Berserker

They came in the night and stole them from their beds. Swords were pressed against their throats. Hands covered their mouths, to suppress their screams. Shackles were clamped around their wrists. Wide-eyed and frightened, women and children were forced from their homes and shoved into wagons. Barred and locked - there would be no escape.

The men, returned from their hunting trip the next morning; a bear had been killing off some of their livestock and they’d all banded together to bring it down. They arrived to find a husk of a village. Families taken, valuables and food supplies stripped. It was a ghost town.

“How many do ya think there were?” Callum asked his father, who was a master tracker.

“50 riders at least”, his father responded, bent over the dirt road, examining the tracks of what looked to Calum, like hundreds of horses.

“They used wagons to take em’.” His father said, examining the long thing line-indents left by their wheels. “The wagons will be slow moving and the tracks are fresh, no later than last night - the other night’s rain would have washed em’ away otherwise.”

Callum nodded, “we could catch em’ up if we rode hard for a few hours or so.”

“They stole our horses,” scowled Stuart. “A whole night’s head start - we’ll never catch em’ on foot, even with the wet path slowin’ down all those wheels. Not to mention, what are we gonna do when we find em’ ay?” Stuart snapped, “We’re no fighters. Bunch of farmers ain’t gonna do nothin’ against all em’ slavers. They have hired mercenaries, ya see. Men with real blades who know how to use em’.” He warned, “Ya might be the best archer of us, Paul, but that ain’t gonna mean squat against men like that.”

“We don’t know they’re slavers yet.” His father said calmly, noting the men that had begun to crowd anxiously around them.

“Well, who the hell else are they gonna be, taking our women and children like that? The circus?” He said sarcastically, “They wouldna’ all run away, certainly not my dear Marie.”

There was no other feasible explanation, and they all knew it. But Stuart didn’t need to be yelling about it. Now was not a time to panic the men, it’d only slow them down, and give the slavers an even bigger head start.

“Even if they are slavers,” Came a man to Callum’s right, Dave, “We ain’t gonna leave our women and kids. Are we Stuart?” He glared at the old man, “It don’t matter what we’re up against ‘cause we’re gonna go anyway. Best not shit ourselves worryin’ and start makin’ a plan.”

Dave as the town’s blacksmith was a big burly man, impressively strong from years of working the forge. He towered over Stuart who was getting to be frail in his old age, if no less opinionated.

Stuart conceded, “Yes, yes of course,” He said meekly, “We should work on a plan.” They all turned to face Callum’s father, whose calm nature, had always made him the unofficial leader in times of strife. It was he, who’d led the bear hunt and who’d soothed nerves when most of the crops had perished in unexpected frosts last year.

“They did leave one horse.” Came a Townsman, Harry, who was just joining the fray.

“Bet we all know which one they left,” Stuart said tersely, earning a glare from Dave.

“Daisy,” Harry said, there was a collective groan from the townsfolk.

Daisy was an old mare, too weak to pull a cart anymore. But Harry and his small children had been too attached to her, to sell her for meat, so she’d been put out to pasture. Brushed down by the children and occasionally snuck some oats, she was well-tended and loved.

“An old horse, ain’t gonna catch em’,” Stuart said crossly. “Plus, she’ll only carry one man.”

“One man won’t be enough,” His father said, Callum could feel the townsfolk collectively deflate – if he was saying there was no hope, there certainly wasn’t. “But one beast might be.” He said with a sly grin; his father had always had a flair for the dramatic.

“What ya’ playin’ at?” Stuart demanded.

“The bearskin.” He said grimly.

That sent an uproar from the men. “A berserker?” There was a chorus of complaints. “That’s unholy it is.” “Unnatural.” “Heathen Magic.”

A berserker was a man that put on the skin of an animal, usually a bear or wolf, and became one with it. Taking its power and ferocity – they fought and killed like a demon. In the time, when the Northerners and Southlanders were at war, the Northmen would put on these skins, and launch into battle with the fury and might of twenty men.

We may well have lost the war if the bears hadn’t near run out. Hunted close to extinction, there were not enough in the wild, for berserker armies any longer. Ever the smaller force, the might of the South eventually drove the Northerners back to their ships to return to the harsh barren lands from where they came.

“Gentleman,” Callum’s father said, pulling him from his reverie, “surely these are the worst a’ times. Such drastic action may be necessary, to ensure our loves ones’ return.”

After a time, there was a general rumble of agreement from the men, to replace the outcry. They all wanted their loved ones' home, and that was enough to quieten their fears. Though many still clutched tentatively at crosses around their necks; very much wishing there to be another solution even though it was clear there wasn’t.

“Well, who’s gonna do it then? Who’s gonna willingly put it on and become a bear demon?” Stuart demanded, looking in turn at each of the men, who all managed to find the dirt road suddenly incredibly interesting.

“They took me wife’, Callum’s father said, “I’ll do this for her.”

Callum’s eyes widened. “No, father.” He said, “I – I’ll do it. I could go instead of ya. The townsmen need ya more than me.”

His father shook his head. “Ya mother’d never forgive me if I let ya.” And that was that.

Plans were made. The bear was skinned, and its furs were placed in a satchel for his father to carry. A special poultice of mushrooms that would make the horse run with a mad fervour was prepared. With grim hearts, they knew that when the poultice stopped working, they’d have run the old horse to its death. But the sacrifice would be necessary to ensure the return of all they loved.

Harry pulled an apple out of his pack – a leftover ration from their hunting trip and fed it to the horse, as he brushed his peppery coat gently with his hands. The horse took the apple lovingly.

None of the men gave him any slack for wishing the horse goodbye or giving him the extra food, knowing what Daisy had meant to him and his family. The horse had belonged to Harry’s late father, she’d been his pride and joy in her prime.

Callum and his father did not have a long goodbye, knowing such a thing would jinx their mission to come. His father would come home to him, as would the rest of their families. That would be that.

So, he gave his father a quick hug and passed him the satchel holding the bear skin and some food they’d scavenged. He would put it on once he spotted the slavers to ensure his ferocity would be directed straight at them – he wouldn’t just go wandering about the woods.

“I’ll see ya soon,” His father said, nodding to Callum. Neither of them mentioned the danger of the mission or the complicated task Callum would have of tracking his father down to eventually remove the skin.

Callum nodded in turn, “See ya soon.”

Harry gently fed the horse the poultice – he’d stuffed it inside another apple - – it quickly took effect and soon his father was speeding off, on a horse that ran as if its tail were on fire.

The rest of the men followed the trail on foot, after gathering as much food as they could for the long walk. The rest they would need to hunt along the way. It would be an arduous journey – but not as horrible as his father’s.

+++

After several hours ride, at a harsh gallop, the horse eventually came to a weary halt. Paul got off, just as the horse keeled over. Immediately dead.

He brushed her back gently, thanking the old girl, and trying not to curse as he had to wedge his hands under her heavy body, to retrieve the packs she’d fallen on. He knew that his rations would have been crushed beneath her weight. But they would still be edible.

His pack was wet by the time, he’d managed to pull it out from under her, where his waterskin had been punctured and the water leaked out. That troubled him – he had no way of knowing how long he would be required to walk on his own.

He ended up spotting a nearby stream and gorged himself on the water there. He ate some of his squished rations with a hungry fervour, exhausted from the long ride.

Only soon, his peace was disturbed by voices. Two men had come by, clearly to relieve themselves in private. Paul hid behind a tree and waited. Identifying the whips at their belts, he quietly launched out from behind them and pulled his knife across each of their throats, before either of them had had the chance to pull their trousers up.

It was not an honourable kill, but slavers did not deserve to die with honour.

He snuck through the trees until he found their makeshift camp. A wheel on one of the wagons had become stuck in the mud, halting their journey. A group of men were pushing and pulling either side of the wagon, clearly failing to make any progress.

They would have almost looked comical if he hadn’t spotted the barred entrance of the stuck wagon, where women, children and even some men were being held. Some he recognised as members of the village, others he’d never seen in his life. He couldn’t see his wife anywhere, but there were over a dozen wagons, and she could be in any one of them.

He knew that now was the time. When they were distracted. The women and children were still barred in the wagons – a small mercy they hadn’t let any of them out to feed, even if it was a bastardly move. It meant that they should be safe when he became one with the beast. He was sure not even a bear’s mighty claws could tear through so much iron. The bars looked thick and well made; the slavers knew their business alright. Paul clenched his hands into fists, feeling his anger rise.

He took in one deep breath and then another, quietly reminding himself to control his rage. He had a job to do, and he would do it. His wife and the rest of the townsfolk were counting on him.

As quietly as he could, still hidden behind the shrubbery, he pulled the damp bear skin from the satchel, noting the small puncture wound in its chest where his arrow had made the killing blow.

He placed down his bow and stepped into the legs of the bear like he was pulling on trousers. He put his hands into the bear's claws like he was wearing gloves and instantly began to feel foolish – like a man in a silly costume. Perhaps, the Northmen had some kind of ritual or runes they used, to trigger the magic? Had he given the men hope where there was none?

But as he slipped on the head of the beast, he felt the change in himself. He felt a growl build in the back of his throat. Felt his rage boil within his chest and magnify a thousandfold. He could feel strength pulse through him, coursing through his veins as he became one with the bear.

At the back of his skull, he could feel a kind of darkness growing. A whisper, that grew louder and louder until it intensified into a scream. He raised his hands – now paws – to his ears as if he could block it out. But it didn’t work – the roar was inside of his head, and it would not be silenced. He recognised it as the soul of the bear, and he could feel it taking over.

The scream now reverberated from his own throat; a vengeful roar. All the slavers were looking his way now – faces a mix of shock and terror. He’d lost his element of surprise.

But the bear that was once a man no longer cared. Not about the slavers or the innocent women and children trapped in cages, holding each other close, as they shivered and paled with fright. Children pressed their heads into their mother’s skirts, not wanting to witness the horror, as the bear tore through the men like their flesh was made of paper. Batting away their swords and cutlasses and whips like they were nothing and painting the ground red with each horrifying slash of his claws and bite of his hungry maw.

He fought like a demon because he was a demon. The men fled for their lives. But a bear had no mercy. He would slaughter them all.

+++

The carnage was breathtaking and vile. Many men lost their lunch at the site of the gory mess. The smell was unimaginable. The walk had been long and slow – leaving the bodies enough time to rot. Flies buzzed about, forcing Callum to bat them away with his hands as he made his trek to the wagons. It was clear that many scavenging animals had had a feast. He even spotted a fox, scurrying away into the thicker bush.

He tried to ignore it all. And instead focus on the women and children, trapped in cages. He was sure, they would see this carnage in their dreams for many years to come. But they would have time to deal with their fear and their trauma. They would have time to heal because they were alive, and after all, that was what mattered.

Dave managed to find the body of the man who held the wagon's keys and unlocked each one by one, before starting on each of the prisoner's shackles. It was a time-consuming process, but a satisfying one.

Callum couldn’t help but grit his teeth, knowing that each moment he waited was another minute his father was getting further and further away. But he promised himself that he wouldn’t leave until he saw his mother and knew that she was okay. He also owed it to her, to tell her about his dangerous mission himself.

There were some joyous reunions, as the townsmen found their loved ones. When Callum finally spotted his mother, tears fell freely down his cheeks, and he didn’t care. He pulled her into a fierce hug. He hadn’t realised until he held her now, how afraid he had been for her. After all, she had been through – she was comforting him, stroking his sweaty black hair, and whispering that everything would be fine now. That she was okay.

After a few moments, when his tears had dried, he was more put together. She asked him gently, “Where is ya father?”

He swallowed, feeling his fear return. As he explained to her, that it was her husband who was the ferocious bear that had saved them all.

She simply nodded, processing this new information. “That woman has steel in ’er bones,” His father had always said. And Callum saw it now. Saw it as she went around, calming the townswomen. Even hugging and soothing the other slaves, who had stood by the edge of the fray; their trust in men likely splintered after their encounters with the slavers.

They set up camp well away from the view and smell of the carnage. And all the men, hungry and exhausted, gave the last of their rations to the starving women, even those they did not know. The women took the food greedily, all manners put aside as they gobbled it up savagely.

It had been a few days since the bear struck before Callum and the rest of the men had arrived. And in that time, trapped in the wagons, not aware that help was coming, they hadn’t eaten or drunk a thing. They were all severely dehydrated. Callum was glad for the nearby stream. They didn’t have much in the way of food, but it was more important they have something to drink for now.

At the stream, they recovered his father’s bow which Callum stroked lovingly before slinging over his back, along with his quiver.

It was Harry’s bright idea, to return to the wagons to see what supplies the slavers had. They were glad for it, recovering much of their lost grain and produce, even some gold and other valuables that were certainly not from their town.

In the end, despite many greedy wide eyes, they took only what they could carry. And for the most part that meant food. There was no use bringing back a trove of gold if they starved on the way home.

Everything had to be carried on foot; the slavers' horses had been slaughtered as well.

Tempers were soothed by the promise they could go back for anything left. Though Callum was sure by that time, it would have all been robbed.

Callum was tempted to camp with the townspeople overnight. He was certainly exhausted enough to pass out. He and the men had barely slept on the journey there – fear and worry for their families, making it difficult to have anything more than a fitful rest, whenever they’d forced themselves to stop. Coupled with the tough rocky ground they’d slept on and his grumbling stomach, he felt ready to fall down.

But tired as he was, he knew now was no time for sleep. No matter how much he yearned for it. Storm clouds were gathering overhead, and he worried that if he slept through the night, the rain would wash his father’s trail away.

His mother had been teary-eyed as he told her what he had to do, knowing that his leaving, risked her losing her entire family at once. But she let him go, knowing how important it was, and missing his father as much as he did.

Before he left, Callum was surprised, to have Dave pull him aside. He drew a sword from his belt and passed it to him.

At first, he thought he might have taken it from a dead slaver. But the balance was so fine, and the pattern on the hilt so intricate, it looked like none of the weapons he’d seen them with.

“I forged this when I was a boy.” The man said, “Fancied I’d be a warrior one day and go fight some Northerners. But the day never came. I’ve never used this sword for its proper purpose, but I made it with all the focus and skill I could muster. All me boyhood dreams were poured into its forging. It’s a good sword and will serve ya well.”

Though heartened by such a gift, Callum told him, “I’m not gonnato be a warrior, I’m gonna to pull the bear skin off me father when he falls asleep. There’ll be no need for violence.”

Dave gave him a sad smile, “Ya may wish that, but ya don’t know it, boy.” He said sagely. “Ya have seen what Paul – what the bear – has done. He killed only guilty men because those were all he could reach. But, did ya not see the scratches on the bars?”

Callum swallowed, he had noticed the claw marks, where it was clear, his father had tried to reach the slaves within, only to fail. He didn’t want to imagine what that would have been like for those inside, wondering if the cage would hold, as they stared into the bear’s bloodthirsty eyes.

The bear would not have spared a single soul. It was only luck and the cruelty of the slaver’s inescapable wagons that had spared the innocents from a wretched fate.

“The bear saved our people and many others that suffered,” Dave said, “But there may come a time when innocent blood be splashed across his paws. And I ask that then ya will be steady enough to do what needs to be done.”

Callum swallowed, knowing what Dave was asking of him. And the pain it would cause him to do as he said, should that moment arise.

He nodded, slowly, painfully. He knew that, if his father could not be saved or if he was going to hurt an innocent, he would prefer to be put down.

“This will not be an easy task,” Dave said.

Callum nodded and threaded the sword under his belt. “I know,” he said, pulling Dave into a hug.

He left the camp and did his best not to look back. But he failed, nonetheless. He prayed that he would be able to see them all again.

+++

Callum had never been the best of trackers, despite his father’s tutelage. But the ground was muddy, and the bear was heavy, he’d left clear paw prints in the damp earth behind him, that even Callum was able to follow with ease.

According to the captive women, two nights had passed since they’d seen the bear. But from the looks of his prints, he was only moving at a slow, meandering pace so it was likely he wasn’t too far ahead.

Feeling a bout of tiredness, Callum pulled some dried meat from his pack and started chewing on it, to try to keep himself awake. It did little for him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of walking, the sun began to set, and Callum gave in and settled down. He rested his head against his pack and promised himself he’d only sleep for an hour. But as soon as he lay down, a scream pierced the air, filled with terror.

Callum didn’t think, he ran.

The girl was a slave, still wearing her shackles. She hadn’t waited long enough for Dave to unlock her – likely too afraid to stick around.

Callum drew back his father’s bow. But stopped at the sight of the bear that was his father.

The girl held nothing more than a branch between her and the beast. She was using it to swat him away. But she was tired and weak, the attacks were flimsy, and the bear was strong. Callum wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gone for the kill yet until he realised that he was playing with her.

“Hey,” Callum shouted, trying to distract him.

The bear turned around to face him. And Callum stood, frozen. He was a hulking mass of muscle and ink-coloured fur. But it wasn’t his physique that had stopped him cold, but his eyes. Green, just like his fathers. They were his father’s eyes. And they recognised him.

Callum’s hand was shaking on the bow string. He knew he wouldn’t be able to shoot straight even if he tried. “Da,” He called.

The bear let out a roar, and before Callum could shoot him or run, the bear turned to swipe his paw across the girl’s chest. She crumpled to the floor. Then the bear, as if afraid of Callum, ran off into the trees.

Callum raced over to the girl, but he knew the wound was too deep to help her. She was going to die.

He didn’t want to touch her, lest he cause her more pain. So, he stroked the top of her hair gently, if not a little awkwardly and spoke sweet nothings. As a farm boy, the only death he’d ever seen firsthand was cattle. He wasn’t sure how to soothe a person or what he should say.

When it became clear that she didn’t understand him, that she spoke a different language, he remembered a lullaby his mother had sung to him as a boy, and gently sang to her in his coarse and pitchy voice. Slowly and quietly, he slipped his hunting knife between her ribs, ending her pain.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as he rose to his feet. He knew that her death was on his hands now. That if he’d done as he’d promised Dave, she’d still be alive. Or at the very least, he would be accompanying her on her journey to the other world.

He cried for the poor slave girl that he’d never get to know. And wished bitterly that he could afford to spend the time to give her a proper burial. But he knew that he’d already spent a lot of time here. And that if he wanted to stop his father from hurting anyone else, he would need to leave.

He picked some dandelions and placed them in her cold hands. He knew that she deserved better than weeds. That she deserved better, full stop. But for now, this was all he could do. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he headed off, to follow the bear.

As exhausted as Callum was, he couldn’t help seeing her brown eyes, anytime he thought about stopping, slowing. “I coulda saved you,” He whispered, again and again, each time sounding more and more like a whimper. He was so distracted by grief and guilt and exhaustion that he nearly missed the bear’s slumbering form.

There he lay peacefully on a bed of rocks. Callum swallowed, knowing that now was his chance. Perhaps the only one that he would get to pull the skin from the bear and get his father back.

Afraid to breathe, Callum edged over to the bear’s sleeping body. His sword was secured to his belt, ready to draw it if he needed it. Though Callum prayed bitterly that he did not.

He watched, wondering where to start. To Callum, the berserker looked like any ordinary bear. It was unclear where the skin ended; where he would be able to pull it off. The bear moved in his sleep and Callum bit his tongue until it bled, to keep from calling out.

Focus, he thought to himself and noted that under the bear's chin, there was a long cut. No, not a cut, it was the edge of the skin, that’s where he had to start.

My god, I’ll need to pull the skin over his head, first, he thought, having no idea how he would manage that without waking him. He would be putting himself right in front of the bear’s hungry mouth!

Callum fingered the hilt of the sword at his belt. Knowing that it would be far easier to slaughter the bear as he slept than try to free him. He had killed an innocent; it was what he promised Dave he would do.

But the bear’s eyes had still been green like his father's. His father was still in there. He had to do this. Callum crouched beside the bear’s head, very much wishing to be anywhere else. Or at very least, that he had a sleeping poultice to knock him out. But he knew that wishes were useless, under the circumstances.

He could feel the bear’s breath on his face; bitter and rank and rotten. Callum wanted to throw up.

Gently, he let his fingers reach beneath its chin until he was touching the edge of the skin. He wasn’t sure whether it would be better to do one swift yank like he was taking off a hood and risk immediately waking up the bear or if he should do it slowly and gently. He decided on the latter

As he bent back the skin, he could start to see the pale flesh of his father’s neck beneath. He breathed out a sigh of relief, his father was still there, still alive within the monster.

Only Callum suddenly felt wetness on his shoulders; it had started to rain. The bear started twitching in his sleep, reacting to the cold, before settling in another position that would make it even harder for Callum to reach his neck. He had lost his grasp on the fold and cursed lightly under his breath.

And as if God himself was punishing Callum and his father for the unholy acts of the Berserker , lightning struck, followed by a great boom of thunder, that shocked the bear awake.

Callum jerked backwards as the bear moved, falling to the hard floor, and hurting his back as he fell on the bow. He could have sworn he heard a crack and was almost certain the bow was broken. Callum felt frantically for the sword as his belt, as the bear stood to his full height and loomed over him.

The bear that was once his father, barred his teeth angrily, and pulled his claw back, ready to land the killing blow. Perhaps it was Callum’s imagination, but as his death came, he thought he could see the pain in those bright green eyes. The pain of a trapped man, watching on in horror.