On Walking Through a Graveyard

We are not amongst the dead,
We are amongst stones and bones,
The dead are with their Gods and kin,
Or burning for some mortal sin,
Not with us in this yard of graves.

SAGA III

At Black Rock Port I asked of Wolfrik Wolfeater from the the first face I saw.
'Ask my father,' said she,' I'll lead the way.'
To her father's forge I went, where he beat iron with a steady hand.
'Do you ken Wolfrik Wolfeater?' I asked.
'Wolfrik Wolfeater who carried the day at Redgrass Field?' he asked from his work.
'Aye.'
'Who wreastled bears on Odi's Mountain?'
'Aye.'
Who seduced one hundred maids in but one moon?'
'Aye,the same.'
'Aye, I ken him, what man does not?'
'And is he at hand?'
'At hand? No, not for many winters. He dwells with King Erick, on Westdorn's Fyrd, where his hand never tires of his axe, and a woman-hoarde fills his bed.'
I went at once across the bitter blue sea, along the murder fishes way, beneath the thieving gull.

The heath fire and reed lights cast a mighty light upon the great strength of warriors who sat before a slaughter of boar, beef, and deer at King Erick's table.
Without pause, I made my way from the stout oaken door to the largest of men.
'Are you Wolfrik Wolfeater?' I asked.
'No,' he declared, 'I am Vali Small-Boast. Wolfrik dwells yonder- at King Erick's good right hand.'
I looked across the mighty length of timber where many warriors sat. I beheld the King, and I beheld his right hand.
A walrus man dwelt there.
His bulbus face red with drink. Dull eyes stared down a crooked nose. His filthy beard was home to countless scraps of food. The fire was extinguished from his hair,leaving only tangled grey.
Upon his epic belly, bone from his meals were piled. These bones he threw at passing thralls. He cackled- haglike- at this poor sport.
I had no further use for words that day.

I wrote my saga of Wolfrik Wofleater.
He fell bravely, where so many others fell, on Redgrass Field.

SAGA II

Long did I walk across the frozen fell. Hard ice paths and snow roads did I stride. Over ice-bridge did I cross Nordan Land River. Along troll-paths I braved Nordan Land Forest.
Then noble Grimi's hall was in reach. It stood, a forest of timber made immortal by the craft of men.
I strode through the broad door into the warm hall. There were benches fit for a hundred men, but it was upon an empty table that Earl Grimi and his delightful daughter sat.
'Welcome friend, what brings you to an old bear's den?' Earl Grimi called.
'My thanks, great Earl, I search for Wolfrik Wolfeater.'
The Earl stroked his long white beard, his daughter raised her pretty eyes.
'Sit friend,' Brunhilda- for that was the Earl's daughter's name- commanded.
'Aye,sit friend,' the Earl said. 'My secong task is to answer, but my first is hospitality. There will be mead, meat and bread.'
I sat, and there was.
'You will not find Wolfrik Wolfeater here.' the Earl began,' not since the old wolf was a pup and the great bear was a cub- knee high to a man. Since those golden days when he drank in my mead hall my warriors have all met Odin's daughters, and my family- save my daughter- have all fallen to steel, ice or fire.'
'Sad news, my Earl,' said I. 'You knew him well?'
'As a brother.'
'Would you tell me of him?'
'He was a bear of a man. His hair was fire and his eyes were iron... At the Battle of Cragg Thorn he slew fifty men. Five fell with each swing of his mighty Dane-Axe... How he laughed as he slew! He had the strength of an ox and the endurance of a wolf... The Valkyries were not lonely on that day... And in the drinking-hall- so bold and wise of words. And how he drank... enough to drown a whale!'
The old Earl grow exhausted from his friend-boasting.
'He was a man,' Brunhilda concluded.
I had heard saga building words, and I thirsted for more.
'Where might I find him?' I asked.
'They say he hunts whales at Black Rock Port,' Brunhilda said.
I made to go.
'Stay friend,' Earl Grimi said,' and hear how Wolfrik Wolfeater filled 'Hel at Redgrass Field...'  

The next day my legs took me across the hard white way, untill I reached an iron grey sea beneath a forge-fire sky. There I took an oar upon a trading shit, and laboured across the heartless, swirling sea.

SAGA

My name is Thorfast Skaldi and my purpose is to record the deeds of heros, in order to inspire those who might come after. But I was born too late. In the days of my grandfather,so I am told, there was no shortage of heroes. That is no longer true.
When my comrade Ulrik Weston fell at The Battle of The Rosie Hill, I thought it possible that my lifes task fell with him.
I knew of no great living man. This world is corrupted by the Christ-God and the hearts of men are corrupted by gold. The heroes are with Odin.
I knew not what to do.
Only the joys of mead and of women were true to me.

'... off his head, drank his mead hoarde, and laughed amid the ruins of his hall', the fat man said with pride.
'That is why one ought not to get between him and his women!' the tall man said.
'Aye!' the fat man laughed. 'Not if you like living!'
'Who do you speak of?' I asked them, for they sat opposite me in the merry mead hall..
'Who? Who?' the fat man cried.
'Who?' I repeated.
'He does not ken Wolfrik Wolfeater!' the tall man roared.
'Who is Wolfrik Wolfeater?' I asked.
'Who are you, who does not know Wolfrik Wolfeater?' the tall man asked.
My patients was tested.
'And why do you not ken and want to ken?' asked the fat man.
'I am Thorfas Skaldi and I would meet with this Wolfrik Wolfeater and add my saga words to his fame hoarde.'
'Wolfrik Wolfeater has no shortage of fame,'the fat man said sternly.
'But fame is like mead, a man can always have more,' I said.
'True words, well said,' agreed the tall man.
'Is he here in the hall?'I asked.
'Were he here in the hall he would have drank your mead and split your skull for your ignorance,' the tall man said.
'Have you women?' asked the fat man.
'No.' 
'Good', the fat man laughed. 'Had you women, they would have forgotten your carrion corpse and flocked to Wolfrik Wolfeater's bed!'
'Where is he found?' I ignored the insult for a greater need.
'Last I heard, he feasted and fought in the mighty long hall of Earl Grimiof Norden Land.

To be continued...

The Dreams Which Haunt Us

Painful dreams of dread

Raise us from the bed
Like the Godless dead,
Sweet dreams of delight
Pass away the night,
And add further bright
Illumination to daylight,
But dreams of passions past,
Of joys which could not last,
Half forgotten lips and eyes,
Half remembered hands and thighs,
Words spoken and unspoken,
Promises kept and broken...
Those are the dreams which haunt us.