literature

Our Hjemkost

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BanditRingtail3's avatar
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Literature Text

Welcome!  Welcome home, brethren!  Come, sit by my fire and listen.  Warm your bones from Lady Winter's chill.  Tonight is not a night for travelling.

Wipe those sorry looks from your faces.  You will find no condemnation around this fire.  No sour looks, no bitter words.  You left, you came back.  You survived.  God alone knows what would have happened if you stayed.  And who are we to demand answers of him?

Sit.  Eat.  Drink.  But most of all, listen.  Much has changed since you left.  Much there is to tell.  So listen!

The early years were hard on us.  Lady Winter is cruel; this we have always known.  But now worse was upon us.  All the land was divided, and few there were who would come to our aid.  Many of the things we took for granted were stolen away.  The lives we lived, the small stories we thought so important, were torn away like a man's warm breath in a blizzard.  Many died.  Our bards still sing of the loss, of the countless small towns devoured by Winter's cruelty.  And yet, they also sing of triumph.  Of how we fought her tooth and nail, of how we survived.  For not every town was lost.  Not every life was swallowed up by cruel winds and biting frost.  And though life was hard, we began to realize a dream.

No one is sure who first proposed it.  We do know our first meetings with our leaders bore precious fruit.  We secured the borders of our larger cities, and we did our best to keep trade alive between them.  But it was not enough.  We all had family in warmer climes, even those who had not fled to the Rockies for shelter and protection.  And though we repelled the raiders who came during the warmth of summer, we knew many of you could not.  It was to our sorrow to learn many were killed and the rest scattered.  Even so, God answers prayer.  The raiders were not welcome in the mountains, and they did not have the resources or the drive to challenge terrain that hid a thousand enemies.  But those who lived there were kind to you, and saved you when we could not.  We will forever be in their debt.

Hmm?  Oh, yes.  Forgive me.  Even when I was young, I tended to prattle on.

But yes, we were not content with the pitiful trade we had.  And we longed to know what had become of our family and friends out beyond our borders, beyond the camps of the raiders and barbarians.  And then the thought occurred.  Long had that ship, the Hjemkost ("Homecoming" in the old tongue), rested in a museum, protected from wind and rain and snow to serve as inspiration to future generations.  It inspired us.  Though we did not possess the craft ourselves, many among us had knowledge that would help us reawaken it.  Old skills long made obsolete by our modern world were rekindled.  And many of them were turned toward building ships.  Viking ships.  Smooth, shallow craft able to ride the waves of the sea.  And what's more, we also knew of old riverboats used by explorers to ride up the Mississippi and the Missouri in search of new land.  The idea caught our imaginations.  While some doubted it was wise, or even possible, many more believed.  It was not long before our first ships, flimsy prototypes to test with, made their forays into the rivers.  Not long after, we managed to contact the port city of Duluth, who had been in touch with Canada and making deals to secure the Great Lakes once again.  For the raiders were now on the water as well, using massive freighters as water-borne camps to carry off their spoil to, as well as their prisoners.  When we learned of how long this had gone on... our blood boiled.  And then it froze.

Warriors of all ages answered the call.  We believed it was our destiny to retake the waters from the barbarians, from the rapists and marauders, to reclaim those bloody waters for God and our country.  For though we called ourselves Vikings reborn, we were still Americans.  And we would not allow this.  Canada was only overjoyed to hear our intentions, and offered her own ships and weapons to aid the cause.  She was surprised when we declined most of them.  We had learned something of the old ways and we felt a battle on their terms would go poorly.  Instead, we slipped in at night, on sails borne by the wind, and oars manned by strong arms.  When the raiders celebrated their victories with loud, hedonistic parties, we slipped up beside them and began to board.  Many a time we caught them unawares, in the middle of drunken orgies or fistfights, even their sentries addled with liquor.  They tried to use hostages against us, but they did not know us.  They did not know that though we fought Lady Winter, she had also blessed us.  To this day, it is said that we keep our hearths warm to thaw our blood, and to keep the frost in our veins from killing our souls.  Some even say it is too late.  To them, we are but ghosts from a frozen north, ghosts that even the beauty of summer cannot thaw or melt.  I should know.  I started many of those rumors myself.  You'd be surprised how willing your enemies are to listen to some poor, straggling fellow who just came in from the north, and his tales of "fearsome Vikings" on his tail.  Puts the fear of God into them.  And the fear of us.

In the end, the Hjemkost served as our own homecoming.  We recovered the strength of our ancestors, blessed not by Odin but by the Lamb of God and the Lion of Judah.  And he proved to be our best ally.  I cannot tell you the number of times disaster was averted by some happy circumstance beyond our control.  Not all believe, mind you, but many are willing to admit that our God is a mighty one.  And with the Hjemkost's children sailing even to the mighty Atlantic, and its cousins riding the current of the Mighty Mississippi, our legend and our trade spread far and wide.  Even so, it has not all been smooth sailing.  The Illinois Boys still run amuck, no doubt armed and fed by scraps of Uncle Sam's stubborn fools.  The South has indeed risen again, but most of their soldiers are one skin color, and our "dark skinned Vikings" aren't treated well by their merchants.  Mexico hassles Texas and wars with us and the Confederates for control of the Delta.  Canada's Quebecois are making rumblings of seccession, and the Islamic Tribes of America make trouble for every "infidel nation" who isn't paying them tribute of some kind.  Worst of all, our HAM radio operators swear the rest of the world is plunging into chaos and anarchy, and there are rumors of a sweet-talking, charismatic man who is making peace between the nations.  Though our homes and lives are secure, the world is ever more a dangerous place.  We must drink more from the cup of Blood and Honor before our country is put right again.

Still, here we are.  Warm and fed, with no fear of attack or raid.  We have come to be feared by our enemies and loved by our allies.  Not a few of our merchants and traders have volunteered for the war out west.  The, heh, "accidental" war with California.  They are proving most adept at sneaking into enemy territory.  And there are rumors of some very Viking-like warriors showing up a little further north on the West Coast.

Ah, but I digress.  There is time enough to share our stories with you.  Like a tree, one story leads to many, many others.  How the Ghosts of Winter were formed; the early days when tensions were high and food was low; the terrible War of the Great Lakes; how we fought first against New York and then alongside them; the day our HAM radios first sparked into life and the world blinked at our survival; our first contact with the Rockies folk; the first battle with the Illinois Boys; the building of the High Wall.

So many stories.  But all in good time, dear brethren.  Our traditions have changed, but this has not: we give unto others so they might, in turn, give unto us.  I have told you our story of coming home, of returning to our warrior roots, though not the full tale of learning to fight or winning back even the furthest regions of our lands.  Now it is your turn.  Brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, uncles, aunts, cousins, and all.

Come!  We are listening.  I have told you of our homecoming, of our "Hjemkost" when the world went dark.  Now, you must tell us of yours.
Something I was inspired to write when I went to the Hjemkost Reunion (or whatever it was called) a couple months back. Learned some fascinating stuff and felt inspired by such an incredible feat. Also took inspiration from a friend's post-apocalypse story he wrote for a contest I held on the RH Junior forums, where he's an admin. There's a reference to it in this story, if you can catch it, and I'd like to think maybe we could collaborate on something someday.

I kinda hope this story doesn't have to become real though. When people die in a story, in fiction, it's sad, but at least it's not real. If this turns out to be prophetic, there's gonna be a lot of heartache in my country's future, and in my own region in particular.

"May your ship sail straight and may your mead always be clear."
© 2012 - 2024 BanditRingtail3
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Head-ZonkStudios's avatar
I too really hope that this is not prophetic in any way. However in the very off chance that it could be, sign me up with the Vikings.