Arne the White

‘So: hear now a tale, older than mountains, steeped in valor deep-wrought and true. Many know its head, few its tail: Much light lantern-shuttered, close-counseled. Speak not these secrets of the bear-kine, save to those who will rightly treasure such jewels. In past days of the Old Norr, ice-bound were they, and many were savage. Raiders upon the boat’s-ground, ruthless and unloved, all but a few. Some lived in land-harmony, the way of peace, Such were the folk of the Man’s-nest Gbalskogl. Their greatest warriors, two womb-mates, the one called Arne, the other Ulf. Gbalskogl was bede viled mightily, gore-flecked white-turf and vanishments. Protector-kin Arne and Ulf took to hunt, prowled until the culprit was found: A terrible broad-paw, red-muzzled, awesome in size, by uncanny rage seized. This beast the brothers slew, through valorous battle, as others have told. Sung, too, was their fate thereafter, shape-shifted to match the four-legged hunter. But this was the end of most songs. Bards lip-sealed of what came next. Know you then, the hairy ones’ fate: nine-and—ten years they guarded Gbalskogl. Predators both man and animal thwarted, protectors true were the beast-brothers. Come starve-times they laid their kills close to the hearths of the people. Good men were they. This was known. Generous was the Kno wer, and mystical. She came to bless their virtue, snow-shrouded, flame-haired, white-winged, Light-mantled and fair, all-wise, lordly in mein, gentle, yet steel-voiced. ‘Soon,’ said the Dawn-walker to the bears, ‘Shadow and flame will fall upon the world. Body-takers of the Doom-Father afar off vicious raiders to match the cruelty of the Norr. Fain I would let the sea-reavers and pit-spa wn battle, fair punishment for their wickedness to slaughter each other. You, however, do not sup on plunder and pain. Your kindred deserve not what I have foreseen.’ With a gentle touch and whispered words, white-winged lady blessed white and black man-beasts. Arne and Ulf long fur-clad, at last their curse broken: arising on hind-legs, hands flexing, skin bare. ‘Goodly guardians, when woe-tides wax, gird thyself and touch the bear-spirit within: The tree-sunder strength and long-winter toughness that you once had, you shall have again.’ So spoke the Maiden of the Crystals. Struck with awe, the brothers swore an oath: To deliver the folk of Gbalskogl from turmoil, to defy the conquer-lust of the Shadow. To lead them from the Winterlands to new steadings, to lands of green-turf beyond the frozen sea. This the Golden Guardian heard, and was well-pleased. Then, swift as she had come, she was gone. Back to Gbalskogl, human once more, brothers welcomed with awe and joy-shrieks. Cheer, though, dwelt not in their cold-hearth hearts, coming troubles still storm-clouded their brows. Rallying the people, speech-charging their spirits, raising up the Gbalskogl to make them war-wise, for when the time the Sky-maiden had prophesied finally came. That was their cleverness. Well-served were the clan of Arne and Ulf by this, weal-visited despite the time of war and woe. Strong-armed and clear-eyed they fought the invaders, slew the twisted-bodied parasites by the score. Battled their way to the coast did they, besieged at all sides. The bear-shifters raged. Long struggles finally ended, to the seas they took, leaving the north to its frozen fate. New lands they settled, mild and peace-husbanding. None would forget Arne and Ulf’s greatness. Goddess-herald, who had broken their bearishness, granted them a boon of amber fragments: Age and sickness would never touch them, and they became her undying housecarls, cup-bearers eternal.’ Rare text fragment transcribing the songs of a Norr skald from the court of the Norr King, Wurlim.