Brack

Brack reaches the shore of a lake,
And meets a lady of non-human form,
He wishes to leave for his own sake.
Avoid the water sprite of the heavens born.

She sweetly sings and Brack is hooked,
What is she singing, he wants to know,
Enchantment overcomes this young man,
The waters around him start to ebb and flow.

He listens more and the words make sense
A sword he must fetch from the lake, deep thence.
Dive into the waters, to the murky depths,
Where the cold bites tough and the dark is dense.

So into the lake this young man dives
The icy water numbs his eyes
His body is engulfed by a searing cold
But the boldness of youth takes its hold

Down into the gloom this man swims,
Grabbed tight by the reeds that trap his limbs,
A moment of fear as no sword appears,
A pang of doubt adds to his fears.

Then comes a glimpse of glistening green,
Although for that moment faint it seemed,
The sword, no doubt, he has just seen,
With its emerald stone set neat, pristine.

Brack pushes near’t with all his might,
He cannot give up this very first fight,
Desperate for breath as the green light glows,
Brighter now, surely right just below.

Yes, he reaches down and clasps its hilt,
Wrenching the sword from out of the mud,
With this success, an inner strength is built
A sense of pride now tingles his blood.

This vigour spreads throughout his limbs,
And against the floor he pushes his feet,
His muscles propel him, up like a dart,
His chest pounds with a fast beating heart.

The surface breaks and Brack is there,
He bursts into sight and gulps the air,
Right arm raised, a real warrior fighter,
The sword in this light shining brighter.

Brack leaves the water and kneels before
The queen of the lake who’s upon the shore.
She bends down to kiss his brow,
Both happy and tense, he feels somehow.

Brack has learned he must persevere,
Even if failure seems awfully near,
Despite any pain that may sear the flesh
Brack knows the mind must always stay fresh.

He leaves the lake, sword aloft in hand,
Like a warrior set to roam the land.
He wanders deeper into woods,
It’s peaceful in nature and all is good.

It is time for him to learn his skill,
In case in future there is need to kill,
With uncountable dangers yet unforeseen,
He must be brave, noble, alert and keen.

During the day he builds up his strength
At night studies stars, the whole sky length
The one fuels his body, makes him ready to fight,
The other his mind, filled with the heavens’ light.

Suddenly he approaches the end of the trees
Where the woods become sand and sand becomes sea,
An epic shoreline brushed with a salty breeze,
The sea, its roaring waves, crashing with glee.

The breeze tears against Brack’s face,
And to the water he makes with no lack of haste.
So strong the force and exhilarating the sound,
Aegir’s power, against the land, it pounds.

But then Brack hears a piercing cry,
From a woman who stands at a cave nearby,
She is distraught, seems no reason why,
At the gap she looks, despair in her eye.

Brack is surprised, but quickly understands,
She has lost her baby, here at the strand.
Brack knows he must act with utmost speed,
And finds that this is his next needed deed.

From its mother’s arms a baby has been ripped,
By the fierce sharp fangs of a grey wolf hound.
With its punching teeth her baby is gripped,
The wolf sprints away with growling sound.

Now into the grotto Brack quickly runs,
Sword swiping through the salty air,
His ferocity this beast undoubtedly stuns,
The wolf does wonder what Brack will dare.

Surprised it throws the baby aside,
Brack pounces, holds the devil beast down,
From death the wolf is unable to hide,
But Brack feels guilt as he views this hound.

Into its body the sword must plunge,
Before the beast has chance to lunge,
But not without regret and despair,
Does Brack complete this appalling affair.

The dog howls loud with miserable pain,
Away from its limbs life swiftly drains,
And into Brack’s arms the dog limply falls,
White froth from its mouth wretchedly drools.

To her baby the woman quickly runs,
Brack knows that the deed is herewith done,
She shrieks with delight, clutches her son,
For Brack, however, a sad battle won.

Brack wonders why this has to be,
His first encounter at the sea,
Ruined by a ferocious fight,
Blood stained sand, a wrenching sight.

For the woman it is a great affair,
Exulting after pain she couldn’t bear
Her angst has now been ripped clean away,
But for Brack it’s not a pure joyful day.

To her home, the woman invites him back,
Wanting to reward him for his brave acts,
A gigantic feast shall be prepared.
And the joy with all must sure be shared.

Brack follows her along the shore,
Towards the cliffs that rise from the beach,
On top of which fresh grass covers the floor,
A path leading up to a vast green heath.

Brack follows the woman with son in her arms,
She steals a glance back, to see he’s still there,
Through a scrub thicket, full of coastal charm,
He follows the wisps of her long blonde hair.

After some time, they reach a stead,
The sun begins to set and glows a raging red,
The families see the woman coming back,
But concern for her they did not lack.

Who was this man that came with her here?
His great frame causing them great fear,
Sensing attack, they took to simple arms,
But the woman cried he meant them no harm.

Waving and wailing she sent them all back,
Explaining that Brack saved her baby from attack,
Before long the whole story was soon retold,
And they realized, a fine warrior they did behold.

That night they feasted around a camp fire,
The chieftains told Brack of a state that was dire,
Bad luck was ravaging their poor land,
And the wolf had caused a damage grand.

But worse than the wolf that claimed the sheep,
There was another force preventing sleep,
For a clan of giants roamed round this place,
Attacked the villagers, laid the ground to waste.

Brack asked why they had not put up a fight,
For giants are strong, but not that bright,
But the villagers had been taken by surprise.
And not in combat the slightest bit wise.

Brack could see that spirits were low,
They needed quickly a leader that could show,
How to win in battle, protect ones ground,
How to win some peace, let maidens sleep sound.

Brack decided the task for the next day,
Was to show them that there was a way,
To learn to fight, keep giants at bay,
To defend, protect, destroy and slay.

After the food they all did retire,
To sleep, build strength and rest by the fire,
But Brack saw first-hand in the light of the moon,
He could not teach them what they needed so soon.

For the giants were fierce, their resolve was strong,
And there were many of them, the whole land long,
The villagers’ efforts were indeed adrift,
From what was needed to make the end swift.

Brack helped the villagers throughout the night,
His emerald sword gave the giants great fright,
As it cut hastily through the night air,
Cutting them down with a warrior’s flare.

Morning came and Brack had done damage,
More than the villagers could themselves ever manage,
They were so grateful and held him for,
A good spirit, god sent, a winner of war.

But Brack knew that peace would be short lived
And instruction beyond what he could give,
They needed a new home where they could go,
To build up courage and battle strength grow.

Spirits were higher, so Brack did ask,
If they felt ready for another task:
They’d have to leave at break of next day,
To find happiness and a safe place to stay.

To this they said it was agreed,
That they would take on the deed,
As long as Brack could take the lead,
His advice, of course, they’d willingly heed.

Brack said that all men must now build
Boats to be with their families filled
Made from wood of the forest by the sea,
Not of oak but of the humble pine tree.

There was a day of busy carpentry,
Villagers working, a rhythm of harmony,
But despite their efforts and all their might,
It was too much to ask before break of night.

Brack needed help right at this stage,
If he was to avoid the savage rage,
That would cause the giants to pursue,
Revenge and anger, which was all they knew.

As the shadows lengthened, light became dim,
Brack realized that all relied on him,
At this point, he would need to think,
If the plan were not to cruelly sink.

Then he thought of the wolf that was slain,
Whose body lie limp at the ocean edge,
In his own bloodbath; he should not die in vain,
Maybe there was chance to make a pledge.

Brack went to recover the body of the beast,
From the strand that lay to the east,
Which he would cleanse and then prepare,
To offer to the elves that dwelt by there.

He skinned the animal for its fine fur,
Silver threads of provenance divine,
Soft like silk and sweeter than myrrh,
Pelt that in the light of moon would shine.

A ritual was done as the sun descended,
As the stars shone and the day was ended,
With unease the others went to sleep,
While Brack had his watch to keep.

It was late into that cold clear night,
That Brack’s awareness began to wane,
Above his head, a far-fetched sight,
And luck as no giant at any time came.

The sky was showing a light display,
Red, green and blue shimmers dancing away,
In and out of dreams the warrior drifted,
And the sense of angst was slowly lifted.

Gradually the sky went from black to grey,
A deep crimson over the horizon did lay,
As it was the dawn of a bright new day,
And all the dreams began to fade away.

Brack awoke with a start,
Confusion for a moment in his heart.
What was this sense, he was not sure,
What was this feeling he now endured?

As he woke, he went down to the beach,
There, a sight to behold, he was robbed of speech,
For what he saw, he could not to believe,
Was this real, what he did perceive?

For there on the beach there was completed,
The work from yesterday that left them defeated,
Now finished with great care and fine grace,
Boats of art staring them firm in the face.

Slender timbers fixed tightly into place,
Of man’s work, not a single trace.
Sides of curved timber, carved wood and shapes ornate,
Figureheads on the prows, each boat ready for its freight.

Nine ships created in the magic of the night,
Named with elven runes etched in crystal white,
Names of the nine billow maidens fair,
Sea goddesses, with long, flowing, silvery hair.

Aegir and Ran’s daughters, each represented:
Barra and Unn: great wave and temporal tide,
Kolga, the cold one and Duva, of hidden treasure,
And Blodughadda, blood sea, from battles wide.

Hronn, the whirlpool and Hevring of the storm,
Himinglava, bringer of tranquil waters warm,
And lastly Bylgja, of the billowing wave,
Nine ships to help the helpless villagers be saved.

From the villagers comes a great cheer,
Intense joy as they sense that the time is near,
When their luck’ll change, take on a new course,
And Brack is their warrior, saviour and source.

They took to the boats as fast as they could,
And pushed the vessels out to sea,
Ready to travel away for good
To a new land with pastures green.

Brack was tense, but did not let it show,
He was not sure where this adventure would go,
They were leaving on a course unknown,
The direction for which he had not been shown.

However, at this time he must take the lead,
It was far too late to abort this deed.
Out to sea these boats now fared,
Further than any islander ever had dared.

They hit open seas and the water became rougher,
Violently rocking boats, the journey now tougher,
This was Hevring, goddess of the stormy seas,
Whipping up the froth as their faces did freeze.

Brack knew that this surely was a test,
For nothing worthwhile is without its trial,
They would have to travel with no rest,
And endure the salt foam with its taste so vile.

The air began to take on a chill,
And water the bottom of the boat did fill,
Frozen to the bone and nowhere to shelter,
Kolga of cold waters venting her temper.

The boats swayed violently from side to side
And the fear, the villagers were unable to hide,
Brack stayed firm as the boats span around,
Hronn’s whirlpool that whisked and kept them bound.

And then a surge, the boats into the sky were lifted
Away from the whirlpool they swiftly drifted,
They were on the crest of the greatest wave,
This was Barra who they had to face brave.

The villagers thought they were with the clouds in the sky
Before downwards the boats began to nose-dive,
Their prows facing into the tumultuous depths,
Hope fading, no chance they would survive.

Brack shouted aloud a rallying cry,
As they plunged into the water below
There was a crashing, splintering and red blood,
Screaming and panic as the vessels did flood.

The wrath of Blodughadda, sea goddess of war,
This would be the end of the journey for sure.
But despite the fear, dread and despair
She let them pass safely through her lair.

The waters became calm, the boats were steadied,
Birds appeared and towards land they were headed
Brack steered the front boat matching their course,
Bylgja, the billowing wave, moved them with force.

The air was warmer and skies were brighter
Himinglava showing them some respite
Brack stood on the prow, a true warrior fighter,
And the nine boats sailing; a beautiful sight.

The villagers so drained, they slumped in the boats
Tired and parched, it stung in their throats
Their bodies cut, bruised but numb from the salt
Asleep, fatigued, they gave life no thought.

But under them the warm waters were turning,
Being dragged and pulled back out to sea,
This was Unn, the tide, weaving her magic,
Ripping the waters away from the scree.

As the water dropped, the boats became rested,
On an expanse of beach they were now nested,
The birds above glided down to the ground,
A magnificent, tranquil cove they had found.

Under the cliffs the sound of sea gushing,
Against the rocks it was bubbling and brushing,
A landscape that was truly shaped by magic,
This was Duva’s hidden treasure, scene fantastic.

The villagers awoke on their new shore,
Here so serene, who could ask for more?
Their faces awash with expressions of glee,
A feeling of unimaginable ecstasy.

A spirit now deep in their hearts did burn,
And huge lessons of faith they had through this learned,
The goddesses so powerful and so frightening,
Awestruck they were, as if hit by lightening.

But the goddesses showed both power and mercy,
They have the strength to crush at will,
But that doesn’t mean evil with no retreat.
As their mysticism unravels gloriously at ones feet.

Brack made his way unto the beach,
Villagers following with a new found vigour,
Hail Brack, they cried, who has brought us to a haven,
Following Duva’s white birds of peace, no black raven.

Over the days the villagers set up a camp,
In the lush fir forests on top of the cliff,
They had protection from the sea air damp,
And daily a view of the morning bay mist.

The islanders became fisherman, farers of the seas,
Honouring their goddesses as they sailed in the breeze,
And the land that they had found was truly giving,
With crops and deer for bountiful living.

Brack was their leader and he had earned the right
He had rescued them from their terrible plight,
He had tamed the sea goddesses as they sailed,
He had ensured their belief never faltered, never failed.

When the springs came they called it lent
As the days lengthened and the time was spent
Preparing for the year ahead, a new start,
A time for the lifting of a heavy winter heart.

Then came summer when the grounds were tinged
Turning light brown as the grass was singed,
By the sun god with his powerful rays of gold,
Piercing the landscape, dispersing the cold.

In autumn, fertile land providing its crop
They called it harvest and food did not stop,
It was a season of plenty and a time for cheer,
But always with caution as winter was near.

Winters painted the land glistening white,
Times were tough and there was little light,
But driven by deep faith, their spirits remained high,
Lifted by evergreens, an ever cheerful sight.

For years the islanders lived without any threat
Days ending with a beautiful sunset,
They were farmers, seafarers and learned to craft,
But Brack was keen to teach them some other art.

He wanted all the youngsters early schooled,
In the art of battle, where dark fear rules,
One day indeed the time would come,
When they must protect all that they had done.

And this time they would stand tall,
Against an army, they would not fall,
The young warriors showed promise and some skill,
Sword fighters and archers ready to kill.

But Brack warned them this was defence,
For use only in the event of attack,
A stern warning that made full sense,
For unneeded wars turns the future black.

At this moment there was time to learn,
Other skills that were of less concern,
Arts like fine music and stone masonry,
And ship building for long trips out to sea.

The stone masons built Brack a home,
A castle keep on the highest hill,
For he was their king but without a throne,
Built as a gift as it was not Brack’s will.

The castle was a magnificent creation,
One that could evoke intense elation,
With great pillars lining vast corridors,
And perfectly smoothed tiles to clad the floors.

This keep’s walls were made of plants and hedges,
That grew betwixt the pillars to mark the edges,
And open roofs, topped with timber frames,
Through which the sun came and the yearly rains.

This was the first cultural foundation,
Representing a people grounding a nation,
One that kept in tune with nature’s bigger forces,
Knowing its place amongst power of other sources.

But all that is built can of course be destroyed,
A fate that seems impossible to avoid,
Mortal men facing nature’s unrelenting tide,
A truth from which no body can hide.

After times of peace, can come times of ill,
Time to take to arms, go forth and kill,
During the dark of winter a rival tribe arrived,
Also after a sea journey which all had survived.

They had come in the middle of the longest night,
From the mysterious north, a vicious sight,
Wielding their axes, tearing through the woods,
Teeth gnarling and gnashing within their black hoods.

The alarm was sounded, Brack's men were quick,
They had some discipline and knew how to act,
They felt surprise but would not be tricked,
Surges of anger as down their woods were hacked.

Battle cries ripping through the night,
Fires burning in the trees, blood red flowing bright,
Violent fury, anguish and intense pain
Rallying cries echo as humans are slain.

And Brack leading from the front
He was the true warrior, leader, and victor,
Turning raging bodies into corpses,
Slicing the assault, he couldn’t be swifter.

As winter sun rose, twilight filled the skies,
Crimson hue, stench of death, murmuring cries
Snow churned black, blood taste in the air,
Smoke rising, trees sighing, scene of despair.

The village was safe, the onslaught defeated,
The enemy was gone and evil retreated.
But the loss was high, families ripped apart,
A sense of anger gripped their hearts.

A desire for revenge, but Brack said no,
This was not how the story should go,
They would take pride in their success,
The mental stress was part of the test.

Over the battle ground, shadows lengthening,
Stars rising and aurora beaming,
Into the other world, the souls depart,
The earth and heavens not far apart.

After time passes Brack becomes ill,
An old wound that would not heal,
Sickened, the warrior becomes slowly weaker,
Soon no sense he made, the future looked bleaker.

The islanders forgot his words while he was struck,
This was an event that was to change their luck,
Old lessons can become hard to remember,
As the fire dies and songs fade with the embers.

Forty years on earth and Brack passes away,
It was for the islanders the saddest day
With him, a mystical connection fades,
Sorrow in the valleys and around the glades.

After turmoil, the villagers chose a new ruler,
Something that they should have done far sooner
For the delay led to fights and division,
When they were unable to make a decision.

With bad spirit, the island was engulfed,
And the god of thunder was repulsed,
Hero of the folk, the people-protector Thor,
Could stand this insanity not a moment more.

Unable to look inward, the islanders had to blame,
Someone else for their sorry age of shame,
They thought the reason for their desperate state,
Was due only to the attackers that they came to hate.

Instead of courage, it was revenge they pursued
Based on a false pride that they were unable to lose,
They took to their boats and sought out the land,
To confront the enemy and to make a stand.

Once they found where the others did dwell,
They decided to create a living hell,
They took lives, wives, slaves and all jewels gold,
A shockingly horrific sight to behold.

For quite some time this evil would prevail,
Peril for all those who in the north seas did sail,
But this treachery meant more evil could breed,
The folk wanted more treasure now, driven by greed.

As their gods became legends of the past,
Without their protection a folk cannot last,
And tragically indeed it came to pass,
Catastrophe, an end and the fall was fast.

Atop the tree of life the great eagle sits,
Beating its wings, sending winds to the earth,
With anger now it strengthens its force,
A destructive storm has thus its naissance.

Hereupon great forces batter the isle,
Waves, wind and rain thrashing all the while,
People are fleeing, but with nowhere to go,
Nature now raging, with her true force on show.

Plunged into the abyss this land is destroyed,
Everything is gone, empty and void,
A culture swallowed by the winds and seas,