inspired by a real event and transposed to the late Iron Age

It happened on the day before Samhein, when I was out hunting. It was late afternoon, the clouds had covered the sky, and the day was rapidly darkening toward night. The temperature was dropping, and I could hear thunder growling in the distance. I was worried, this was not a night to be out in; I recalled the time, some twenty five years ago, when the chief Caoilte Cruithne was out, and one of the Sluagh got him. He became cruel, beastly, and tortured and killed his people. It took four Druids and the High King to cleanse him, but he died at peace. I did not want to become like him!

It hadn’t been a particularly successful hunt, but I did have a cony to cook up for supper, if I could find shelter. And I needed to find shelter soon, for it would be a cold, dark, and stormy night. As I made my way out of the forest, hoping to find a charcoal burner’s hut, or some kind of shelter, a huge white stag leapt into the path ahead of me. Instead of leaping away again, it stopped and looked at me, then turned and trotted along the path. After a few steps, it turned its head and looked back, and moved its head as though beckoning me. A white stag is magical and I knew it wanted me to follow, so I started obeyed, as one should when faced with a magic animal.

I followed it uphill through a thinly forested area, and as I rounded a bend in the path, I saw the silhouette of a building on a hill to the right of the road. The stag stopped a bit ahead of me, touched its nose to the ground on the right, and then leapt away. In no time at all, it had disappeared. I turned off on the narrow lane it had indicated, and found that it led up toward the building, and as I neared it, I could see that it seemed to be just ruins. But I knew that there was something I must do there, the presence of the stag made that clear. As I got closer, I saw that some parts looked reasonably whole. I went on, I knowing I would find shelter from the coming storm there.

I reached the building and made my way through the ruined section. When I came to an area that was still partially roofed, with walls that seemed solid, I lit a torch I had fashioned from some wood I’d gathered on the way, and investigated. As I continued along a hall, I passed a doorway to my left. I felt an incredible aura of evil emanating from the room beyond. I hurried on by, and found another room, solid and safe from the weather, with a good sturdy door to shut and bar. I decided this would do nicely for my night’s shelter, and went back out to gather bracken and pine boughs for my bed, and some more wood for a fire. Soon I had all I could carry, and went back in.

The evil aura was stronger than ever, stretching out, but unable to break whatever bond it was that held it tied to that room. As I hurried past the doorless room, the evil aura was reaching out toward me, trying to ensnare me. I almost decided to look for some other shelter, but there was that stag, and a very strong compulsion that told me I had to stay.

I settled down in my safe room, with the door shut and barred. I prepared my bed, lit a small fire on the stone floor, cooked up the cony and after I had eaten, I banked the fire and settled down to sleep. I was very tired, and it felt good to lie down, but sleep would not come. The memory of the stag, combined with the compulsion that was growing stronger by the minute, wouldn’t allow me to sleep. The room was very dark with the fire banked, so I took a stick from the pile, and coaxed it alight and set out to examine my surroundings. I had just done a cursory look around before. Off in one corner, I saw that one of the stones in the floor was softly glowing. As I neared it, the feeling grew that this was why I was here. I needed to lift that stone, and remove what was hidden under it. Outside the storm was coming closer. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and the wind was rising and I could hear the patter of rain on the floor where it was being blown in through the broken windows.

Ignoring the sounds of the storm, I took out my knife and pried at the stone. After some time, I was able to lift one corner, but could not raise it high enough to get my fingers under it. I went to my pile of firewood and found a sturdy stick, about the width of my thumb. When I again raised the corner of the stone, I slid the stick in, and pried with it. Eventually, I had it high enough to get the fingers of both hands under, and gave it a heave. It dropped back with a crash, revealing a hollow beneath. Shining the light into the hollow, I saw something wrapped in a rotting cloth; I worked the bundle out, opened it, and stared. There sat a beautifully carved gold torc, the ends formed into lynx heads. It was beautiful, and I knew it had belonged to a powerful chieftain and was dedicated to the God Lugh.

I crouched there for some time, turning the torc over in my hands, and suddenly I remembered. About twenty five years before, a jealous brother killed a clan chief and his family, and took over. There was an infant son whose body was never found, nor was the chief’s torc. Later, it turned out that the infant had been raised by shepherds, and when he came of age, he fought and killed the usurper and was acclaimed as the chief. But the family torc was never found. Could this be it? Is that why the stag directed me here? I knew that the usurper had built a large stronghold in this vicinity, and that he was a cruel and vicious man, capturing peasants and warriors alike and torturing them. That room, the one with the evil aura, could that have been his torture chamber? And had the torc been hidden all these years here where he ruled? The heir had asked about the torc, questioning everyone he could, and had sent men out searching for it, unsuccessfully.

That evil had to be cleansed, and suddenly I knew how, as though a voice spoke to me. I rose, carrying the torc in front of me, and went to the door. Unbarring it, I went along the passage until I came to the room with the evil aura. I could feel the evilness reaching, stretching, trying to break the invisible barrier that held it locked in the room. I knew it wanted to reach out and overpower me. I stood just beyond its reach, held up the torc. I called on Lugh, the God of Light to come and destroy the evil. There was a moment of stasis, and then something snapped. A blinding light flashed in the room, and the barrier sprang back, into the room and taking the evil with it. Then the feeling of evil started to fade, and a faint shriek echoed away to nothingness, and was gone. When it was over, I thanked Lugh for cleansing the room, and asked his blessing on me, went back to my resting place, re wrapped the torc and placed it in my pack. I then settled back in my bed and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

When I woke in the morning, I ate and packed the wrapped torc and leftovers in the pack, unbarred the door and went out. When I passed the room where the evil had been, there was no trace of it left. I stepped into the room, just to be sure, but it was just an empty room, with dead leaves littered over the floor. Outside, I found that the sun was shining in a clear sky, and the air was brisk. It would be a good day for walking. I had good hunting for the rest of my journey, and knew that I had been blessed by Lugh. After resting at home for a few days, I travelled to Tara and showed the torc to the high king. He admired it, and told me its story, and my memory was true, it was just as I had recalled, there in that old ruin. Then he sent me back to Cean Tir, where my home is. He told me that the torc belongs to out Chief, and as I found it, I should return it.

I have done so, and was given much praise and adulation. But I do not deserve it. It was the magical stag that led me to the torc. But it is a Samhein eve I will never forget.

As told by Sokni Hvitaskald to Florence Simpson (An Ancient World adventure challenge)

Hello, my name is Sokni Hvitaskald. I am the fourth son of Odovacar and Dagmar Hvitaskald. I have two older sisters, married and living far away, two younger sisters and an infant brother. My father and three older brothers were dead. I started training as a warrior when I reached my eighth winter, starting with a small, dull war axe, blunted dagger and lance. I also learned combat without weapons. By the time I reached manhood, none could surpass me with the war axe, and few could equal me in any of the other forms of battle.

I want to tell you of a thrilling adventure I had before I reached manhood. It was in my eleventh year when I saved the lives of my Mother, three younger siblings, and myself. Father and my elder brothers had been killed in a battle the fall before, and Granfer died six weeks after Yule. I was left as the man of the family in what Granfer told me was the most dire winter in living memory. It was three months after his death that I had my adventure.

By that time spring should have started and we should have been preparing the ground for planting, but the snow was still waist deep on me. The food was gone, all but some very tough dried meat. Mother and the young ones were ill and weak from hunger, and I was not in much better condition. We still had one old cow, but her milk was needed for the babe, still in his first year, since Mother could no longer provide enough. I determined to go out on a hunt, to try to bring back meat for us all.

I made the house as secure as I could, hauling in a good supply of wood and water. Mother could still milk the cow, and keep the fire going. She made sure I took a supply of the dried meat and two good fur rugs. These I lashed to my sledge, then kissed Mother goodbye, strapped on my skis and harnessed myself to the sledge. With a last look back at the house, I set off across the heath, headed for the woodland in the foothills several miles away.

It was hard going, but the snow was frozen solid in many places, and once I was able to find them, I moved faster. It took me two days to reach the foothills and the beginnings of the forest. The snow was not so deep there, so I removed my skis and tucked them under the ties around the furs. I made my way along a trail in among the trees, and just as the sun reached its highest point, I heard a great bellowing and thrashing up ahead. I pulled the sledge to the side of the trail, and made my way toward the noise.

There, with its huge rack of antlers entangled in a large bush, was the biggest stag I had ever seen. It was as tall at the shoulders as a tall man, and big in proportion. This, if I could bring it down and get it home, would see us through until the first harvest of fruit and greens. I moved stealthily, to get as close as possible so that my spear would have enough force for the kill. But the unchancy wind suddenly changed and brought my scent to the animal. With a mighty heave, it broke free of the bush. Instead of fleeing, as I expected, it charged. With prayers to Odin, Thor and Freya, I threw my spear and leaped to the side. Its shoulder knocked me off my feet, and I scrambled back up just in time to see it coming at me again.

I lept out of its way. There was no way I could get to my spear, as it was incredibly fast in stopping and turning. With another quick prayer, I made ready, and as it came near, I jumped to the side again. When it was passing me, I gave a great leap, and landed on its back behind the mighty head. It started to buck and toss its head back, trying to unseat or gore me. I ducked under the flailing antlers and reached around until I had a firm grip on its throat, just under the muzzle.

Pulling with all my strength I encouraged it to bend its head back more. Then, taking a great chance, I let go with my right hand and drew my big knife. I had to grab its ear to keep from being thrown as it increased its effort to dislodge me, but I managed to stay on. When I felt more secure, I let go again, and struck with the knife, into the side of its neck. It gave a great bellow as the blood gushed out over my hand and I let go, allowing myself to be bucked off. I landed, rolled and was on my feet in one movement. The stag ran forward, ignoring me, and I took up its trail. It would not go far, with its life’s blood pumping out.

In a short distance it was staggering, and after a few more steps it dropped to its knees, and soon fell to its side, not very far from the scene of our battle. I waited until it was still then cut its throat. I cut into it and removed part of the liver, made myself a fire, and ate. I couldn’t leave it like that, or it would quickly be too frozen to move. I tied a strong vine around its legs, and with every bit of strength I could summon, pulled it back to the trail and the sledge.

I took everything off the sledge and after great strain and effort, got the carcass in place, and tied down. The moon was full, and enough light came through the trees so I could see to make my way out of the forest. Then I wrapped myself in the furs and slept for a while. I was more tired than I had ever been, but I was proud that I had brought down this Monarch of the deer family. However, it wouldn’t be of much use if I didn’t get it home.

I woke myself well before the night was over, with the moon still giving plenty of light on the frozen snow. I packed up the rugs, harnessed myself to the sledge, and set out. The going was not too bad during the hours of night, but after the sun came up, a warm breeze started blowing, and the snow started melting in the first signs of the belated spring. I trudged on, pulling my load behind me, every muscle in my body screaming for rest and release from effort. But in my mind I could see Mother’s thin worried face, and the little ones too weak from hunger to cry, and I forced myself to go on.

Finally, by travelling through the night when the snow had frozen again, I came at last to our house. But there was no sign of life, not even smoke from the chimney. I pushed forward, heart pounding, and dropped the harness at the door. Fearful of what I would find, I pushed it open, and found them, huddled near the fire trough where the last of the wood was almost burned away. They looked at me as at a ghost, then Mother smiled, and all was well.

Once more I prayed to Odin, Thor and Freya, asking for the strength to finish my task, and thanking them for their help. I chopped more wood, and soon the fire was roaring, and we were all sitting around sipping broth made from the rest of the liver and small pieces of the stag. A large pot of stew was simmering at the side of the fire, and the rest of the meat was hanging in the back room, where it would stay good until Mother could look after it.

I was praised as a hero, and got a new vest, breeches, and new boots made from the skin, and Mother got several bone utensils that I made from the antlers. The meat stayed good, the spring finally came, the crops grew and we had our first harvest. And that is how I saved my family, in my eleventh year.

I do have an odd problem, though, that started after I reached the age of manhood. I am completely inept and clumsy when sober. Yet when I have had at least six large horns of beer or mead, I am steady, and can do many fancy stunts with my war axe, and never harm myself or anyone else. This began to cause problems, and eventually I was forced to leave home, after I accidentally injured the son of the chief of our town.

My family gave me as many skins of beer and mead as they could gather, food enough to last me to the nearest port, and many gems and as much gold and silver as they could spare. We were second only to the Chief in terms of wealth, so I had wealth enough to last for years. I have been home again several times over the years. My mother was still living and healthy the last time I was there. She had remarried and had two more sons, and my sisters are married to good, prosperous young men. But they still praise me as a hero and recount the tale of how I saved them all, in my eleventh year.