The Storyteller

The quiet wood was filled with the clanking of steel on steel and the grunts and shouts of two men in battle. Birds flew quickly away, small animals scurried through the underbrush and the wind picked up through the trees as if protesting the clatter and commotion.1

They faced each other, circling round and gripping their claymores tightly. The one, a tall, broad-shouldered, mountain of a man with copper skin, long dark locks, and sweat-lined rippling muscles, seemed a rather unfair match for the blonde warrior before him. He was small, shorter than his opponent by 5 or 6 inches at least, and while he was muscled and built, his grip on his weapon was clumsy and his footwork poorly executed. Time after time, he barely eluded the swinging blade of his rival, and time after time his own blade missed its mark by a great distance.2

Suddenly he let out a frustrated roar, and let his weapon fall to the ground, dropping to his knees beside it in admitted defeat. The darker warrior stepped up and brandished his weapon, preparing to strike the neck of his opponent.3

He paused and held his stance for a moment, then let out an exasperated sigh and slung his blade over his brawny shoulder.4

"By Thor's Hammer, Sidon, you shall never improve if you give up every time!"5

The man on the ground buried sweaty fingers in his blonde locks.6

"I cannot defeat you, Elrik! My sword arm is useless! Sitkja could probably stand against you more successfully... I fight like a woman!"7

"Nonsense!" Elrik bellowed as the youth leapt to his feet and dashed off through the trees. "Come back, Sidon!"8

Sidon pushed madly through the brush, his anger pounding through his veins and driving him wild. He broke through the branches in his path and flew into a stony clearing. Dropping to his knees by a gurgling brook, he let out an enraged roar, raising his fists to the cloudless sky.9

"Why?" he cried to the sun. "Why have you cursed me thus?" He dropped his shaking fists and gripped the rocks before him until his knuckles were white and blood trickled between his fingers, staining the laughing, crystal waters.10

"Perhaps because you are thoughtless," came a gentle, reprimanding voice.11

Sidon looked up startled into the old woman's face. Her skin was wrinkled and deeply tanned and her wispy white hair fell in soft waves around her face. But her eyes were clear and focused, her body strong, and her grip on her staff unshaking.12

Sidon gazed at her in respectful silence, uncertain what to say.13

"Well?" she grunted finally. "Do you see anything but your rage, boy?"14

"I see you..." he responded, confused.15

"And why do you see me?" she asked, gruffly.16

Sidon looked bewildered. "Because you stand before my eyes..." he replied.17

"Then why do you see nothing else that stands before your eyes?"18

Sidon glared at her. "I don't know what you are talking about, mother," he grumbled.19

"That's because you let your rage blind you, Sidon!" the old woman exclaimed.20

"How know you my name?" the youth querried.21

"The tree you bruised cried it out to me," she growled.22

Sidon looked around, bewildered, until his gaze fell upon the twisted, mangled branches he had torn through moments ago. He lowered his gaze. 23

Finally, he murmured. "Forgive me, mother. I was a fool to act in such a manner."24

"Bah!" she grunted. "Apologies will not heal broken limbs! Nor will it remove blood from water! I drink from this stream, you know!" Mumbling incoherently, she turned and began to saunter away. Sidon hesitated a moment, then leapt to his feet.25

"Wait!" he called. Dashing up to the old woman, he dropped to one knee. "How can I repay the wrongs I have done?"26

The woman stood silent for a moment. When she spoke her voice had softened. "Some wrongs cannot be undone, Sidon. But if you are wise, you will not commit the same acts twice. You must be thoughtful to the world around you, and not let rage drive you blindly. A blind man will fall down a cliff, but you must keep your eyes open."27

Sidon bowed his head reverently. When he raised it, he was alone in the meadow, with only the wind whispering in his ear and tousled his ruddy blonde hair.28

***29

Sidon strode slowly through the village, directing his steps toward the hall of his father. Already he could hear his loud, rowdy brothers shouting and laughing, lively music playing, and dogs barking. His heavy heart and thoughtful mind recoiled at the clamour and he hesitated a moment before stepping inside, as if debating whether to run back to the quiet meadow.30

Just as he strode through the doors into the scents of mead and dogs and roasting boar, his father blew the horn. All sound stilled and all eyes turned to the leader of the tribe.31

Sidor watched silently as his father raised a horn high above his head. "Hail the Gods!" he boomed out.32

"Hail the Gods!" the men resounded, and Sidor heard his own voice rising to meet theirs.33

After they had drank to the Gods and to the ancestors, Sidor slipped through the crowd to his seat at the table. The man beside him nudged his side and grinned.34

"So Sidor," he riled. "I hear you didn't finish your training today."35

"Aye," cut in another man. "I heard you ran away from Elrik."36

"He didn't run away," Elrik growled from behind them. "He did give up though... tell me, brother; did you find yourself out in the woods?"37

Sidor felt the gaze of his other two brothers as his own eyes lifted to meet Elrik's.38

"I..." he paused uncertain whether to continue.39

After a moment, Gundar egged him on. "Aye, what is it, little brother?" His taunting voice had softened and was now tinged in curiosity.40

Sidor glanced at Elrik, then Gundar, then Lor. Finally he spoke softly. 41

"I met an old woman in the forest..." he began. In an instant the entire hall was hushed and all eyes fell on him. He froze again.42

His father leaned forward. "An old woman, my son?"43

"Aye," Sidor said, still unsure of himself.44

"Well go on, little brother," Lor urged. "What did she say?" His interest seemed genuinely piqued.45

"She said the tree told her my name."46

Eyes were wide and ears listened eagerly as Sidor held the rapt attention of the tribe.47

"Bruingard," someone murmured breathlessly. Sidor looked up, his eyes wide.48

All eyes now turned onto Sitkja.49

"Who, sister?" Gundar asked.50

"Bruingard," Sitkja repeated. "She lives in the woods... she's a wise woman and a vitki. They say she only appears to storytellers..."51

Lor grinned and slapped Sidor on the back. "That's why you can't fight," he teased.52

"Hush, Lor," their father commanded. Rising from his seat he stepped in front of Sidor, and their eyes locked.53

After a long moment, Elshar spoke. "My son... is a storyteller?"54

Sidor dropped his gaze and his cheeks turned crimson in shame.55

"I have three warrior sons... and a storyteller..." Elshar continued.56

"Father," Elrik began, but was hushed by Elshar's raised hand.57

The long moments of silence seemed to last an eternity to Sidor. Finally, they were shattered by his father's booming voice.58

"The Gods have blessed this tribe and my name, with a storyteller! Hail the Gods!"59

"Hail the Gods!" the crowd chorused and raised their drinking horns in unison. Sidon, his eyes wide, his heart pounding, looked up at his father's grinning face.