Prologue

The story of Tor: Last of the Thals begins some 5385 years ago with a Copper Age hunter dying on a mountain pass in the Tyrolean Alps. The Copper Age in northern Europe was a very brutal time and the fact that the Iceman lived to be at least 39 years old was testament to his survival skills. The real Iceman of the Alps, found in the 1990s, died a painful, slow death as he bled out from an arrow in his back, seeking shelter from a storm that all but covered his body and eventually, encased it in a glacier, waiting all this time to be discovered and revealed.

In chapter 1 of my first novel, The Kaleidoscope Effect, I gave the Iceman that the scientists call, Ötzi, the fictional name, Albere. Albere is Tor's grandfather. He is a hunter, who, returning from a hunting party, discovers that his camp has been sacked and burned by marauders from the North, the Thals. Thals are hated and despised when they swoop down from the Alps every summer like packs of wolves to raid villages and settlements like Albere's clan on the river. Albere finds his father, his wife Nona, and his son, Jan, all killed. He doesn't find the body of his daughter, Nila, and assumed the worst, that she had been abducted by the marauders to take north with them as a trophy wife or worse.

Albere and the hunting party followed the Thals to their camp, partying on the spoils of their raid. Albere had his hunters wait until all of the Thals had fallen into drunken sleep before he had them attack with vengeance. He, alone, killing several of the brutes by head blows with his copper axe, followed by slitting their throats with his flint blade and even strangling one fighting back with all his might.  Albere recovers from his wounds but not from the pain of losing his family. He retreats into the Alps where he eventually, on that high pass, meets his fate, rediscovered five millennia later by hikers.

In chapter 1 of Alone? Nila, Albere’s daughter, escaped by hiding under the riverbank like her mother, Nona, told her to do. Afraid, thinking that everyone was dead, Nila walked downriver to the Valley of the Po where she was discovered by an older boy swimming, Aldo, and joined him and his family in a village. 

Unfortunately, five years later, more Thals snuck into the village Nila was in and she was taken with two of Aldo's sisters from his family, Gina and Lena. They are all whisked rapidly upriver to the Alps and beyond. Fortunately, the son of the Thal chief, Tsun, takes a particular interest in Nila and saves her from the brutality the others impose on Lena and Gina.

Nila becomes Tsun's wife. They have one son, Tor. He begins leaving on raids with his father when he is 13. This book begins when he is in his 15th summer on a raid that is way too late.

Chapter 1

Bitter Revenge

There were seven of them. Tsen was in the lead. Now, after the leaves had turned and winter would be on their heels, they were late and moving fast. They had traveled much too far south to a village along the Po where they had taken the two girls. 

Tor already knew much of the girls, both virgins, and knew that they would be traded with the Gals when they got there.  He fancied one, named Gael, as his bride like his father had taken his mother, Nila, sixteen years before, but it was not to be. Tsen would forbid it. Tor was too young. Although Tsen was not much older when he became Tor's father. The way of the Thals made lives short. They needed every strong child birthed. A hard, dangerous life.

Org, with a white mane and beard, followed behind his father with Gael tethered to him by a rope tied to her hands in front of her. She was followed by Ten, about five notches older than he, tethered to Rena, not as beautiful or as clever as Gael, but would still fetch a fine trade in essentials they needed to take back to their winter camp on the Rine. Hath, another graybeard like his father, was their strongest fighter and guarded their rear. Tor followed Rena because she was still a threat to run, although both girls, after tight restraint and strong threats, had begun to learn their place in life and had changed from biting and scratching them to obeying.

They had to move quickly, because winter was approaching and they were always imperiled if they ran into a hostile group of hunters, or worse, other marauders. They already bore wounds from the battle they had with villagers who had come after Rena and Gael. But they fought them off, killing two of them and driving the rest, wounded, away, losing the third girl in the process. They couldn't afford to lose another.

They passed an old man on the trail. He seemed vaguely familiar to Tor for some reason. He was scarred, tattooed and grizzled from his years, but his hair showed little gray and he walked tall and erect like a much younger man carrying all of his livelihood with him. He could have been a shaman who knew ways to heal. Tor immediately admired him for traveling alone, and perhaps, living alone. He wondered if he could do such a thing. Tor was so dependent upon his father, family and clan.

But the old man glared at him. Tor did not know why. He hadn't done anything to rile him. Perhaps his father upfront… Or Org or Ten had looked at him in a way that made him angry? But it could be that they were in possession of captive girls. Something that people in the South feared and hated.

Near nightfall, Tsen announced, "We will make camp here," and they made camp by a stream. The next morning, they would find their cache of mountain, winter clothing and supplies that they had placed there two moons before. And then, began their ascent into the Alps on a path they always followed, returning home through those perilous mountains.

They were running low on food and would need more to cross the three passes before they reached Gal. Tsen told Tor, "Go downstream from here out of the sound and scent of our camp.  See if you can kill a deer or boar to resupply us for our journey into the mountains."

Tor did not answer, just obeyed and left the camp. He had proven himself to be the best hunter of the group. Very accurate and deadly with his bow and carefully protected and crafted arrows. Not unlike those he saw on the old man as he passed. Thoughts of the man crept into his mind as Tor moved silently away from the camp to spend the night smelling the air, listening for the slightest sound, and hopefully, felling an animal that would come within range of his arrows.

*****

A rage rose up in Albere as he passed the group of obviously, Thal men, leading two young girls they had captured. He wanted revenge. He had taken it before and killed Thals when they sacked and burned his village, killed his father, his wife, Nona, and his only son, Jan. And may have taken his only daughter, Nila, too. Because, in all of his travels he never found her. But always kept looking, knowing that she would recognize him even as they both aged. They would never forget how much they loved one another. And he had killed since. Catching a Thal occasionally alone or asleep. He had no guilt upon killing them. Revenge had become his life since his family was lost. His life.

So, Albere stopped on the trail, and ate his food that he had gathered that morning consisting of some fresh berries, green shoots of wild onion, mushrooms, and a bit of dried meat of the wild goat he had killed on the mountain with his bow and arrows. Curled up and took a nap in the warm afternoon. When ample time had passed late in the day, he turned around and followed. Knowing that the marauders would camp somewhere for the night ahead and he had waited long enough before following so that he would arrive at their camp late in the night when they were sleeping.

The Thals were easy to follow because they stayed on the worn trail and their tracks were fresh. Even in the night, Albere had no trouble following. A strong smell remained of them. He knew it well and stayed on the scent like he tracked an animal. In his mind, Thals were animals, raiding peaceful peoples to rape and enslave young girls, and sometimes, young boys. They were a scourge that had to be eliminated. Even if he had to do it himself, alone. Few that he knew were willing to go up against the brutish monsters that didn't deserve to be called, men. And none alone, like him.

Still, there was something in the way the young one looked that bothered him. There was a strange similarity to his son, Jan. But he tried to put the thought out of his mind. He had to be true to his honor and save those girls. Take them back home to their parents. That was his mission. His purpose.

Albere heard them snoring long before he arrived. Making not a sound, not disturbing even a single dried leaf, he reached the girls, each tied to a tree, sleeping and touched each one gently, while putting his hand over their mouths and his finger to his lips. First Gael, and then, Rena, recognized what he was doing and faded off down the trail after he cut them free with his hand movements in the direction where they came. Gael took the lead and disappeared into the night with Rena following. Albere knew he would have to catch up with them later and make sure that they made it home before winter set in. They would die alone out there with nothing but their sleeping furs and cloth shifts for cover and no tools even to make fire.

Albere turned his attention to the sleepers. To succeed, he had to be methodical. First, he approached the big leader in the moonlight. With his copper axe, he struck the man hard behind the ear. And then, quickly followed with his flint knife, slitting the man's throat. Knocked out cold by the blow, the only sound was gurgling as his blood and life flowed out onto the ground. Albere chose the next largest man next, and did the same to him. Only the two oldest men remained. And one of them was stirring, it bothered Albere, because he didn't want to fight. Just kill. And fighting two of them might be the death of him.

Albere quickly moved over to the one that was stirring and jammed the wooden handle of his axe in the old man's mouth, forcing it open and smashing his tongue so he couldn't yell out, only groan. He slit the man's throat in a rather rough way that had him struggling even with his knees on the man's arms to hold him down. The struggle lasted too long in Albere's mind, but the old man finally gave in and struggled no more.

Albere’s hands were bloody by now but he knew he had to act fast, so he crawled over to the last man who slept through the ruckus and dispatched him like the others. By now, Albere was spent and shaking. He gasped for air and looked around at what he had done in the moonlight and the embers of the fire. There was one missing. The young one he wondered about. But he was too tired and sick to go after him. He needed to find the girls and help them before that young one did.

Albere rubbed his blood covered hands on dew covered grass. He cleaned his axe and knife the same way; slipping the axe into the leather loop on his hip and the knife into his pocket. He gathered up things from the camp that he felt he would need to provide for the girls, including some food and tools, hard to see in the dark, and set off down the trail to try to find them before they got too far or got lost. Albere didn't want to run into that young Thal, so he was careful to be quiet and watch up ahead as he walked as fast as he could. His heart still pounding in his chest and his head still reeling from what he had done. It never got any easier.

*****

Tor left the camp just before dark, he moved swiftly a great distance away along the stream and away from the trail they had been on, until he felt that the scent of the others would not be drifting this far down the slope. He pulled up under a huge tree and made himself comfortable where a game trail clearly came down to the stream. Tor was a light sleeper, but needed to get a little sleep for the long trek the next day. He kept his ears tuned to the night sounds waiting for the characteristic sound of boars moving through the brush or deer cautiously coming down to the stream to drink.

He heard nothing until dawn, when the first light came filtering down through the trees and there was a bit of a fog in the chill air. Tor heard the distinct rustling of a deer's hooves in the leaves and saw a small buck come out of the trees and down the trail to warily sip water. This one was ideal, because a young deer like this was easy to carry and had the best meat. Without a sound, Tor pulled back his bow and let an arrow fly true … directly into the buck's rib cage behind his front leg.

The deer hesitated a bit, and then took off, fast, across the stream and up the other side and out of sight. Tor, with a second arrow in his bow, carefully followed in case he would have to shoot again. But, a few steps beyond the crest of the stream bank, he found the deer dead and bleeding lung red blood profusely from his wound. He bent down on his knees and drank the hot blood directly from the wound. He knew the blood would give him strength for the difficult climb ahead that day and to carry the young buck back to his camp. After cutting the throat of the animal to bleed it out and drinking his fill of blood, Tor quickly gutted the animal with his obsidian knife.

The guts were nearly a third of the young animal's weight, so, after saving the heart and liver in his bag, Tor easily hoisted it to his shoulders grasping its four legs with his left arm and using his right arm and hand to steady himself and pull him up slope. Moved as quickly as he could back to the camp where the others would be waiting to cut up the meat for their journey ahead.

Tor hadn't gone far when he joined the familiar trail back to the camp. Suddenly, up ahead, he saw the two girls coming his way. Tor yelled out in her language, "Gael, what is wrong! Why are you on the trail?"

The girls did not answer, they left the trail and disappeared into the trees ahead. Tor sensed that something was terribly wrong. He threw the deer to the side of the trail and ran. He wasn't chasing the girls, he was headed back to the camp as fast as he could. It didn't take him long. What Tor found, sickened him. His father and friends all killed in their beds. Who had done such a thing? He had to find out. Fortunately, whoever did it, left a trail of blood here and there either on passing bushes, grass or dripping on the trail itself. It was easy to follow. Were they wounded? Tor clutched  his knife tightly and was ready to find them and exact revenge. As he followed, his anger grew and his blood pounded in his temples.

*****

Albere had almost caught up with the girls when he heard the young man shout out the girl's name and knew that he would be soon upon them all. He quickly slipped off into the nearby trees, waited and watched, as the young man ran past on the trail. Albere was sick of killing. And there was something about that young man that was so familiar. He decided that he would not go after the girls like he originally thought or continue down into that valley. Instead, he would take the pass over the mountains to the next valley to spend the winter. He had wintered there before and it was good. Let the young man find the girls and take care of them. Something told Albere that he knew he would.

Albere backtracked through the woods, picked up his gear, and dropped the extras that he had for the girls. And then, started on up the mountain. It was beginning to snow.

*****

Tor knew that he had to move fast. When he found the things that were dropped by the old man where he turned to head back up the slope, he dropped everything that he had except his weapons and began to run along the blood signs that occasionally appeared and gradually disappeared. The fact that he had not slept fully the night before left his mind. He was on fire to catch up with whoever did this terrible thing to his father. Thankfully, it was only one man from sign on the trail, and he would catch him.

But the mountain became steep, it began snowing with a cold north wind in Tor's face. Worst of all, although he had feet that were hardened by going barefoot the whole summer long, the ice crystals in the snow were immediately cold on his feet, along with his bare legs feeling the cold wind more than where he was covered with his fur tunic. Tor hadn't taken the time in his haste to stop at the cache and get his winter clothing, including the fur boots his mother made him and his great coat. He was hot from exertion and anger. It was no excuse. It was just inexperience, and he knew it. But it was too late. He pushed on as the snow grew deeper and the altitude and exertion made him breathe in the sharp, cold air into his lungs.

Tor could see that he was gaining on the man. The tracks were less filled in by new snow than they were when he first found them in the snow. But the man had boots and would get away if he didn't catch up with him soon. Already his legs were numb to the knee. He feared slipping because his feet no longer felt to grip the snow like they did earlier.

Finally, what seemed like a long time, he could barely make out the man in the swirling snow up ahead. It was the old man that he had seen the day before on the trail! Why would that man kill his father and the others! So that's why he glared at me, Tor thought. He hated us.

But Tor in his haste, being unprepared, was starting to lose ground. He knew that he would have to return back soon or risk freezing to death. He stopped. Pulled out his bow and aimed carefully. His arrow flew true and struck the old man high on his back near his shoulder blade. The old man didn't go down like the deer, but continued walking steadily uphill. Tor told himself, That will do, and turned around. He would have to find the girls before dark. His feet were bleeding and his energy was gone.

Copyright 2019 © Ronald W. Hull

6/9/19