Sagaen om sommerens sønner
Three sons of Summer's End
Sent South to ancient Albion
Erik, son of Sven,
Music lover, borrower of beasts’ senses
Sigurd, son of Halgrim,
Strong axeman, stout shieldbearer
Jari, son of an elf,
Singer of songs, weaver of magic
A trio travelling from Winter to Spring
Eager to test themselves
The Fox and Chicken a new home,
Drinking deep of its heady brew
No watery swill for wizards' men,
Dreaming of adventure and glory
Their first challenge fell in Winter
in faerie lands of snow
Hard winters there,
even for those shaped by Sweden
Alien lands that became familiar
and yet alien still
Sigurd, axe ever sharper than his wits
Still saw first the trod
Leading to icy caves deep in Winter
Where the Queen of Snows held court
Cold halls filled with giants and svartalfar
And a feast of faerie food and ale
Naught but ashes could Sigurd taste thereafter
Faerie fodder has its price
Yet Jari’s song won her favour,
And she gifted them a tower
Winter they unwittingly brought to the Summer glade,
These Sons of Summer’s End
Jago, mighty centaur lord, raged,
Sigurd stood undaunted
They came to the faerie Stonevale,
Where winter not yet ruled
But blizzard brought Snow Queen’s army
And battle of Winter ‘gainst Stone began
The fight surged back and forth
Jari too timid to interfere
Into the fray strode Sigurd
Smashing down two men of stone
Yet stone blunts the keenest axe,
‘gainst Cyrgig their chief he was outmatched
Though battle was won, Sigurd lay senseless
Erik's clever hands brought him back
Well pleased was the Ice Queen
Promising Sigurd a better axe to split stone
Sigurd’s reward brought in winter by Njal
Once also a warrior of Severn Temple
Gifting Sigurd an axe of biting frost,
Njal told his saga
Not the first Northmen to come here
These sons of Summer’s End
One hundred years before,
Njal, son of Hromund
Skald from the Kingdom of Orkney
Sailed South with his sword brothers
Swearing vengeance on a vicious Trow
Vile murderer of their clan chief
Wizards helped him triumph
Their aid repaid tenfold
For long he stood as covenant champion
Earning much glory
He slew two giant spiders
Saving the castellan’s life
Battled devilry in Bristol,
fighting in the final triumph over the Fells
Earned the favour of the Queen of Snows
Confronted a wyvern and lived to tell
Until at last he spurned Valhalla
Choosing the undying lands of Winter
Now greater but lesser
Still Njal but not Njal
Once, exploring in the faerie wilds
They were tricked by a witch's trap
All save Jari transformed into beasts
Sigurd a boar, Erik a polecat
Two grogs to a bear cub and a fox
Destined for naught but the witch’s pot
Afraid and alone save for sleeping animals
Jari guaranteed the greedy witch much gold
Their freedom hard won but won it was
Though oft-times magic lingers
But if any saw Sigurd snuffling his supper
They dared not say
The wizards sought the Green Chapel
Much desiring ancient knowledge
Setting out cross the surrounding faerie marsh
Misstep sent all into an endless lake
Jari flew, Erik saved Sigurd but Oratio sank
Saved not by his jealous God but Llyr, Lord of Water
Such salvation bore a heavy cost
Dooming many who might have lived
For Oratio spoke with the Lady Nimue
Claiming the dread blade Excalibur
After, though Erik led all safely home
‘Twas into a darker future
Where visionaries spoke of a pale sword,
glinting in moonlight and dripping with blood.
The wizards worked to sheathe the sword
Hoping to fix the fateful skein unpicked by Oratio
They found tale of Saint Kenneth
Ancient bearer of an enchanted scabbard
His remains in a monastery in Lindisfarne
Round the Northern seas they sailed
To stand on a cliff studying the site
Erik borrowed a gull’s sharp eyes and soaring wings
But saw the templars already there
They tricked the foolish monks
Stole away with their prize back to Roxburgh
Their fortress in the North
Jari and Terentius crept in to check
But alas they were too late
Though the drums of war grew ever louder
Wizards work to a different time
13 years before they sought to raid Roxburgh
And the sons sailed North again
There the English and Scots made bloody war
And neither soldiers nor wizards were spared
Hypathia waited without Roxburgh to battle a demon
And it was nearly her end
Veiled by magic, Jari and Terrentius crept inside
Alas, once more they came too late
The bloody crusade was begun, leaving naught
But the stench of Hell and a mocking emptiness
Thrice widdershins round white stones
Lay Myrddin’s twilight land
Now lit by a Shining One
God of Gods if tales be true
With it came monsters from myth
Harpies keening in Northern skies
Chimera’s claws claiming one man,
Aging another with a glance
The tiny cockatrice, half serpent, half fowl
All death for any that approach
Velka, tree elementals serving the Shining One
Even Sigurd’s axe faltered against them
The woods there so thick and old,
Sigurd bore Jari on his back like a boy
Wolves the size of bears, wise as men
Old Ones the wolf-blood wizard named them
Worst was the winged death,
a great dragon from high in the hills
Even Sigurd hurried not to face that creature
And none were sad to leave that place
Mid-winter came not the Queen of Snows
but Sir Turold, a surly knight of Stone
He swore vengeance for Stonevale
Demanding a duel to the death
Jari tried to trade words not blows
No real viking was that wizard
Sigurd feared not his fate
And vowed to death it would be
He fought bravely, struck fiercely
But no ordinary foe did he face
Neither valour nor enchanted axe
Could best the knight of stone
Sir Turold felled him like an oak
Jari begged for Sigurd’s life
The faerie speared only the cold earth
Saying Sigurd must fight for him when called
Next winter, Sir Turold found them in the snows
And called on Sigurd’s geas
Stone was waging war on Winter once more
Sigurd eagerly accepted call to battle
Jari and Erik tried to flee the fight
But fate is fickle and more so the fey
They found themselves in front of the army of Winter
Whose Queen bade them join
Jari bowed and declined courteously
But Erik rudely refused
The angry Queen demanded he atone
With allusion to Loki, Erik agreed
He would steal Gofynnwy’s fiery brand
For it could fend off half her forces
Thus brother took the field ‘gainst brother
While the third watched from afar
Sigurd waited axe in hand, eager for blood
But Erik was swift and clever
With quiet feet and quick hands
Stole the brand away without alarm
Then Winter fell on Stonevale once more
Sigurd and his allies battled bravely
But without the brand they were beaten
Sigurd battered down by a giant
Defeated Sir Turold dragged to an icy dungeon
To the Erechwydd’s delight
The Queen bade Erik choose a great reward
One weapon, prisoner and song he claimed
Thus he received Sir Turold's broken sword,
Sigurd and a song about Loki
One summer the Sons went south to London
Seeking to learn the ways of Court
Fearing spies and subverters of the Peace
Jari slipped into the Tower as a scribe
Lacking his glib charm and ready deceits
The other sons spent the season in a city inn
With clever hands and kind heart
Erik made fat purse as a barber surgeon
Sigurd, happy to fight men of flesh not stone
Gained bruised knuckles and a satisfied smile
Looking for long-lost Witherendun
Where once wizards lived
Home only to mysteries and secrets now
Left to naught but dust and shadow
Or so the wizards hoped but they feared
something foul may have found it
Erik’s sharp eyes saw a cave in a hill,
Recent rockfall blocking the way
Sigurd set to shifting stone
Then Jari and Erik squeezed into the dark
Carefully they crept through caves and corridors
Searching for signs of someone or something
Suddenly a wolf-sized spider seized Jari
The wizard helpless in its grasp
Sharp-witted Erik saved him with his Gift,
reaching into the spider’s mind
Too alien to borrow but enough
to distract it from its prey
Both men fled for their lives
Feet flying through caves just in time
They tumbled into the light
The spider staying inside to Sigurd’s sorrow
Once, Jari gazed too deep into the roiling chaos
Where the Shining One reigned
Volutus, wise in the ways of wild magics
Bade everyone withdraw save Sigurd
Pyrrhus, all fire and bluster, retreated
Afeared of the touch of twilight
Sigurd carelessly called him a coward
Pricking Pyrrhus’s pride
Planning to call fire upon Sigurd
He stepped back out of reach
Fearing Sigurd’s strong arm and hard axe
And so proving Sigurd right
Sigurd saw not his peril, but Jari,
His senses recovering, was sharper
He stepped twixt Sigurd and the fire wizard
Bidding Pyrrhus hold his flame
Pyrrhus promised to stay his hand
If Jari punished Sigurd properly
But the Sons shared in stubbornness
Jari simply slapped Sigurd’s wrist
Proud Pyrrhus burned with rage
Silently seething but doing nothing
Grey in his beard now,
but no straw death for Sigurd
War came at last to the Dean
A terrible force of Templars
Cold-eyed they came
Pitiless veterans of carnage
While magics battled out of sight
Swords sang on the forest road
Too many for hope of victory
But one man stood tall
A mound of dead before him
His axe flashed and steel shattered
But mortal eye could not see the demon
And devilry stilled great heart
Then the forest turned on the templars
Their triumph turned to ruin
Victory for the temple on the Severn
Bought with much brave blood
With a faint cry upon the wind
The valkyries bore Sigurd away
To sit with his kin in Valhalla
Until the last of days
The Norns decreed no son of Summer’s End
Should sup without a sibling
Two sons and two soldiers strode into the woods
Seeking the Heart of the Forest
Trees clawed at Erik and the soldiers
But not Jari, guardian of the forest
Jari made to go inside with just his familiar
But alas Erik’s courage failed him
The men begged not to be left behind
And alas Jari let heart rule head
Led all down the hidden path through the trees
Into a heart of darkness
No friendly oaken face favouring wizards
But a bitter and twisted tree god
The dark God denounced them
Cursed all terribly save Jari
Cruel magics changing flesh to wood
Agony echoed round the glade
Jari pleaded vainly for their lives
but no mercy in oak
A hard death then for Erik
No glory, only pain
Finding his courage, he drew his blade
And asked for a viking’s end
Captain Merrick with swift sword
Sent Erik to sup with Sigurd
Thus came the valkyries
For the second son of Summer’s end
Now two brave sons of Summer's End
sit and feast in Odin’s hall
But will the third son Jari
ever earn the valkyries call?