I know ghost stories are traditional at Christmas. This story is lighter and, as people often travel around the holiday season, a traveller's tale, written in a saga style. Hope you enjoy.
Tiwald the Traveller
There was once a man, Tiwald by name. He was a
traveller, a mariner who loved the dancing seas—the salt spray and curving
foam, the slapping sail and screaming gull, the smell of pitch and Frankish
wine. Many times had he crossed the whales’ road in his tall, deep-bellied
ship, carrying furs and spices and silver to all countries, every god-fearing people.
One day in late spring he made ready his boat and set forth, a good wind behind and silken seas following. Two days the ship journeyed, slipping through the waters, easy as the sunshine, the crew singing
rowdily, sleeping soundly.
But with the dawn of the third day came a strange
wind, which the boat could not avoid, despite the clear and shining seas.
Tireless and unceasing the wind blew the ship off course, far out into deep
water and empty, unknown skies.
The crew could do nothing. They took down the sail and
mast, then unshipped their oars and huddled together in the hold, silent and
fretful, forgetting even to pray.
Tiwald alone along them remained stout-hearted and
would not quit his post. Standing solitary at the helm, her urged the crew to
follow his example. His pleas were all in vain. The master mariner scanned the
strange stars alone. The crew had turned bloodless, they had no spirit.
For three days the wind moaned, bursting down on the
boat and driving it on a single straight course while the sea around lay flat
as beaten iron. Then, on the morning of the fourth day, as sudden as it had
come, the wind ceased. Though no land could be sighted, Tiwald fell to his
knees, praising the Almighty. He strapped up the tiller and slept for the first
time in five nights. His crew were still below.
When he woke, the mariner found that the ship had
beached itself and was lying, clear of the water, on a narrow sandy strand.
They had been driven to a mighty estuary, full of shallow salt pools and black
sand dunes. Across these flats, farthest from the sea and at the very edge of
the estuary could be seen the beginning of a great forest, dark and
hostile-looking despite its array of spring green. Above this forest rose
mountains, snow-clad and glittering, their tops lost in the clouds. In all of
this place no animal could be seen, but strange birds, brightly coloured and
mute, flew in an settled on the clear water to feed. A few, bolder than the
rest, even alighted on the bows of the ship.
Tiwald and his followers stood on the dunes and gazed
silently at the forest and the mountains beyond. As they watched, a wide and
even path of green stones emerged from the trees’ edge, where none had been
before, and wove its way back through the forest towards the hills.
Tiwald looked at his crew. “We follow the path,” he
said. “Over the mountains perhaps there will be a city and people to aid us, if
we approach in good faith. But,” he warned, “do not linger on this road or
stray from it, for whatever reason.”
So speaking, the mariner directed two men to remain
with the ship and then, seeing the rest provisioned for the journey, strode
off, wading through the shallows to the green path.
The crew walked far that first day. The path was
straight and level and no man was tempted to leave the way for the damp and
tangled woods. At sunset they bedded down on the stones, too wary to light a
fire lest they drew attackers. Wrapped shivering in their cloaks, the men
listened fearfully to the cries of the owl and wolf and to other sounds which
they dare not think on.
Dawn when it came was welcome and welcoming—birds sang,
the earth was warm, the woods tranquil. Tiwald and his men were merry that
morning, singing and running along the path. Some of the crew, heartened by the
blue cloudless skies and gleaming sunshine even crept off the road to the edge
of the forest. There flowers sprang form every tree stump and encircled every tree
base, each different from its neighbour, wondrous to behold and with a sharp
yet heady scent. Many there were that day who wished to pluck these blooms and
tear them from their rightful home, but Tiwald, being wiser than most, forbade
it.
Onwards they travelled until one man, farther along
the path than the others, gave a great shout and left the green stone path
completely. Sprinting forward, Tiwald saw the mariner kneeling in a grassy
clearing some way from the track. Beside him stood a most fair and lovely
maiden, slim and straight, naked and golden-haired, though cruelly used. Thick
chains bound her shapely arms, wound around her slender middle, hung heavy from
her hips down to her tiny feet. A great iron ring, thicker than Tiwald’s thumb
and as wide as his clenched fist was threaded through the chains and embedded
in a massive boulder.
Much moved to pity by this poor beauty’s plight, Tiwald
and his men left the path and fell to hacking and tearing at the chains with
swords and axes. All their efforts were in vain, the chains were not even
scratched by their blades.
Suddenly the maiden spoke. “The ring,” she urged,
looking directly at Tiwald as the tallest and strongest of the group, “You must
break the ring.”
Instantly a man lurched forward to obey her but was
himself stopped by Tiwald.
“Wait,” said the master mariner. “Something here is
not right.” Indeed, Tiwald was much troubled, for he had seen an uncanny gleam
in the maiden’s eyes when she had spoken to them and he had watched a look of
ravenous and hideous anger cross her face as the sailor had tried to approach
the iron ring.
The lady, sensing his bewilderment, appealed now to
his crew.
“Please, free me,” she begged, with such a breaking
voice and so many tears that her face was most beautiful, even in despair.
Again, Tiwald tried to prevent his men from meeting
the maiden’s demands, but his followers, maddened by lust and greed turned upon
him and beat him down, knocking him to the ground where he lay as one dead.
When the master mariner woke, the maiden, his crew and
the forest had disappeared. He himself was lying on a golden couch, set upon a
raised dais in a great high-gabled hall. Sitting up, he looked about, full of
awe at the strangeness of the place. The hall was a palace, brightly painted
and richly adorned, filled with cunningly carved chairs and tables of pure
gold. Around its walls glinted tapestries of ruby and gold and at its entrance
was set a pair of copper gates, finely wrought and burnished to a gleaming
glory. Most wondrous of all in the centre of the hall there rose a mighty
spring, a fountain such as might be seen in ancient Rome. Soundlessly its
waters flowed up and fell back again like a fire, lighting the whole building
with a strange silver radiance.
Tiwald gazed in delight at the fountain, unheedful of
the light tread behind him. A voice, very sweet and low, broke the silence.
“Welcome to the hall of healing, Tiwald, wisest of
men.”
The master mariner turned, ready to answer the
speaker, but found his tongue stilled at what he saw.
There before him stood a woman, tall and dark and comely,
dressed in green, with green veil and headrail. Her eyes shone silver, like the
fountain, and her smile mazed his wits, like wine. Beside her, the glories of
the hall were feeble, as cobwebs in the morning dew are before the rising sun.
The lady spoke again. “The hall gives you fair blessing
and I, keeper of the hall, do likewise. Yet I fear I come with poor tidings,
though this be your first waking hour for a year.”
Stunned by her words, Tiwald remained silent for a
moment. Forcing his limbs to move, he leapt from the couch and bowed low before
the stately dame, stammering a reply. “Forgive me, my lady, for being so surly.
I am a simple man and gratitude for all you have done for me and the wonder of
this place has stolen my tongue away.”
The mariner paused, but for shyness dare not look at
the lady. Yet the keeper of the hall seemed not angered by this but pleased,
and she held out both her hands to him, touching his brow. “Come. We must go
from this place. There is much to do.”
Thus speaking, the lady turned and walked slowly away,
towards the copper gates. Tiw lad, followed, quick as he could. The gates swung
open for the lady, closing silently behind the mariner, as he crossed over the
threshold.
Outside the hall was desert. An eerie land it was to Tiwald,
empty and soundless, where the sun shone hard and brilliant but cold, like a
crystal. It gave a man no warmth. Nothing dwelt here but sand and wind. The
barren dunes lay heaped, colour upon colour, even up to eves of the hall of
healing.
The mariner stood silent for a long while, looking all
about him. Finally he spoke. “I must again crave pardon of you, my lady. I know
that I am a blunt ignorant fellow, but my mind is not easy and forces me to
speak. Do you know aught of my men? And the maid bound by the iron ring, do you
know what became of her?”
The keeper of the hall looked steadily at the mariner,
her face full of sorrow. “Alas!” she cried, “Your men are no more. A great evil
has befallen them. The maid they strove to free was not all she seemed. In
betraying you and cutting the iron ring they loosed a merciless beast upon my
country. They freed none other than Swiftbane, the deathly dragon of Albaessa.
A wily, subtle beast it is, too, much skilled in shape shifting. She bewitched
your men, but gave them poor reward for their service. Seven she devoured and
the rest she burned, your ship too. You alone escaped her venom, yet how I know
not. You were brought here from beside the very boulder to which the dragon was
tethered.”
Seeing Tiwald’s pale and saddened face, the lady paused
a moment, but then resumed her grim tale. “Swiftbane is free, and how this land
has suffered! And I fear you yourself might suffer too, for you must seek the
dragon out and face her. Your men’s actions have placed this fate upon you.”
This time, Tiwald did not hesitate. “I will find this
worm,” he answered, “though I spend my life in the task, and I will rebind it,
or perish in the attempt.”
The lady smiled and clapped her hands. “Well spoken, Sir
mariner!” she said, her eyes gleaming brighter than stars, “but soft,” she
continued, gently touching his spear arm with a cool hand. “First you must
forge anew the iron to bind Swiftbane. You and you alone must seek out and
quarry and forge the base metal, for to my people, the touch of iron is
forbidden.”
Tiwald gave a grim smile at this and would have made a
bold reply, had not the lady checked him.
“Listen, Tiwald! Though the worm has magic, I too have
charms to guide and keep you from harm, but you must obey my words, else all
will be lost. Once you have made the chains of iron, you must travel east,
towards the rising sun, and into the plains. There, along the edge of a great
green lake, whose waters you must not drink, you will find a narrow path. Take
this track, which leads to a gorge and the gorge leads to a cavern and in the
cavern’s deeps is Swiftbane’s lair. The worm goes to the cavern to devour her
prey and there she sleeps off her slaughter, resting on the very bones of my
poor folk!”
So speaking, the lady turned away and without a
backwards look, re-entered the hall of healing. Tiwald was left outside—he knew
he could not go there again. Instead, with a heavy heart, the mariner turned
eastwards, ready to begin the long journey over the endless dunes, seeking iron
first and Swiftbane after.
Of his travels, his long wanderings, his sufferings,
men have heard nothing. All that is known is that Tiwald the sailor journeyed
and toiled for a year in that land before he found the green lake and the path
beside it. Though dry-mouthed and thirsty, he obeyed the lady and did not drink
the emerald waters but staggered on, dragging the iron chains behind him. Down
into the gorge he went and down into the cavern, where he found the dragon
Swiftbane, sleeping, as the dame had foretold, on a great mountain of bone and
half-devoured, half-charred flesh.
Beautiful was the dragon, brilliant as Lucifer, with
scales of beaten gold and a silver underbelly. Her wings were as hard and
glowing as rubies and her great winding tail was a royal purple. The whole
cavern was lit amber with her presence and was warmed and perfumed by her
breath. A pleasant scent it was too, like rare spices burning on coals.
For a long time Tiwald gazed on the creature, almost
forgetting his task. Yet the bones scattered beneath the dragon were mute
witness to her evil nature and reminded the mariner of all he must do.
Soundlessly. Tiwald lay the first chain across the
beast’s jaws. Swiftbane shifted slightly at the iron’s touch upon her head and
a dart of flame spurted through her teeth, but she did not stir. The second
chain was easy, too, but the third scraped over her brow and the worm awoke.
Instantly uncoiling herself, the dragon rose up before
Tiwald, tossing and shaking her head in an effort to snap the chains. Great gobbets
of fire scorched the cavern roof as she twisted this way and that, but
miracously her bonds held firm. Furious, Swiftbane turned on the mariner
instead, rending the air with her claws and tail as she pursued the man through
the central hall of the cavern, her flames licking at his heels.
Tiwald ran on, as he had never run before, racing
across the cavern’s sandy floor, seeing nothing but the small passageway at the
far end of the cave. Sweating and breathless, he reached the small tunnel and
flung himself face forward into it, not caring where it led, glad only to
escape the beast’s hellish fires. For a moment he lay there, still and silent
as orange and gold tongues of fire spurted up the tunnel, singing his back and
hair. Then, as the dragon tried again to tear the maze of chains off her head, Tiwald
took up his spear and cast it at the creature.
The deadly dart flew and landed well, full in the
belly of the dragon, where it would have stayed, had Swiftbane been of mortal
kind. As she was immortal, her flesh expelled the spear and she remained
uninjured. Still, the blow had been enough to enrage the beast Swiftbane. For
the first time in her long life, the dragon forgot her wisdom and, in her rage,
tried to follow her attacker up the narrow passage. There she was soon caught,
trapped by a vice of stone and her chains of iron, unable to turn or free
herself.
So it was that Tiwald the mariner freed the land of
Albaessa of the bane of the deathless dragon, winning for himself the great
glory and honour in the place. Albaessa made the sailor king over all their
lands, with much treasure and many followers. And it is said that when Tiwald
returned by ship to his own home, many years later, he brought with him the
keeper of the hall of healing, to be his bride and true companion.
So ends the tale of Tiwald the mariner.
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