Skorri Helgisson and the rest of the warriors arrived at the stead too late
to
stop the broo raid. Everyone was already dead and the broos fled except
for one woman who wouldn't stop crawling and mewling and a tiny figure that
moved spasmodically in the corner. The healers rushed to both of the
survivors. The one who picked up the tiny figure gasped at what she saw
and dropped the babe. One of the warriors caught it and almost dropped
it again as he recoiled when he saw what the broos had done. Instead he
cradled the babe to his chest and wept openly and unashamedly. Skorri
turned to the healers examining the woman and asked, "Well?" The senior
of the healers turned to him and shook her head sadly. Skorri moved
forward and used his sword to do what he had to do. "Only one survivor,"
he said through his tears as he cleaned his sword.
An older Skorri sat in the sun and spoke with the chief Lawspeaker. "So how
are the students doing?" "The best of them of course is young Skeli but I
worry
about what sort of man he will be. He hates anything that is not custom or
law
and the others, indeed the whole stead shuns him for his scars. His hate
and
our fear is a heavy burden for one so young and I fear that he might not
grow
as straight as he could were his face whole. I also do not know what sort
of
lawspeaker he will make with that tortured whisp of a voice of his.
Skeli, the man, stood before the moot to defend his client and tried to make
himself heard above the raucous crowd but to no avail. His face grew red
with a mixture of anger and embarassment, adding to the ugliness of his
face.
Suddenly inside him he heard a voice saying, "If you are going to serve me
you will need to be heard. I make a loan to you of my mighty voice. Use it
well." Almost overcome with dizziness he reached out to his neighbour to
steady himself. Before he grabbed her though he managed to right himself.
His chest swelled and he felt the god fill him. "Listen to me," he roared
and
all present fell silent in shock and amazement.
An older Skeli stroked the rich, red beard covering his chest (and most of
the
scars on his face) and thought fondly about tillage rights. Idily, part of
his
mind rejoiced at the thought of his recent success in the gaining a beard
hero quest and he thought, finally life IS good.
Have a nice weekend,
Oliver D. Bernuetz
www.geocities.com/bernuetz
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