Yelrak the Little Viking
is an adventure story about a boy who is growing up on a ship traveling through many islands with his tribe.
PREFACE
“Arguing over crumbs.”
When Morag said this she was not speaking of bread. Nearly half of the tribe had been born here and did not know what crumbs were, they had never eaten bread, never seen any plants apart from the bittersweet snow-cactus which they had mostly eaten into extinction. Morag was using the words she knew to talk about something else. The witch was talking about crumbs of energy. She used this phrase often, because the vikings fought among themselves often. Only occasionally would she launch into a full monologue to remind them exactly what she meant by the words. Morag usually accompanied such a speech with the action of beating the fighters apart with her walking stick.
“You do not have enough energy to be peaceful and you do not have enough energy to be peaceful!” She would screech. Her voice was dry as old bones, husky as a shell of wheat, cracked as a handful of knuckles after a rap from her witch-stick.
Morag’s walking stick hurt more than the vikings fists punching at jaws, claws gouging at eyes, teeth biting at limbs, feet kicking at shins. Morag's stick always ended disputes around her in the village and then she would settle back down into her place by the fire to fall asleep with the rest of the elders. Occasionally she would remain awake to explain her philosophy of how society worked. Most of the time it put everyone else to sleep.
“We are made of energy but we are only half full. Everyone needs to be fully full to work properly. All our lives we are dedicated to this task whether we know it or not. In this forsaken ice hell of a winter land the cold takes our energy from us. Most of the time we take energy from each other by bickering and brawling. ‘Give me my crumb!’ ‘No that’s mine, you give me my crumb!’ You are arguing over crumbs. There are better ways ways to get energy. We must eat properly.”
Everyone had heard this before and chanted her famous explanation; “Hunger IS Anger.”
“Yes that’s right. Hunger is Anger. Anger is Hunger. And in this land where we do not have enough food, we are always hungry. So we are always angry. Instead of getting our energy from eating well, we steal it from each other. Doing it this way, for one person to become fuller another must become empty. The skinny one, is the one who causes problems.”
“Morag, we are all skinny here!” laughed Stinker, the naughtiest child. Stinker was always stealing food from the others, hiding it away in secret places and eating it when nobody was looking. Stinker is the fattest of the tribe but even he is skinny. Stinker is also the oldest child of the tribe and he bullies the little ones.
“Yes that is the problem.” replied Morag. “There is more which someday you may encounter. Often the fat ones cause problems too, especially for the skinny ones, to defend their fatness. Everyone is trying to be fat.”
“What happens when we become fat, Morag?” Asked Snori the twin, Ori’s brother.
“We become lazy. You lot are useless. You waste what crumbs you have over fighting each other instead of doing something useful, like chipping all the ice away from the ship that brought us here so we can escape this place.”
“Morag are there ways to get energy, other than eating food and eating each others energy?” Asked Ori the twin, Snori’s brother.
“By traveling to new places and filling your soul with the wonders of the world. That is what Viking means, to go traveling.”
Snori and Ori are officially the chieftains of the tribe since inheriting the position from their father when he was eaten by a sea dragon. Unfortunately the twins can never make a decision about anything, which is mostly why nothing much ever gets done in the village. The twins argue continuously, usually about which of them owns which of their identical things.
“That’s my sword.” “No that’s my sword.” Nobody can tell the difference between Snori and Ori because they are identical, wear the same clothes, have the same tools, braid their thick, black hair and beards the same way, think in the same way. They are never far apart though they argue all the time.
“So we are not really Vikings then.” asked one of the little ones, a dark eyed girl called Pip.
“Not any more.” Morag continues, “We came to this place twenty long years ago and stayed. Most of you little ones who were born here are not Vikings, not yet.”
“What other ways are there to get energy we need to be happy?” asked a dark eyed boy called Nip, Pip’s younger brother.
“Sleep. And one another which I will show you later. Now we must sleep.” Morag was tired after all her talking and she fell immediately to sleep.
“Arguing over crumbs.”
When Morag said this she was not speaking of bread. Nearly half of the tribe had been born here and did not know what crumbs were, they had never eaten bread, never seen any plants apart from the bittersweet snow-cactus which they had mostly eaten into extinction. Morag was using the words she knew to talk about something else. The witch was talking about crumbs of energy. She used this phrase often, because the vikings fought among themselves often. Only occasionally would she launch into a full monologue to remind them exactly what she meant by the words. Morag usually accompanied such a speech with the action of beating the fighters apart with her walking stick.
“You do not have enough energy to be peaceful and you do not have enough energy to be peaceful!” She would screech. Her voice was dry as old bones, husky as a shell of wheat, cracked as a handful of knuckles after a rap from her witch-stick.
Morag’s walking stick hurt more than the vikings fists punching at jaws, claws gouging at eyes, teeth biting at limbs, feet kicking at shins. Morag's stick always ended disputes around her in the village and then she would settle back down into her place by the fire to fall asleep with the rest of the elders. Occasionally she would remain awake to explain her philosophy of how society worked. Most of the time it put everyone else to sleep.
“We are made of energy but we are only half full. Everyone needs to be fully full to work properly. All our lives we are dedicated to this task whether we know it or not. In this forsaken ice hell of a winter land the cold takes our energy from us. Most of the time we take energy from each other by bickering and brawling. ‘Give me my crumb!’ ‘No that’s mine, you give me my crumb!’ You are arguing over crumbs. There are better ways ways to get energy. We must eat properly.”
Everyone had heard this before and chanted her famous explanation; “Hunger IS Anger.”
“Yes that’s right. Hunger is Anger. Anger is Hunger. And in this land where we do not have enough food, we are always hungry. So we are always angry. Instead of getting our energy from eating well, we steal it from each other. Doing it this way, for one person to become fuller another must become empty. The skinny one, is the one who causes problems.”
“Morag, we are all skinny here!” laughed Stinker, the naughtiest child. Stinker was always stealing food from the others, hiding it away in secret places and eating it when nobody was looking. Stinker is the fattest of the tribe but even he is skinny. Stinker is also the oldest child of the tribe and he bullies the little ones.
“Yes that is the problem.” replied Morag. “There is more which someday you may encounter. Often the fat ones cause problems too, especially for the skinny ones, to defend their fatness. Everyone is trying to be fat.”
“What happens when we become fat, Morag?” Asked Snori the twin, Ori’s brother.
“We become lazy. You lot are useless. You waste what crumbs you have over fighting each other instead of doing something useful, like chipping all the ice away from the ship that brought us here so we can escape this place.”
“Morag are there ways to get energy, other than eating food and eating each others energy?” Asked Ori the twin, Snori’s brother.
“By traveling to new places and filling your soul with the wonders of the world. That is what Viking means, to go traveling.”
Snori and Ori are officially the chieftains of the tribe since inheriting the position from their father when he was eaten by a sea dragon. Unfortunately the twins can never make a decision about anything, which is mostly why nothing much ever gets done in the village. The twins argue continuously, usually about which of them owns which of their identical things.
“That’s my sword.” “No that’s my sword.” Nobody can tell the difference between Snori and Ori because they are identical, wear the same clothes, have the same tools, braid their thick, black hair and beards the same way, think in the same way. They are never far apart though they argue all the time.
“So we are not really Vikings then.” asked one of the little ones, a dark eyed girl called Pip.
“Not any more.” Morag continues, “We came to this place twenty long years ago and stayed. Most of you little ones who were born here are not Vikings, not yet.”
“What other ways are there to get energy we need to be happy?” asked a dark eyed boy called Nip, Pip’s younger brother.
“Sleep. And one another which I will show you later. Now we must sleep.” Morag was tired after all her talking and she fell immediately to sleep.
About The Author
Joe Russell lives in a tower on top of a hill with his wilding son, two rescued rats and a cat who moved in.
He studies folklore and mythology, shamanism and spiritism, kung-fu and tantra, and writes.
Joe Russell lives in a tower on top of a hill with his wilding son, two rescued rats and a cat who moved in.
He studies folklore and mythology, shamanism and spiritism, kung-fu and tantra, and writes.