future rustling, that all cattle must be branded by a brand master, and from hence forth all unbranded wild range cattle are consecrated to be property of the high lord for the feeding of the poor. All of this emphasized to Sur Sceaf the urgency of how narrow and crowded the land in the safety zones had become. The necessity for exploration parties had become all too needful and Lord Sur Sceaf waited for the drippy skies to leave. In the meantime all looked forward to the laying of the final keystone of the temple of Godeselle.

  * * *

  The first week of the Mud Moonth was filled with storms and winds, but to everyone’s surprise and relief, the second week turned out to be mild and sunny. It was as though Thor, the God of Dark Clouds and Storms had shown favor and granted them the much needed reprieve. After five days of sunshine and mild warm winds, Muryh decided it was time to set the final white-marbled winged keystone on the east side of the house of the gods. By the master builder’s decree, only the stonemasons and builders who had worked on the temple were privileged to be present, due to the dangerous nature surrounding such an operation.

  Sur Sceaf arrived in the pre-dawn light, reveling in this moment that he had foreseen nine moonths earlier in the seer stones. He found it ironic that it was precisely the gestation period of a new life. Others were as eager, arriving nearly as early as he. But as Sur Sceaf had suspected, Muryh was already there on site and had bestowed the honor of setting the final keystone to his eldest son, Sur Child. Who had been the primary engineer on the temple project.

  In keeping with the festive air that was swirling around, the men were dressed today in their best ceremonial finery rather than
the usual rough work garb more suitable to their trades. They laughed and joked as they waited for the master builder’s signal to indicate the sun was in just the right position to shine directly through the saddle of the keystone at its placement. According to ancient ritual, the stone must be lowered at that precise moment, not a moment sooner nor a moment later. Doing so would bring forth the blessings of the gods in heaven.

  Standing with Muryh and Sur Child, Sur Sceaf’s pulse quickened. He shifted his weight, his muscles twitched as he mentally imagined using his own hands to maneuver the giant stone into place. Although he had always had great faith in Muryh, in this work the master had far exceeded his expectations.

  “Brother Muryh, this is, indeed, a magnificent tribute to the gods,” he said, drawing a reluctant glance from the builder, who had been intently gauging the movement of the sun. “I salute your genius.” Sur Sceaf smiled slightly as he added, “And your patience. There were times when I feared you would hurl me into the sea, should I dare to ask one more question of you.”

  Sur Child, at thirty, was a younger version of Muryh, but without the master builder’s intensity. He bit his lip and turned his face away, as though stifling a laugh. Muryh’s temper had gotten increasingly short as the building had progressed. Even with three shifts working around the clock to hasten the completion Muryh had not met his target day due to a typhoon that had delayed the final shipment of marble from Port Ur Ford. As the temple rose Muryh would visit the site repeatedly between his first sleep and second sleep and often would work right through the second sleep, which only contributed to making him all the more irritable. Now that the moment of setting the keystone drew near, his workers had taken extra pains to avoid him. But this time the builder’s impatient scowl softened slightly. The saddling of the keystone siphoned away his intensity, and he almost seemed like a gentle soul.