THE LOST VIKING SAGA

It was after this, the entire assembly having ceased what they were doing to observe the solemn proceedings, a flurry of activity began in earnest. Olaf’s men, under John’s direction and guidance, were loaded into three of the horseless wagons. They were an odd sight, Norsemen and English soldiers sitting side by side on the narrow benches in the bed of the wagons. Olaf, with Kalf by his side, climbed into one of the smaller, open carts with John and his timid companions. Loud noises erupted from each of the vehicles, causing the Norsemen to involuntarily flinch as they attempted to find the source of the sounds assaulted their ears. The procession of clamorous wagons made its way slowly up the rutted track. Inside, the occupants of the wagons bounced and jostled against one another, the Norsemen’s armor and weapons clanking and rattling with each jarring lurch.

In the smaller cart Olaf attempted to glean all the knowledge he could about the strange, foreign world from John. His questions seemed endless, but John answered each one confidently without hesitation.

“How is it these wagons move with no horse to pull them?” asked Olaf as they rode along equally shaken by the same bumps in the rugged road.

“Each of these wagons, or as we call them, lorries, contain something called an engine,” John answered pointing, “They rest there in the front beneath that covering. The engines are powered by fuel, much like you utilize the wind to propel your ship when you raise the sail. The engines are made up of many parts that move together to cause the wheels of the wagons to move.”

“Ah. So the ships I observed with you earlier have these engines as well?”

“Indeed they do, only they are much larger and more complex in order to move an object so massive through the open sea.”

“There are some marvels in your age, John, that I can see some merit in.”

“Oh, there will be more, Olaf. Not all progress in our time is evil. You will be amazed by how we light our dark rooms without torches.”

“This I much desire to see. Does this happen by engines and fuel as well?”

“In a way I suppose, but they are essentially powered by a marvel we know as electricity. We have been able; I suppose you could say, to harness the power of the lightning.”

Olaf’s eyes widened. He looked to his son, Kalf, who merely shook his head in wonder and disbelief.

“There are many in my time, even a few among my own men, who would look upon your marvels and accomplishments and attribute them to the gods. I should think they would assume you to be favored by Thor to be able to control the power of the lightning.”

John chuckled. “I believe you know well enough that we are mere men. There is nothing godlike about us save that we were all created in his image.”

“Indeed. But in my time many still have small minds with little imagination beyond what they can see, touch, and smell.”

John laughed more heartily. “Our times are not so different in that, my friend. We have our share of small minded people in this time as well, Adolph Hitler being one of them. I often find that those are the people we need to be most careful with.”

Olaf felt a touch at his elbow and turned. He watched carefully as Kalf signaled his thoughts to him. His son was capable of expressing himself in great detail with the simple hand gestures they had developed since he was very young.

“Have you any idea how we shall ever return home, father?” Kalf asked with a series of signs.

Replying to his son in kind, Olaf said, “I believe, Kalf, that we will know when the time comes. In the meanwhile, we will do what we can to assist these Englanders in their fight if they will have us.”

“This time is perplexing,” Kalf responded. “I do not believe I will ever feel at ease here.”

Olaf nodded in agreement. “Even if the will of God caused us to remain in this place to the end of our days, I should never feel as though I belong here either. It is my hope that we shall not be required to. If we accomplish whatever it is that we were brought here to do, I have faith that we will find the way home opened up before us.”

“What do you believe we were brought here to carry out, father?”

“That has yet to be revealed, son, but we will know soon I am certain.”

John watched the exchange with great interest. When it appeared that they had finished their conversation he found he had his own questions for Olaf.

“Your son,” John began, “He is not able to speak I assume. Is he deaf as well?”

“No. He can hear as well or better than you and I. This makes it easier to communicate with him, but for whatever reason, God allowed him to be born a mute. He has never uttered a sound his entire life. Not even as an infant did we hear from him. The only way to know he was crying was to see his face grow red with frustration and his mouth opened in a silent scream.”

“It is quite impressive that you have been able to devise a way to speak together. This sign language is of your own design?”

“My wife Freda deserves most of the credit. I merely helped fill in the gaps.”

“Ah, where would we be, my friend, without the women who love us?”

“Spoken truly, and with experience, John. I long deeply to hold her in my arms again.”

“By God’s grace, Olaf, by God’s grace.”

Their convoy of wagons approached a gate guarded heavily by more men with strange weapons. On both sides of the gate were towers, each containing what appeared to be a larger more powerful version of the weapons carried by the English soldiers. Set to one side of the gate was a squat, square structure with rectangular portals that looked like it had been constructed from a single piece of stone. As the line of transports came near to the gate there was a great sound of squealing metal, followed by each vehicle coming to a jerking stop. A brief interchange occurred between the guards and the men who John referred to as officers. When the exchange ended it was followed by the gate being lifted. The guards waved the column through.

With a jolt, their cart moved forward behind the other wagons. They passed the sentries who stared with wide-eyed astonishment at Olaf and Kalf as they trundled through the checkpoint. Seeing the piles of rubble and devastated buildings from a closer vantage point caused Olaf to experience even greater emotion toward the men who would use this kind of method to affect their cause. It struck deep within him a growing desire to bring justice to the Nazis in a manner they could not hide from behind their coward’s weapons. He could feel his rage building as he thought of the innocent families back in his own time in Norway that had lost their homes, some their lives, and their possessions to the merciless Dane raiders from the Manx Isle. He thought of his own father, who had taken him a viking numerous times on similar raids, and felt shame at the thought of the despair he had brought on innocents himself. That was all before he had happened upon the Christian priest, Father Mathias, who had fearlessly confronted him and showed him a better way. Olaf had turned from the life his father had raised him for and concentrated instead upon a life of honest labor, attempting to make amends for his prior crimes by being a faithful landlord, and providing for the welfare of those souls who made their homes upon his lands.

This endeavor was no different. Evil men were committing atrocious crimes and it was, as he always believed since his conversion, within his power to be an instrument of justice. Olaf could not abide a world where men were not made to answer for their crimes. As long as it was within his power to do so, he would be a man of action, both bringing prosperity to those with no means, and bringing recompense to those who flaunted the laws of God and man. It was not that he felt God incapable of meting out the due penalty for crimes, but it came from his deep sense that if good men neglected to act, evil would always thrive. To his very core, Olaf could not tolerate this. He would use his strength to help forge a better world, regardless of the cost to him personally. Whatever he could do to halt the spread of corruption Olaf would give all his energy toward.

As they passed row after of row of crumbled buildings, evidence of the lives lived here prior to the carnage rained down by the Nazis was scattered throughout. In front of one pile of stone sat a solitary chair, alone and forsaken among the shattered masonry and scorched wood. In midst of another collapsed skeleton of a dwelling a child’s doll was perched jauntily upon a piece of timber, its arm raised as if in greeting to them as they rolled by. There were people who had lived here. People who loved their children and sought to make the most of the life God had bestowed upon them to live. To have those lives cruelly snatched from them for want of nothing they had done was reprehensible. The injustice of it was multiplied by the fact that it was only because they were in the unfortunate position of being in the way of a mad man’s ambition. Atrocities such as these could not go unanswered. If by Olaf’s hand or another, his intent was to do something, anything that could be done to confine these villainous Nazis.