Dear readers, I would like to clarify an historical incongruity that you will find when reading this novel, which is set around 900 A.D. At that time Native Americans did not own horses, which came into their lives more than half a century later. But tell me: when we think of them, don’t we have an image in our minds of feathered horsemen, galloping free over their lands? I really couldn't forgo that wonderful sight.

To my daughters, Sara and Janis, who day after day, enrich my life with the greatest gift, of inestimable value, pure love.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

THANKS

1 Chapter 1

During the great era of the Vikings, in the village of Gokstad, Norway, the eldest son of the Viking king Olaf, named Ulfr, was born.

Olaf was awakened at dawn by a strange moan. He glanced to his side and saw that his wife Herja was not there. As he sat up and looked around, he could see her standing by the wall, dimly lit by the first light of morning filtering through the small opening in the wall. Her torso was bent slightly forward, one hand clinging to the tapestry hanging on the wall, the other holding her belly.

“Call the midwife.” Her words came through gritted teeth. Olaf sprang quickly to his feet and crossed the room with huge strides. He went through the door, calling the servant women loudly.

“Hurry! Hurry!” thundered in the silence.

Within seconds the house came to life, the women running here and there as Olaf kept repeating agitated: “Quick! hurry!” remaining at the door so as not to lose sight of his wife. Two women entered the room at full speed, squeezing between the door jambs and the man's hips. They quickly lit small fires, using fish oil which was kept inside some semi-spherical iron containers scattered along the walls, that served as lamps.

“Move away from there!” ordered the voice of a woman who was holding a steaming bowl, with pieces of cloth wrapped around it. It was old Sigrùn, the midwife, the only woman who could speak to him like that. No one knew her age, but she had to be very old. In fact, she had earned herself the nickname of Sigrùn "The Immortal", since she had delivered everyone in that village and enjoyed unquestioned respect.

“You're as big as the door!” she added as she went past him, followed by another woman who closed it behind her.

Olaf stood still a few moments staring at the decorations carved into the wood, entrusting his prayers to Frey and Freya, the gods of fertility. You turned to them to ensure the birth of a healthy strong child. His wife was already in excellent hands, those of old Sigrùn, also considered the Priestess of the Sacred Runes which she had engraved into the palms of her hands, and no-one ever underestimated her prophecies...

A lemon-like scent filled the room, released by the tea of verbena, or rather dragon claws, as the old woman called them. She poured some into a cup and went to Herja who was panting, her eyes wide with fright as she felt the strong spasms.

“Drink it, it will relieve your pain,” she urged her. Herja did not make her repeat it. She would have swallowed anything to soothe the stabbing pain, and besides, the aroma of the tea was fresh and inviting.

Assisted by the midwife and other women, the mother-to-be was exhausted by hours of labor. When the moment arrived she was made to bend forward onto her elbows as they urged her to push. Old Sigrùn intoned a chant of incomprehensible words as she placed her bony hands on the young woman's body, pressing and massaging her belly. Herja's breath was coming fast and her cries of pain made Olaf’s pace increase even more as he walked nervously back and forth outside the door.

His wife's last scream forced him to stop and he held his breath until the moment of birth, when his son's first little wail was accompanied by a chorus of magical songs. After cutting the umbilical cord, old Sigrùn washed the small body with water, wiped it dry and smeared it with an ointment of clover as protection against bad luck bringing knowledge and wisdom, and lifting the baby up to the heavens she entrusted it to the forces of nature and their God Odin.

At last the door opened.

"You can come in," the midwife announced, as she was leaving with the other women in tow. Olaf went to his wife who was holding their firstborn in her arms.

"It's a boy!" she said smiling, placing the little one in his strong arms. Olaf smiled at her and, looking proudly at his son, said: "We must give him a name that is worthy of his lineage." But he'd been thinking about that name for months, hoping it was a boy.

"I’m sure you’ve already chosen the right name for him," added Herja, with the complicit gaze of someone who had already figured it out. Olaf glanced at her mischievously and burst into a sonorous laugh. With the little one in his large hands he raised his arms to heaven and in a solemn voice uttered his name.

"Ulfr, may the gods give you a glorious life, like the one your grandfather lived!"

The choice of name was considered very important for the Vikings, as they believed it would affect the person’s character and destiny: for this reason he was given the name of his paternal grandfather, esteemed King, valiant leader and skilled merchant, who spent most of his life at the command of his knorr, splendid Viking boat with the bow masterfully carved in the shape of the head of a fierce animal covered in gold and silver. On his was a wolf, because Ulfr means "wolf".

1 Chapter 2

At the same moment, in the plains of North America in the tribe of the Great Sky, Golden Falcon was born. She was the firstborn of the chieftain, Great Eagle.

The early light of dawn was appearing in the new day.

Forest Flower was awakened by an excruciating twinge. She sat up, her breath short, and in the dim light searched for the face of her husband lying by her side. Great Eagle had not noticed anything and she decided not to wake him.

She got out of bed slowly and went out, trying not to make any noise. The air was cool and light. Taking a deep breath she walked slowly towards her mother's tepee, got down on all fours and pushed aside the flap of hide at the entrance.

“Mom...” she called in a low voice, so as not to wake her father, Three Moose.

“Is it time?” asked Morning Dew, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

“Yes,” the young woman replied, her face contracting as she gripped the flap of hide forcefully.

“Wait here! I’ll go and call your aunt,” she told her and started running towards her sister's tepee.

Forest Flower nodded, but didn’t listen to what her mother said and set off, slowly, to a special hut where the women of the tribe gave birth. Another stabbing twinge came all of a sudden, and made her bend over in pain. The two women ran to her quickly and, giving her some support, they helped her into the hut.

Her aunt, Blue Star, rushed to the river to get the water, as her mother prepared a soft bed and made her lie down on it to await the birth. The wome prepared an infusion with leaves of red raspberry was prepared.

“Drink some, it will help to make your labor shorter,” explained Morning Dew. But the contractions were still too far apart. That infusion had always worked for the women of her tribe as they were giving birth, but it seemed to have no effect on her.

“Do you feel like walking?” her mother asked her.

“Yes, yes,” she answered, not completely convinced.

"You must walk, that way the birth will be quicker," she explained. While Morning Dew and Blue Star prepared everything that was needed, Forest Flower walked outside the hut, between contractions, as the sun rose compltely.

Great Eagle woke and when he noticed that his wife wasn’t there, rushed out of the tepee. He saw her walking slowly, then suddenly freeze with her torso bent forward, moaning in pain.

“Forest Flower!” he called, running to her. He put one arm around her back to support her, and offered her the other to lean on.

"I must walk," she said as soon as she caught her breath.

"All right! We’ll do it together," Great Eagle offered, concerned.

They walked for more than an hour. The contractions were becoming more frequent and she wanted to scream each time, but she restrained herself and uttered only a suffocated lament, so as not to frighten her husband. But he felt how much she suffered, because her hand squeezed his arm so hard. The force of her grip matched the pain she was feeling. Until she finally let go.

"It’s time, take me inside," she said, breathless.

Great Eagle entrusted her to the expert hands of his mother-in-law and the aunt. They lay her down on the soft bed as her mother explained how to breathe to relieve the pain a little. But the pain became more and more intense and excruxiating, her breathing increasingly labored. The two women helped her get onto her knees, she was soaking with sweat and at the height of the pain she arched her back and let out a cry that was heard throughout the camp. Then everything was over in an instant. The baby was born. When she saw her small creature, the labor seemed like a distant memory to her, all the pain had already been forgotten.

After the umbilical cord had been cut, they gave her another root-based infusion which the Natives called the "root of birth", because it stopped the bleeding caused by childbirth. While Forest Flower took small sips, the two women took care of the newborn girl.

They washed the baby and the little body was rubbed with aromatic herbs and greased with a mixture of fat and red clay. They wrapped her in soft skins and laid her in the crib. The umbilical cord was entrusted to the grandmother, who wrapped it in sage leaves, placed it carefully in a small leather bag decorated with natural pigments and hung it on the outside of the cradle. This amulet would accompany her throughout her life and beyond.

At the moment of her birth a falcon flew across the camp and, kissed by the sun, it looked as if it were golden. The newborn’s first wail was joined by a long powerful howl coming from the sacred rocks that stood not far away, behind them. Great Eagle and the rest of the tribe watched its flight as it went towards another figure standing there motionless, looking in their direction: it was a wolf. When the falcon reached him, they both disappeared beyond the rocks.

The Shaman prophesied:

"This falcon has flown beyond the confines of our mountains. Towards that wolf, the pioneer, the free spirit of nature intact and wild... " the man stopped suddenly, Morning Dew had come out with the news of the birth.

"You can go in and meet your daughter!" the woman announced. Great Eagle entered the hut, he was excited and the sight of that little creature filled his heart with such great joy that it gushed from his eyes too. He waited for the women to go out, then took the little girl in his arms and told his wife about the flight of that falcon at the moment of her birth.

"I think Great Spirit has suggested her name to you, Golden Falcon is perfect for the daughter of a great chief," Forest Flower approved.

"Let the Great Spirit’s will be done!" he said satisfied. He knelt down next to his wife and handed the little girl to her so that she could suckle her. As he stood there watching his daughter's first meal he thought there could be nothing more wonderful than the sight of a mother breastfeeding her child.

Four days after Golden Falcon's birth, the naming ceremony was organized. No-one knew it yet. Forest Flower sprinkled the baby’s face with sacred white cornflour, then wrapped her in the most beautiful blanket and together with Great Eagle took her outside for the first time to present her to the rising sun and to the tribe. The birth of a child was always welcomed with great joy, as the most precious of gifts. A child did not belong only to its family, but to the whole tribe.

At dawn that morning Great Eagle spoke.

"Great Spirit sent his messenger who crossed our camp in flight." He took the little girl in his hands and raised her to heaven, proclaiming her name.

"Her name is Golden Falcon. Great Spirit gives this daughter the qualities of the falcon, so that she may grow courageous and strong, generous and selfless."

The blows of the drums echoed in the air, and the Shaman sang a sacred song with the entire tribe adding their voices, and accompanying the words with the sacred dance.

1 Chapter 3

Eight winters after Ulfr's birth, in addition to his blood sister Isgred, a new member of the family was added: Thorald, of the same age, who was the son of Harald, Jarl of the nearby village of Oseberg (t/n The earl/jarl is usually seen as a chieftain of a particular territory – souce: Wikipedia).

There had been a very strong bond between the two clans for generations. Following the loss of his wife Sigrid, who had died along with their second child during its birth, Harald was a shattered man. He decided to entrust the education and training of his only son to the family of his great friend King Olaf and his wife Herja, for a few years.

The couple looked at their friend worried. Harald was a handsome man in his 30s, but the pain of the terrible loss was visible in his face, which was strained and tired and made him look much older. Olaf rested a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Be strong, my friend! Don't worry about Thorald, he'll be fine here, we'll take care of everything," he tried to hearten him.

"I'm sure of it!" affirmed the man, in a tone of voice that did not reveal the despondency that, instead, he was feeling. Harald looked at his son, sitting by his side, his head bent and his eyes fixed on his little hands. Harald’s heart skipped a beat and he stroked his hair. The child raised his head and looked up at his father, clenching his young lips so as not to cry.

Herja took two receptacles made from natural cow horns and decorated with engravings and gold plating. She filled them with mead and handed them to the two men, then turned to Thorald.

"Come on!" she urged him, with the sweetness of a mother, holding out her hand, "Ulfr is waiting for you."

The child turned to the father who nodded his head. "It's going to be alright," he reassured him, forcing himself to appear serene. Thorald took Herja's hand and they crossed the room together, but before leaving, the child turned to his father again and smiled at him, as if to reassure him in turn.

Olaf waited until they had gone out and then raised his horn, imitated by Harald.

"Let's drink! To the memory of Sigrid and all our ancestors," he proposed to his friend.

"Drekka Minni!" they toasted in unison, emptying the horn in one gulp. Olaf ran the back of his hand over his mustache. "Now you have to think about getting over this moment; you could leave for a long journey," he suggested.

"I’ve thought about it. If Thorald had been older, I would have taken him with me."

"We can do this instead; you’ll travel and do some trading for me too, while I’ll take care of raising him to be educated, healthy and strong," Olaf proposed.

"My friend, you have never let me down!" declared Harald, as the two men exchanged glances full of deep affection and mutual respect.

"I'm sure you'd do the same for me!" Olaf asserted, without the slightest doubt, putting the palm of his right hand towards him in a gesture that his friend reciprocated.

Harald traveled for many years, and spent many of them wintering away from home.

For the two children, education and training began immediately. They were taught about laws, history, woodworking and ironworking, and learned all the secrets of metallurgy. They learned to familiarize themselves with weapons, and practised several disciplines on a daily basis.

In the long evenings of the freezing Norwegian winter, the whole family gathered together in the warmth of the domestic hearth. While the women weaved and the men carved wood, the family and clan history was handed down to the children though the tales of the elders, along with the principles, values and code of honor that a good Viking should never break.

Ulfr and Thorald grew up healthy and strong, they studied and trained together, and a strong bond of affection was created between the two. Like their fathers before them, they became sworn brothers, according to an ancient magical rite.

Winter was over, the Viking ships sailed the Scandinavian waters, and the Vikings who had wintered away from home finally returned to their families. To everyone's surprise, Harald returned that spring too.

It was the ninth summer for the two little Vikings, around the middle of April, when they consecrated their fraternity. That day, it was their first training with the bow and everything had been set up outside, at the back of the house from where the panorama of the whole property could be seen.

"Put your left leg forward, it will help you take a better aim and get more power," suggested Bjorn, the best archer of the clan. The two children positioned themselves as suggested, holding the bow with the arrow ready, and pulled the string as hard as they could, squinting their eyes to focus on the target they had to hit. Two straw-filled sacks were used as puppets, with the target painted at heart height.

"Now!" Bjorn ordered.

The two small archers shot their first dart and a disappointed expression was painted on their faces as they followed the flight, a long way off the target.

"For Odin's good eye!" a man’s voice swore. All eyes turned in that direction as Leif, a big red-haired man, came out of the bushes with a dead goat, pierced by the arrows.

Bjorn looked at Olaf and Harald astonished. "They killed it dead at the first shot!" he said in disbelief. The children’s proud and satisfied expression aroused a feeling of fondness and amusement in the men. "What was this goat doing outside the stable?" asked Olaf as he pulled the arrows from the poor beast.

"She had run away and I was trying to get her back to the others," the man explained.

"You were lucky, it could have been you instead of the goat," Harald remarked.

"You’re right!" exclaimed Leif, opening his gray eyes wide. "The arrows hit her as I was grabbing her," he added, looking at the two children, who gave him a half-smile of apology.

"I survived a thousand battles in my youth and I certainly don’t want to go to Valhalla at the hands of two children!" he exclaimed in an ironic tone, "And I'm not sure the Valkyries would let me in... Dead chasing a goat!" he concluded joking, making everyone laugh.

"My good friend, when you make your entrance into Valhalla it will surely be worthy of the great Viking you have been! Now take her to the cook, and tell her to prepare it for dinner," Olaf said with a laugh. Leif agreed, bowing his head in a sign of respect before setting off towards the kitchen.

"Now focus on the target... " the archer called the children to attention, "because when you fight an enemy you will not win it by slaughtering the cattle."

"You have to admit that the first arrow of their life is a good omen for the future," Harald declared, in a tone between smug and amused.

"So it seems,” replied Bjorn. "Now they have to work hard, to prove that they deserve this omen," he added, addressing the two small archers, ready and waiting for a command.

A noise behind them caught the attention of Olaf and Harald. The doors of the stables opened and, after six months, a multitude of animals poured outside. Among mooing, grunting and bellowing, some men of the clan were trying to maintain order so they could lead the more than 500 head of cattle into the lands where they would leave them free to graze.

"Get the cattle out of here, or these two will kill them!" exclaimed Olaf, teasing them. Amid all that hustle and bustle Leif appeared, heading in their direction at a quick pace. He seemed eager to tell them something.

"Old Sigrùn saw the goat and said to tell you that she’s waiting for all four of you in the sacred glade,” the man informed them, as soon as he reached them.

“Good!" Olaf commented, exchanging a knowing look with Harald.

"You will resume training when we return," he told Bjorn.

"I’ll be here waiting for you," replied the archer.

The four set off, leaving the village behind them. The earth had freed itself from the frost and, with the first warmth of the sun, everything had started to come to life again in the village of Gokstad. Olaf's property was beautiful, and very vast, stretching along the coast and towards the hinterland for miles and miles and he was proud of it.

The fields were divided by a low stone wall which surrounded them. There were some peasants busy plowing the fields, while others were sowing the many different crops: rye, the precious barley, all the vegetables and oats, the latter destined to become fodder to feed the large number of livestock during the coming winter.

The first flowers dotted the vast meadows of clover, which were strewn with berry plants, blackberries and raspberries, and extended to the point where the terrain rose up to become rock walls and hills that bordered Harald's lands. With the thaw, the waterfall had once again begun to slide down the rocks, covered with lichens, swelling the stream that crossed the forest and the sacred glade.

The road they were following was lined with rows of apple trees and hawthorns which were in bud, and the first white flowers were already beginning to appear. They continued in silence, amid the sounds of nature that had awakened with the sun's rays filtering through the trees. The first birds’ nests could be seen and hanging from some of the branches were spiral-shaped straw baskets in which the bees had begun to build their hives. By the end of summer they would full of honey, with which the Vikings would produce an excellent mead.

They arrived at the sacred glade, where old Sigrùn awaited them. She was standing near an oak tree, wrapped from head to toe in her black cloak. Two white braids fell from the hood down to her hips, and her eyes stood out like two aquamarines. Perched motionless on her shoulders were two crows, creatures linked to the worship of their God Odin. The old woman held her arms up to the sky and the two birds soared away in flight, cawing over their heads, before disappearing into the thick of the trees.

"Your fathers planted this oak tree when they were about your age, and it grew as healthy and strong as their friendship," she declared with a nuance of pride in her voice. Then she bent down to pick up a shoot born from the roots of the tree and raised it to heaven.

"Today the gods have expressed their will, through your darts, and Thor's tree has generated a new life. You are ready for your Oath!" old Sigrùn declared, handing the shoot to the two boys.

The two little Vikings chose a point not far from the oak and turned over a clod of grass, over which they cut into the palm of their right hand, then mixed their blood with a handshake, swearing mutual fidelity; they fertilized the clod with it and used it to cover the base of the shoot they had planted, thus sealing a pact of brotherhood for life.

In addition to the education which the children of a noble house were given, Isgred had to learn how to govern the house, especially when her husband would have embarked on an expedition. One day she too, like her mother, would have to run the farm, educate her children, and administer her husband's affairs. One day she would also wear the bunch of house keys hanging on her belt, a symbol of the authority and respect which a woman enjoyed in the family.

12 Järgmine

Voyage Of Destiny

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