From where he was sitting further back on the canoe, Logan knew that it would be rather difficult to speak directly with Ayenwatha. He had grown highly impatient with the query that lingered upon his tongue. With each moment he found it increasingly harder to wait any longer, and he finally opted to seek some level of answer. Instead of raising his voice and trying to address Ayenwatha, he turned towards the tribal warrior that was paddling immediately behind him.
The warrior’s face was implacably stern, presenting a pair of stoic, dark eyes that rested behind a hawk’s beak of a nose. His mouth was set in a taut line over his sharp chin. A little taller and broader of back than Ayenwatha, the warrior held a strong posture, and conveyed a supremely confident aura about his person.
The warrior certainly looked as if he was not the sort of man very inclined to harboring a good sense of humor. Nor did he appear to be the kind of individual given to easy conversation.
“So, where are we going today? Nobody has told us yet,” Logan asked the warrior in a low voice, careful not to sound too demanding.
“Ayenwatha will explain to you soon. You are in no danger,” the warrior replied calmly.
The warrior did not take his eyes away from his task, continuing to work his oar in a consistent rhythm.
Logan waited a few moments longer, hoping that the warrior would elaborate further. With nothing forthcoming, Logan turned back towards Antonio, and shrugged in a gesture of resigned futility.
“Maybe it is a big surprise,” Antonio said.
At the moment, Logan was not feeling very enthusiastic about surprises. The new world that had been revealed out of the dense fog had been far enough of a surprise for his liking. Indeed, it was a surprise that was adequate for a lifetime.
A part of him wondered whether it would simply be better to jump out of the canoe and swim for the shore. He glanced back at the warrior, the man’s unbending expression showing no acknowledgement of Logan, as if he were invisible.
As Logan casually eyed the warrior, he could not help but take note of the man’s strong build, and the sense of strength that his sculpted, heavily tattooed form radiated. The sight brought to mind the stoutly fashioned, ball-headed war clubs, the short-hafted axes, and the bows that the warriors such as him possessed and utilized.
Even the small knife, in the bead and quill decorated sheath hanging from the long cord around the warrior’s neck, took on a much more formidable aspect than it would have solely by itself. Its wearer conferred a significantly greater status upon the short blade, reinforced by the thoughts of his skill in wielding it.
Logan shifted his attentions back towards the front. “Right now, I just don’t want any more surprises,” Logan stated curtly, as Antonio nodded his agreement.
Logan sat in a moody silence for about two hours longer, resigned to simply take in the sights of the hilly landscape passing by around them. The thick mass of trees, running up the slopes of the rises flanking the river, presented a nearly impenetrable upper surface. The intertwined concourse of branches and leaves could easily mask any manner of creature lurking beneath them.
Logan found himself wondering what manner of strange sights that the great span of forest might be sheltering within its midst.
The continuity of branches and leaves down by the river was broken up from time to time by stretches of bare ground. Broad patches of open space were spread out along some areas of the shoreline, especially within a few of the bends in the river.
On one of these patches, a rounded protrusion of land jutting deep into a curve in the river, was a herd of deer with reddish-brown coats. The cluster of deer came into sight as the canoes glided around the bend to the left. Having moved out from the shade of the treeline farther back, the deer were lapping at the clear waters of the river.
Reacting as if one singular body, the startled herd recovered in an instant from their initial surprise at the sudden appearance of the canoes. For a moment, a flurry of snorts broke the passive spring atmosphere. Flashing the white undersides of their tails, they sprang off in nimble, bursting bounds, racing swiftly into the shadows of the forest. In just seconds, it was as if they were never there.
About a mile downstream, along a straighter expanse of the river, Logan happened to be looking towards the bank when he caught sight of a towering, brown-furred form with a set of broad, palmated antlers. The great bull moose was almost hidden from view, standing still under the boughs of soaring trees. As the canoes neared the moose’s position, the huge creature turned and lumbered off into the forest.
Shortly thereafter, another capacious swathe of embankment caught Logan’s undivided attention, as the canoes rounded another prominent bend in the river.
Logan gazed in sheer wonder as the bank slowly came into full view, steadily revealing a mythic vision that struck him profoundly. A distant age of his own world was brought to life within the scene unveiling before his eyes.
“Unbelievable,” Logan whispered slowly, under his breath.
A long, narrow-bodied ship of timber, whose contours flowed elegantly throughout its design, had been pulled up to rest on the ground of the shore.
The grand vessel was meticulously constructed by overlapping rows of horizontal strakes. The eminent level of craftsmanship required for such a ship was evident in its exquisite appearance, each fitted strake and ornamental carving openly testifying to the proficient skills of its makers.
The ship was designed to hold a single mast, rising from a support set near to the center of the vessel. The stout vertical post of pine was currently lowered, and the woolen sail was furled.
A full array of long oars was resting upon a pair of tall racks. The racks were in the form of vertical posts with shaped crosspieces, placed along the centerline of the vessel.
The curving bow of the ship exhibited a carving of a snarling wolf’s head at its apex, with the stern displaying the corresponding image of a wolf’s tail.
Around thirty very strong-looking men were milling about the immediate vicinity of the vessel, a few of them spread out along the expanse of clear shore. They looked casually towards the incoming canoes, showing no sign of alarm or surprise at its appearance. It was as if they had been waiting expectantly for the arrival of the tribal watercraft.
Logan’s eyes absorbed as much as he could regarding their appearances, looking upon them with a sense of awe and wonder.
A few of the men wore protective garb on their upper bodies, a select few with coats of iron-link mail, and others with hide jerkins. The woolen tunics on all of them, whether under armor or not, exhibited a variety of colors. Hues of reds, blues, and greens had been dyed into the wool, and brocaded designs and patterns encircled the cuffs of their wrists, as well as the circumference of their necks and lower hems.
The clothing on their lower bodies was less colorful, largely earthen-colored trousers with either untapered or close-fitting legs. A few wore trousers gathered in below the knee, by cloth bands that were cross-gartered down to their footwear, whether leather shoes or cowhide boots, the latter with furred sides on the exterior.
A few of the men wore cloaks, most of which were pinned at their right shoulders with metal brooches or straight pins. Aside from a few with colorful headbands or round caps of wool, a majority of the men wore conical iron half-helms upon their heads, hammered out of one piece of iron, or fashioned from four iron plates. Several of the helms had straight nasal guards, and a very few had silver-gilt, spectacle-like eye-guards set in front, descending low enough to protect the nose as well.
The men were clearly prepared for combat, many bearing sizeable, round wooden shields, with projecting iron bosses fitted into their centers. A few other shields were set in an outer timber batten that ran down the length of the ship. Vibrant colors were presented on the shield surfaces, paired in most instances to create swirling or sectioned patterns.
All of the men had weapons close at hand, ranging from long-hafted, broad-bladed war axes, to straight swords nestled within their scabbards, and to spears of varying shaft lengths and blade types. A smattering of bows could also be seen in evidence amongst the warriors, the bearers of which possessed quivers full of feather-fletched arrows.
At the approach of the canoes, the men standing closer around the body of the longship trundled down to join the others at the river’s edge. Assembled together, they all patiently waited for the arrival of the oncoming vessels.
Logan was impressed with the physical traits of the fair-skinned men, the common characteristics among them becoming clearer as the canoes drew closer.
They were rather tall, very powerfully-built men. Broad of shoulder and thick of limb, most wore full beards upon their faces, some worked into a braided or forked style.
Longer hairstyles predominated amongst them, most having locks cut to about shoulder length. Good grooming was in full evidence, with well-combed tresses culminating in even trims.
Despite the presence of ample color, artistry, and grooming habits among them, there was absolutely nothing soft about the throng of warriors. Their faces and bright eyes formed decidedly hardened countenances, and Logan recognized at once that these were not the kind of men to be taken lightly, or underestimated in any way.
“Eirik! Welcome to you and your men in the land of the Five Realms,” Ayenwatha called out loudly, breaking Logan’s concentration as the war sachem shouted abruptly to one of the foremost of the waiting figures.
The man identified as Eirik grinned broadly in response, moving at once to intercept Ayenwatha’s canoe just as it reached the shoreline. Ayenwatha set his oar down as the bark-lined vessel grated against the ground underneath, rising up and lithely swinging himself over the side of the canoe.
Eirik moved forward and took Ayenwatha into a strong embrace that nearly lifted the tribal warrior off of the ground. Several of his long, blond locks billowed outward as they were picked up and buoyed by the breezy air. The ends of his red, square cloak, clasped by a shining silver brooch at the right shoulder, flapped as it was caught up in the stout gusts.
About six feet tall, he was exceptional of build, even among his own men, being particularly robust in the upper chest and shoulders. He had a multi-lobed, silver-gilt pommel crowning the bottom end of a long sword. The pommel and leather-wrapped hilt protruded upward from where the short, straight crossguard rested flush against the bronze-lined mouth of the scabbard at his left side. The scabbard itself was girded via a leather belt secured snugly around his waist.
Towards the bottom of his brown trousers, his feet were covered in dark, sealskin boots.
Several fingers of his sizeable hands exhibited gleaming silver rings. He wore a couple of silver arm-bands above his right elbow, circling his biceps, the gleaming bands visible right below the short sleeve of his chain mail shirt.
A type of beaded necklace, with two silver pendants hanging down at the bottom of the decorative array, was partially obstructed by the thick, forked beard that the man’s face displayed, the farthest ends of which rested upon his broad upper chest.
The fierce-looking man looked markedly relaxed in his posture, adjacent to Ayenwatha’s own very casual manner. The pair made for an odd sight; the brawny, fair-skinned man with flowing blonde locks, and draped in his richly colored attire, next to the leaner, reddish-skinned man in his hide kilt and leggings, with a crowning tuft of black hair and his upper body covered by naught but tattoos.
Despite the great variance in appearances, to Logan’s eyes both men equally exuded a proud strength and sense of authority. It was also abundantly clear that they held both respect and a palpable liking for each other.
“Ayenwatha! I received your word. Your messenger came in such haste, and told us of your summons. I did not delay,” Eirik announced in his deep voice. “I did not know what to expect, so you find my men so armed and equipped, and the wolf’s head displayed openly on River Wolf. But I can see from your manner that there appears to be no pressing danger. Am I mistaken in this?”
Eirik’s bright eyes gazed intently through the spectacle-like eye guards of his half-helm at Ayenwatha, as he fell silent. Logan could sense a slight flare of tension within the burly warrior as he awaited Ayenwatha’s answer.
“No, Eirik. Grave threats to us are building, but none yet calls us to imminent battle. But I have called you here for a matter of great importance. One that cannot be delayed,” Ayenwatha responded.
“That there is no immediate danger to our woodland friends is indeed a welcome tiding. I must say that it is very good just to see you once again… in these times we must celebrate all such meetings between friends,” he warmly replied, appearing to relax once again at Ayenwatha’s words.
His voice had a certain roughness to it, which fairly complimented his tough appearance. His piercing gaze then swept towards the seven foreigners with Ayenwatha.
“So these are your visitors?” he asked pointedly, nodding towards Logan and the others.
Ayenwatha likewise inclined his head towards the seven, who were now standing with the rest of the tribal warriors just a couple of paces behind the war sachem.
“Yes. And before you departed to other lands for the trading season, I wanted for you to meet them,” Ayenwatha replied. “I desire to hear your words about them. I have not provided them with new clothes, so that you may see with your own eyes what manner of clothing that they wear. They have said that this clothing is from their own lands. I cannot place the clothing in any land that I know of.”
Eirik nodded slowly, his countenance stern as his eyes continued to rest upon the seven. “I am glad that you reached me before I took to the seas for trade. Gunnar will be very interested in this discovery as well.”
“I believe that your brother will indeed,” Ayenwatha responded.
Ayenwatha then proceeded to explain the incredible amulets that had been given to the otherworlders by the Wanderer, and how the amulets enabled the understanding of languages. Logan took note that Eirik looked very surprised at the mention of the Wanderer, but the warrior held whatever thoughts he might have had to himself.
Eirik then walked past Ayenwatha to come to stand close to where Logan was situated at the forefront of the seven exiles. Having a closer look at Eirik’s two pendants, Logan noticed that one was in the shape of a spear, its point oriented upward, and the second was in the distinct shape of a hammer. Logan wondered what the two silver symbols represented as he regarded the bearded warrior before him.
Eirik smiled again, in a genuine expression of greeting, his encompassing gaze taking in Logan and the others.
“I hear tidings that you are not in allegiance to the Unifier, and that you are possibly from another world,” he said to them. “It is hard to believe that one can come from another world. But in these very strange and uncertain times, I have come to be surprised by very little. Hopefully, the All-Father has reasons for your presence here. If not, perhaps our patron gods do. I am called Eirik, son of Atli, and I am of the people of Midragard.”
As Logan was the one standing right before the Midragardan warrior, he was the first to respond to Eirik’s introduction.
“My name is Logan, and yes, this is definitely a new world for all of us,” Logan stated, looking straight into the steady, cerulean gaze of the Midragardan.
There was no threat lurking in the man’s eyes, but there was an unwavering scrutiny seated in his gaze. Despite the lack of hostility in that look, Logan deemed it wise to be careful not to say anything to offend the Midragardan.
“It is very good to meet you Logan,” Eirik responded, his large hand firmly clasping Logan’s arm in a friendly manner, just below his left shoulder.
Before Logan had time to worry about the appropriate return gesture, Eirik released his grip upon his arm. The Midragardan gently brushed past Logan and moved in amongst his companions.
Now in their direct midst, the Midragardan’s face could not hide his obvious fascination. More than once, Eirik lingered for several moments as he stared closely at some particular aspect of their unfamiliar clothing.
Logan quietly watched Eirik proceed with his inspection, equally fascinated with the Midragardan.