A Tale Before Time

A Dream of Blood and Ravens

When the days were long, and the nights were dark.

The boy clambered out of the lake, now a man. His feet sank into the swampy shore as he slogged up to the gathering of men and elders by the treeline. His mother in her regal robes watched from the shadows, flanked by the old woman Var, the tribe's last Dreamer. He stopped, naked, in front of his uncle--the man who raised him, whose role he would one day inherit.
A bronze spear gleamed in Bernurik's outstretched hands. "Your child's name remains in the water. Henceforth, you will be known as Agil, son of queen Athalarun. May you serve your sister as I have mine."
His heart racing, Agil took the spear, felt the balance in his hands. "I swear it."
Bernurik wrapped a dry cloak around him, grinning. "You'd better join us, son. We have a war to prepare."

***

The war council lasted until darkness fell. Agil could see the fires from the encampment along the river. A line of people and pack animals stretched out, as far as he could see. Every warrior on the plains had been summoned. Thousands of people gathered, more than Agil had ever seen. And thousands more waited on the southern side of the vital causeway that linked trade routes from the northern seas to the southern mines. The southerners had fled their homelands, their drowning crops and raging wars, seeking new lands to take.
They would come when the sun rose, and the endless rain dissipated, the narrow valley flooded. And he would fight, ankle deep in the river, to defend his people and his land.
He lay down on his bedroll in the men's tent and closed his eyes.

Agil was soaring, above a lake far below, on slender wings. He dove, falling from the sky. Then he was drowning, dying, his feet trapped in the muck, and no one to save him.

He woke up panting. His heart drumming, he scrambled up and raced towards the holy lake, slipping on the marshy soil, the full moon lighting his path. Robed women waited in the treeline, the same way the men had done for him. They exclaimed at the intrusion of a man in their ritual.
Wrenching past their arms, he jumped into the murky water. Blinded, he found her, flailing wildly, grasping him desperately, and yanked his sister from the bottom of the lake. She came up coughing, gasping for air, naked as he had been, but alive. A woman now, heir to the tribe.
The women crowded her, covered her up.
His mother, ruler of ten thousand souls, pulled him aside. "How did you know?"
"I dreamed," he said, shivering in his soaked breeches, "and I just knew."
Var listened at his mother's side. The two women shared a glance, and the elder nodded. "The boy is gifted. He will need training."
Agil stepped back. "No, I'm to fight tomorrow."
"You are the first Dreamer in generations, son. You will be of far more use to our people than a commander could ever be."
"I don't want to be a Dreamer! I'm a warrior. I want to fight!"
"That is not your decision to make."
"But, mother--"
Athalarun straightened. "I am your queen, Agil. Will you disobey me?"
He opened his mouth, but swallowed his reply, lowering his head with clenched fists. "No... my queen."
"Var, I need a Dreaming for this battle."
The queen walked away, and the other women followed. His sister, wrapped in a cloak, looked back at him.

***

They made sacrifices to the Goddess and her Brother--the heads of two hares, buried near the swampy shores. Var burned mugwort and sage in the fire, and made him drink a milky liquid, but the visions wouldn't come.
"Sleep," she snapped at him. "It's called Dreaming for a reason."
But he couldn't. The sun was rising, and the rain had stopped. He should be there, at the causeway, with his uncle. He trained for this his entire life. He should fight.
Var chanted, a low droning hum, and eventually drowsiness caught up with him.

He flew above the battlefield, carried on black wings of death. The ravens knew. He scented blood. The battle spread out over the length of the river, men and women falling on both sides, to spears and clubs and swords and arrows--flint and bronze alike.
Bernurik was mounted, sitting high above the fray. A man swung his spear. Agil cried out, but the raven did not. Bernurik fell, his leg shattered. Armed men swarmed down the riverbed. A queen facing spears, calmly. A girl running.

Agil shot up. "Bernurik. I need to help."
The Dreamer stopped him, her grip tighter than he expected. "If what you saw will come to pass, you need to get the queen and your sister to safety."
"But Bernurik... I saw him die."
"Who have you sworn to protect, son of Athalarun?"
He gritted his teeth. "My sister."
The old woman inclined her head.
Biting back his tears, he ran towards the hills, away from the river, away from his uncle. The water ran red with blood. He would save his sister, and his queen. He would serve the people, even if it wasn't in the way he had wanted.
A raven soared high above the battlefield, waiting to feast on the bones of the dead.

Word count: 901

The story is set around 1250BC, at a battlefield in the Tollense river (present day northern Germany). The prompt for this one was to tell the story of a teenager who was eager to join the battle, but who does not.

I have to admit, I adore this time period. I have been planning to write a Bronze Age story for 2 years. The Tollense battlefield obviously came up in research, and it has fascinated me ever since. It is the oldest battlefield unearthed in the entire world. Other areas have written sources about great battles (this region would not get writing for another 1000 years or so), but Tollense is the oldest physical proof found to date.

And what a find it is. They only excavated a tiny part and found the bones of over a 100 individuals (and a few horses). The estimated size of the battle is at least 4000 warriors on both sides, but we won't know for sure until they do more digging. I also read this really interesting theory about this not being a battle per se, but rather an ambush on a large trade caravan (it was a busy trade route). I would've loved exploring that option, but maybe next time (it would explain the bones of 4 children and a baby). I also would've loved to provide a perspective from the "invaders" (more like refugees), but a 1000 words is not enough.

The Dreaming, I like to consider it... a not-quite-magic shamanic ritual, but they get it right more often than not, so it might be real? Or it might be a clever con. At the very least, they certainly believed it was real.

The culture I used in this story is one I am developing for my other Bronze Age story, a matriarchal system where the woman is the head of the family, and her brother(s) help provide for her and her children. It also really worked with this bit of archaeological evidence of the time and region, suggesting that ritual sacrifices were often made in pairs. This, along with the remainder of several sister-brother gods in newer religions (think Freyja and Freyr), made me choose a sister and brother gods as the basis for this culture.

Quick note on the names: I tried to construct Proto-Germanic names, using the vocative case, and modified them a bit to make them more readable. Only Var does not fit that well (it's Norse, so way more modern), but it stuck.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! (I can go on for ages about this)