The Sons of Adam: The sequel of The Immortal Collection (A Saga of the Ancient Family Book 2) (10 page)

I nodded my head and Gunnarr began his story, leaning back on the bed.

"I think I had already seen twelve winters. There were two thaws left until I would be considered a man, but my voice had changed and I was a good hand taller than my father. I practiced every morning on my own, in the forest, throwing the weapons against the tree trunks, just like my uncle Nagorno, who I knew as Magnus, had taught me. Everyone else on the farm was still sleeping at that hour but I always was an early bird. I didn't bother anyone, and nor did  anyone bother me during my times of solitude.

One morning I saw a black bear watching me from afar during my training, hiding behind the trees, sometimes standing up on its hind legs.

From that night I started dreaming about it, dark dreams tainted with blood, although they brought me much pleasure. In my dreams I had a magical immunity to weapons. Swords couldn't touch me, spears bounced off my chest, shields shattered before reaching my hands. And there was always a black bear behind me, protecting me. The same happened night after night, and I didn't say anything to anyone other than my father, who I shared everything with, down to my most private thoughts.

You see, my father, who everyone knew as Kolbrun, was a
jarl
, highly respected in those times. Our farm was prosperous, and although we didn't flaunt our wealth, I knew the extent of our assets because I went with my uncles Magnus and Nestor to hide the precious metals when they came back from trading on the East Route.

But my father was much more than a wealthy landowner. During the
things
, the meetings, he recited laws from memory better than any old man could. In fact, everyone went to him when they had a question. He was like..."

"Like an encyclopedia," I interrupted.

"Yes, like an encyclopedia of Danish laws. Yes, he knew every chapter and verse perfectly. He remembered the findings and judgments of old trials, and I was the proudest son you could imagine for having a father like him. That's why I told him about my dreams and the black bear that haunted me.

"Father, we should go to the forest and look for it. If the bear is coming that close, it means that he's hungry and no good will come to the farm."

"I'll send your uncle Nestor, he's a better tracker than you are."

"That's exactly why I want to go with him, I have to learn from him."

My father gave in and we began the search, but we didn't find anything, or rather, we didn't find any bear prints, although we did find out that someone was camping in the forest. My father and my uncles were worried and were on edge for several days, but nothing happened, until one morning when I went back to the forest with my two small axes to continue with my training.

I knew that it was a
berserker
because he appeared before me, shirtless, on a quiet, icy morning, following a night of heavy snow, with a black bear skin cape tied around his neck. It was the traditional attire of the warriors during the looting raids or during battles between local kings. In times of peace they were simply a plague, dangerous madmen who the Danish avoided.

He had very broad shoulders, messy black hair and a shaggy beard that covered most of his face. He was as ugly as a rabid dog. He had the kind of face that gave children nightmares.

He stood in front of the tree I was aiming at and I had to lower my axes.

"Do you know who I am?" he said, by way of a greeting.

"Your stench precedes you." And I wasn't lying, he stank of filth, urine and fecal matter.

"I've killed for lesser insults."

"And what are you waiting for?"

He went quiet and moved his hand to his waist. He was armed, as were all the men at that time. A pretty long sword with a blunt handle.

"What do you want from me,
berserker
," I said, getting straight to the point.

"I want you. I've been watching you for the last few days and you have the right size, strength and skill with weapons. This capacity you have for throwing with both hands and at different targets at the same time will make you very valuable in the future, boy. You are going to be one of us, I want to train you, and if you survive the ritual, you will be the next leader of the twelve. When I die in battle, which could happen sometime in the next couple of winters, now that I'm getting old, I want you to be prepared to take my place."

"You have to understand,
stedmor
, that twelve was a recurring number in our culture. Twelve was also the number of free men chosen for the
thing
meeting. And almost all the Nordic kings had their private army of twelve
berserkir
."

"And what makes you think that I will leave my farm and join you?"

"How many nights have you dreamed that a black bear makes you invincible?"

"Those words gave me the chills, which ran down my spine and left me petrified on that spot.

I counted the nights.

"Twelve."

"Good, then you're ready. I didn't choose you, it's your destiny. It has simply been revealed to you."

"No, my destiny is to inherit my father's farm and run it as well as he has. The only thing I want from my future is to become a honest, respected man, and protect my people."

"Is that what your father told you? Because Odin has told me his plans for you and they're quite different. Your destiny was written long before you were born, boy. You have been exceptional since you were trapped in your mother's stomach, isn't that right?"

I was beginning to get angry at that point. I didn't like his talking about my late mother.

"And what do you know about that'"

"I know that you were a
berserker
from then on. You were probably born tearing a woman apart, that's our destiny."

"I told you to shut up! What do you know about my mother?"

"Gunborga carved the most famous runes in Scandia. Didn't you ever wonder how she got her name?"

"Gunborga? What about her name?"

"All the
berserkir
are sons of bears. Our firstborns must have that trait in their names: Gerbjorn, Gunbjorn, Arinbjorn, Esbjorn, Thorbjorn… So the question you have to ask your father is: why is he hiding your abilities and talents from you?"

I just wanted him to shut up, to stop talking about me as if he knew me better than I knew myself. In a moment of impulse, I threw the axes at him, although my plan wasn't to hurt him. One, above his head, the other, between his legs. Both stuck in the trunk, just a few centimeters away from his flesh. But he didn't move, he didn't dodge them, as anyone else would have done.

And that indifference got to me, I wanted it for myself.

I wanted to be that kind of man, someone who doesn't flinch at a weapon flying through the air towards a certain death.

The
berserker
said that he would be back the following day and then he disappeared. I didn't dream about the black bear that night, nor did I dream that I was invincible in battle. The arrows wounded me and they hurt like hell. The fire reached and disfigured my skin, the daggers made shards of my bones and I thought that I would die of sheer pain. I woke up drenched in fear and ran to my father's bed to wake him. I have never felt worse than I did that night, with my body battered by my nightmares, with the awareness of having lost a power that made me invulnerable.

I spoke to my father and we went out to the back of the
skali
, wrapped in the furs we slept with, my father barefoot, as if the snow he was standing on didn't bother him. He listened to me patiently, I was very worked up but told him everything: about my dreams, my encounter with the leader of the
berserkir
, the feeling that I was being followed ever since the day that the black bear came into my thoughts, my restlessness because the farm was feeling smaller and smaller every day.

"Gunnarr, the man you met is called Skoll, we've heard about him, and we knew that he was in the area. We were warned about him at the last meeting. He has been to every farm along the coast and has challenged all the
jarls
he has come across. Small farms, prosperous farms: the entire valley. But he is cunning and goes by the old laws, challenging others to a
holmganga
."

"I am not learned like you, father."

"A
holmganga
is an old type of public challenge. It's not very common nowadays, which I why you haven't heard about it. The person being challenged cannot refuse, like in the case with duels nowadays. And the worst part is the person who loses is named
niðingr
."

"Coward," I muttered.

"Yes, and everything it implies for a
jarl
and his heirs for life. However, that hasn't happened for the last twelve winters, as far as we're aware. He always wins the duel and to date has never been beaten. He then kills the owner, and takes the women, the slaves and everything that belongs to the dead man. But he doesn't look after anything, he bets the possessions in matches with other
berserkir
and most often loses them. He's leaving a trail of chaos to the east of our farm, other farms are going from bad to worse, the women are tired of being raped, but nobody dares to come face to face with him, and the kings are on his side. Everyone goes to his twelve
berserkir,
they are his shock force,  whenever they have conflicts with their neighbors, and that makes them untouchable. Nobody kills a
berserkir
for fear of being annihilated by the rage of the king he serves."

"But, father, the
berserkir
knew things about me, about my mother. He said that this was my destiny, not his, to come to this farm as I first thought. And for the first time in my life I feel that what you are teaching me isn't enough, and I want to find out how other lives are lived, beyond milking cows and feeding pigs."

My father turned his back on me, looking into the forest, as if he were afraid that one of Odin's ravens was spying on us.

"But not like that, Gunnarr. Not like that. That man has nothing good to show you. He is a predator that disrupts the peace, that's all. What merit can you see in his ways?"

"But, what about those dreams that were so real?" I insisted. "Shouldn't I listen to them?"

"Enough!" he shouted at me. "You don't know the danger everyone who lives in these valleys faces, and you're just talking about adolescent dreams!"

He stood in front of me, although he had to lift his head to stare me in the eyes.

"You haven't seen the
berserkir
in combat. Nobody knows their secret, but they are truly invincible. I've never seen anything like it. If Skoll comes here and challenges me, everything I've built up here will go to hell and the people who depend on me will never see peace again."

"Have you seen him fight? When, father? You never told me that you were in a battle. Why do you never talk about your father, or of your life before you came here?"

"My father looked at me, and I saw something that looked like impotence in his eyes."

"You have to stop being a child, Gunnarr, and start to think like a man," he muttered, going back inside the
skali
.

And that's when I sensed the black bear behind me. I didn't turn around, but I knew he was there, waiting for me.

"And that's what I'm going to do, father. That's what I'm going to do."

"I packed up my things and took a piece of birch bark. I then carved some runes and left it under my father's bed."

"What did you write on those runes?" I wanted to know.

"Something like: 'Father, what if I'm more than just a farmer? Let me find out. Can you forgive me?'"

Then Gunnarr stretched out like a kitten, looking at the morning light coming through the tiny window high up in my cell. It was then I noticed that part of his neck was burned. The scarring continued down under his biker jacket. He realized that I was staring and lifted up the worn collar to cover it up.

"And that's enough for tonight, my girl. I'll go on answering your questions tomorrow, provided that during the day when you see my uncle, you act as though nothing has happened, don't let him know about my nightly visits."

I nodded my head. I didn't have anything to lose, but possibly much to gain with Gunnarr's visits. Besides, while he was talking I forgot about my sorry situation, and his stories were much better than the silence of my medieval cell.

"Iago is always on edge when he tells me about his memories," I told him, when I saw that he was standing up and getting ready to go, as if he was afraid of my next question, as if he didn't have a clear conscience.

Gunnarr stopped in his tracks on his way to the door.

"My father wasn't a bad man, although he and the rest of us have been affected by his errors. But he isn't capable of self-indulgence. It must be hard looking in the mirror everyday and seeing your enemy."