The first blows of the horns would ring early in the morning in a village near Lake Köyliö in south western Finland. The alarm would sound for all and indicate it’s time to start the daily routine. The year was 1152, and these heathens had never know another life. While there is hierarchy in all things these folks were free and knew nothing of the serfdom or slavery that plagued the rest of the miserable world. Here you got up and produced, butter for example, because otherwise everyone else would be left without butter, and you expected that the others would do their part to provide you with the necessities you depended on. If you failed at your work it’s your family, friends and community that would suffer. It’s your family, friends and community that would give you an evil eye. It’s your family, friends and community who would shun you, and without them, who else would receive you? Who else would need you? Who else would love you? Who else would provide for you? Certain death came to those who where ostracized in a long enough time span. While a man can survive alone win the wilderness for a time on his own, such a life is a miserable one akin to that of a beast. You’re soon forced to eat the vile things beasts eat and without company begin to identify with them as you slowly forget you are a man as time moves in. twist your ankle once and you can’t move to catch your food, and so you’ll die cold, hungry and alone.
You knew the standards you had to live up to, and you applied those same standards to whoever slacked off and let down the community. For the day the blacksmith run out of nails, it means that the carpenter can’t work, which means the demand for lumberjacks is nearly gone, and the fence to keep the livestock pinned in isn’t being built, which means the meat, milk and pelts needed from these will be lacking… and all suffer. So the blacksmith gets up and does his work, for he is the villages blacksmith and the whole community will fall apart without him.
This village was a fortunate one. While no one lived in luxury, it was situated in a road often traveled. These passers by needed food, drink, fodder and a place to wash and rest for the night. They were willing to pay premium price for these things, and in turn were able to offer items the village itself weren’t able to produce. They lived a comfortable life, albeit, a hard working one. While raids of bandits occurred, there had never been a massive scale war any of the living could remember. Rumors did get to them of supposed confrontations happening beyond the sea, but these seemed too far away to ever reach them. It was said that it was the followers of Hvítakristr (“white Christ”) that were displacing the followers of Red Thórr. This seemed an absurd notion to the heathens in the village, for Red Thórr rejoiced in combat, he was the deity of the red beard, of the red eyes filled with hate, of the red blood boiling with wrath, of the red cape belonging to the warrior who was stained with the blood of the slaying.
And Hvítakristr? He represented everything that is ignoble in this world. The effeminate one that spoke of peace. The defeated one that had been nailed to a cross. Didn’t Red Thórr carry a battle hammer, but now he was being defeated by the followers of Hvítakristr whose god was nailed to a cross by a hammer!? Absurdity.
And so they believed, knowing nothing of the hardships their kin were suffering south, and how the crusades would soon come after them, but not now. For now they will remain free and able to retain their identity and belief, but that freedom won’t last, and one day everything they are will be taken away. Made to worship a foreign god from the East whose defeat before the Romans will be seen as his greatest achievement. Made to bend the knee. Made to find the weakness and effeminate traits of the Hvítakristr as the highest ideals. They would emasculate their sons and tell them a good man is a submissive man. A good man is an obedient man. Like a good dog that wags it’s tail at their master, so their highest ideal would one day be. That the best they can hope for is an eternity of peace, and so abandon the pursuit for Valhalla. Their current freedom and identity rejected as folly by future generations… But that will happen in the future, and in this now, and in this now Wotan still rules.
The heathens saw the followers of Hvítakristr as inferior men, but tolerated them since they paid good in coin, and brought good alcohol, spices and clothing with them and were willing to trade.
Kerttu was a young woman in her late teens who had married an older man called Lalli in his 30’s. Lalli had had a wife and children before, but these had been lost to disease in a specially harsh winter. The woman had fist come with a cough, that became graver as hours passed. Lalli tried everything to stop the coughing of the woman she loved, who did in fact stop when she was no longer able to open her eyes. The young children soon followed, perhaps not being able to survive without the attention of a caring mother. This event had marked Lalli, who now labored endlessly to keep safe his Kerttu and provide her with all the necessities she needs. An ongoing fire and blankets to keep her and their family warm, a stack of food to keep them healthy. Lalli became a practical man, and all was aimed at the survival of his new family.
Kerttu being young hadn’t experience much of the pain of loss that comes to us in later years. She was still happy and innocent in a sense, unaware of the dark consequences that can happen with the careless ones. For we may be able to appeal to the mercy of man on a judge when applying the laws of men, but there is no appealing the cruel laws of nature. Kerttu had recently birthed her first daughter, a pretty little thing with big bright blue eyes. Kerttu loved this girl more than anything in the world, and her happiness was to spend with her daughter, bath her, feed her from her breast, make her laugh… Lalli who had experienced and lost his previous children wasn’t as attentive as the mother. He worked and loved for them for sure, but his concern was to keep them warm, fed and sheltered, not to make the child giggle, but to make sure she survives. As a consequence to this Lalli wasn’t much interested in providing luxuries for the child, but focused exclusively on practicalities.
Kerttu, the young woman loved her husband, and in a way understood the logic of why he was the way he was, and that it was his way of showing he loved them. But that being so, she believed his ways were a bit too extreme. She had seen some of the dresses the followers of Hvítakristr had to trade with by one of her cousins purchase for her daughters. Kerttu wanted one for hers, to see how adorable her bundle of joy would look in one. The fabrics, colors and design where nothing like those made in Finland, seemed to be a magical dress and the thought of seeing her daughter in one filled her heart with joy. But Lalli insisted money shouldn’t be wasted in such useless things and wouldn’t lend her the money, so she devised a plan when a priest for Hvítakristr called Henry arrived to the inn owned by Lalli while he was gone to stock up on food, drink and fodder as he and his servants moved their way northeast.
When Lalli arrived, Kerttu told him that the priest Henry had indeed arrived to their inn, but took the food, drink and fodder by force and refused to pay. In reality Henry had paid more than the items had been worth in order to get on the good side of the locals, since he was deep in heathen territory on a missionary expedition and didn’t have any allies. Kerttu thought that this way she would be able to get the extra coin Lalli didn’t provide her with for luxuries. She could secretly buy that cute dress and put it on her daughter when Lalli wasn’t around. She could also buy those sweet pastries and candy her parents had given her all her life and she dearly missed, but weren’t purchased by Lalli. Kerttu thought Lalli would brush it off, call it a loss and forget about the incident. In any case it was winter, and the priest had left several hours. Certainly there was nothing Lalli could do but accept the loss.
But Lalli didn’t sit idly, he didn’t turn the other cheek, he didn’t meekly accept this. That man Henry, that follower of Hvítakristr had come to his home. Had threatened his wife with his daughter present. Had stolen food, drinks and fodder from him by threatening violence against his wife. The person he loved most in this world, the person he labored everyday to keep safe and healthy. The eyes of Lalli turned red as his red blood boiled and he craved the red blood of Henry as revenge. He was of the Red Thórr and properly acted like it and would defend the ones he loved, specially from the degenerate followers of Hvítakristr who thought it proper to threaten a woman. “Well, lets see how much of a man that priest of Hvítakristr is when he is facing me!” Lalli exclaimed, with with murder in his mind he single mindedly began to put on his coat. Kerttu pleaded with him to stop, that it was fine, she hadn’t been hurt. She asked him to come to bed with him instead and let her dress fall showing her nakedness. She didn’t dare tell him that she had lied to him for the money, but still attempted to remedy the situation. That priest had been so kind to her, and guilt entered his body as she thought of what could happen to Henry because of her. Innocent Henry, who had paid extra and blessed her and her child and told her he wished she had many more healthy offspring, soon to be harmed by her lie…
But Lalli wasn’t persuaded. In a few seconds he was out of his house, picked up an axe and galloping towards the Hvítakristr followers through the road they took. Several hours had passed by he eventually caught up to Henry while he was in the middle of crossing the frozen Lake Köyliö. The servants of Henry where men of peace, emasculated souls trained from a young age to obey. Domesticated men who served their masters, and believed Hvítakristr would protect them from all evil, as Henry did. The servants hearts were filled with fear at the sight of Lalli, at the sound of his voice as he cursed at them and approached with his red eyes seeking red blood. They were like house dogs running away at the sight of a hostile wolf and fled for the nearby forest.
Henry attempted to argue in his favor, to ask what had been the misunderstanding. Lalli only knew that Kerttu, the woman he loved and person he trusted most in this world had said this man had mistreated her and robbed them, the ramblings of this stranger wasn’t going to dissuade him from his mission.
“I seemed to have missed you at my inn when you came in, my apologies, allow me to return the kindness you showed my wife you Hvítakristr dog!” was shouted by Lalli as he plunged the ax into Henry, first hitting Henry’s left shoulder, for Lalli didn’t want to see the priest die too quickly.
“Please sir, in the name of God stop…” Henry whimpered
Lalli kicked the priest in the ribs and slammed his axe on his back as Henry crawled in the frozen Lake Köyliö, leaving a trail of blood between the sledge and the priest.
“You come to MY country and preach your foreign god as being true while telling us our deities are falsehoods and demons. You dirty son of a bitch, then decide to walk into our establishments and seeing no men around, mistreat our women!?”
Lalli slammed his axe at the hand of Henry, amputating the priest. Lalli picks it the hand and begins to laugh and says “These are some expensive looking rings you got sir, I think I’ll take them as payment” and begins to take them off the loose hand placed into his fingers.
Henry is struggling to speak, but clearly says “Yes, take them, take them all, please don’t kill me…”
At hearing this, Lalli’s smirk disappears and his voice becomes somber. Lalli calmly replies that the debt will only be paid with his life, throws the hand aside after the rings are in his fingers and slowly begins walking towards Henry who is in a piddle of his own blood sobbing in pain. With this Henry realizes that in this land his god is weak, and begins mumbling the last prayer of his life. Lalli raises his axe and with all his might strikes the neck of Henry. Crack comes from the old mans neck. A crack comes from the ice beneath them. Down goes both bodies, never to be seen again.