Idrasil's Roots Final (without edit)
Author: Polaris Zark

Chapter 1
Version 1

Luke was sitting on the sofa when his package came. He’d been waiting for it for about a month. He jumped out of his seat. Had it really come?
It had been packaged in brown cardboard, with written all around it. He ripped the prize out of it’s sheath, and stared in wonder. Surtur Rising looked like a book. It was the new Amon Amarth CD whose appearance had been anticipated on the door mat for about a day. The day before, the 28th of March 2011 it had come out, but it arrived today.
It’s cover was like that of a children’s book, thick material. It wasn’t plastic, but some kind of card. Who cared? It was the new CD, and Luke tore off the shiny film and placed the disc inside his Hi-Fi.
As the music vibrated through the air of the flat, Luke began windmilling; a term used for swinging your head round circularly, letting your hair fly around like a windmill. Amon Amarth did it a lot. Luke’s blond hair and beard almost replicated that of a Viking’s.
James and Ted came into the room and joined in, head-banging and moshing, James with his black but equally Viking hair, and Ted with his ginger moustache and shiny bald head. After the first song, ‘War of the Gods’, James suggested they save the album for that evening.
Luke stopped the CD and picked up the rest of the mail. Amongst the small pile, there was another thing for Luke. He opened the white envelope with his dragon letter opener. After reading the letter, Luke wasn’t sure whether to be happy or sad. He had an appointment with Dr. Robin at the hospital.

Luke screamed the vocals to the new song, ‘Wolf’s Chains’ as James twiddled the strings of his guitar and Henry shredded the rhythm with his. Ted perfectly played the beat he’d been working on, the bass drum booming as the two pedals were stomped on rapidly. They finished the song with a nice closure.
“I’m off now,” said Luke. He stared at the floor.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll see ya later. Good luck,” James gave the rock on hand sign.
“Yeah, good luck,” repeated his two other band mates.

Luke paid for his ticket, and sat on the bus. He wondered what his DNA test results were. Was Professor Anderson really his father? Luke had been for a DNA test to see whether Professor Anderson was his dad.
His mother didn’t know she was pregnant until Luke’s father was well away and she couldn’t contact him. Then she died when Luke was young without telling anyone who his dad was. Luke was then sent to live in a care home.
While he was there he once heard metal being played somewhere. He instantly took a liking to it and invested his pocket money in buying CDs. The care home was good, and it let Luke live as normally as possible. He got a couple quid a week and could spend it on whatever he wanted that wasn’t booze, cigarettes or anything else inappropriate.
He left the care home to go to Bristol University. He studied classics.
In his second year he shared a room with James Thyme, also a metal head. James studied physics, and his teacher was Professor Anderson. James always commented on how alike the traits of his teacher and best mate were. They both had similar bad habits and similar values.
One day, Luke confronted Professor Anderson and asked if he’d pay for a test to see if they were related. Professor Anderson agreed that they were very alike but declined paying because he was already in a happy family. He didn’t know if he’d been in a relationship with Luke’s mother, Jen Bellamy. He said he’d agree to it if Luke paid for it.
Luke’s band, Concrete Fire, were signed, and had made an album, so with the money, Luke got in touch with the professor and paid for a test. Now Luke was sitting on a red bus nearing the stop. If Professor Anderson was not his dad he would’ve wasted his own time and money for no reason. ‘But’, thought Luke, ‘If Professor Anderson is my dad then… well,’ Luke couldn’t find the words for it. He’d have spent all his life wondering who his dad was and then find out through a simple DNA test which the father was pretty unwilling to take.
Luke exited the people filled bus and gradually made his way to the door. Was the busy physics teacher his father? Would a slip of paper from a brown envelope tell him this?
Each step down the corridor took him a step closer to the answer.
At least his father wouldn’t be a gas mask and cape wearing, laser sword wielding maniac, thought Luke.
He went to reception, voice trembling a little. After sitting in the waiting room with an old woman talking about her cats, Luke was called in. Professor Anderson was already there.
“Hi Luke, I’m Doctor Robin, take a seat,” said a friendly old man. Luke sat.
“Hi,” said Professor Anderson politely. They shook hands.
“Now, I’m going to be quite frank. No long introductions. Would you like to read it, hear it from me or hear it from him?” asked the doctor. There was a long silence. “You tell him Mister Anderson.”
Luke swallowed as he turned towards Professor Anderson. Was this man his father? The university professor blinked. In the split second of the blink, Luke knew the results. He waited patiently for Professor Anderson to put them into words. Should he be happy, or should he be sad? What should he think?
“Luke, I am your father.”
Luke heard those words. Those words, though, were not spoken in that room. The words spoken were: “Luke, I’m not your father. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” muttered Luke. His feelings were too mixed to feel relieved or sad.
“Now Luke, it’s not all over,” said Dr. Robin. “You see, I’ve had an interest in your middle name. You know what it means now, don’t you?”
Luke nodded.
“Well, out of my own interest, I’ve done some research – yes, you can go if you like Mister Anderson – I’ve done some research with your DNA samples and have found out that you are fifty percent Norwegian. Your father is from up north.
“Getting more interested I checked to see if you have Viking blood in you. It’s a small chance, but as your middle name is ‘Tyrsson’ I thought I should check it out. Unfortunately, you’re not a Viking,” Professor Anderson closed the door.
“Oh,” Luke was annoyed with the doctor for misleading him like that. He loved the Vikings.
“But, you are twenty percent Viking,”
Luke was even more annoyed with the doctor.
The doctor continued, “It was not just pure interest that got me going, Luke. I had a holiday in Norway once. I went to a little village named Arenshei. My wife and I, we stayed in a traditional Viking tavern. The barman’s sir name was Tyrsson. I think he might be your father,”
“Cool,” said Luke, “but how did you find out I was twenty percent Viking?”
“Well, there’s this awesome source of information, with almost everything on it. It’s called the internet, and if you know where to look you can find DNA samples taken from all of the known Vikings or old Viking corpses. Unfortunately, I am unauthorised to mess with someone’s DNA without permission. I would rather you didn’t mention it.”
“I’m going to Arenshei!” exclaimed Luke, with a sense of victory.
“Why are you being so hasty, Luke?”
“My mum was always talking about having gone to Norway when I was younger. I’m going!”

James, Kathy, Ted, Eve and Henry all waved off the bearded Luke. The plane departed from Birmingham airport at 11am and arrived in Oslo, Torp at 3pm. The flight took two hours.
Luke had enjoyed his lunch on the plane. He stared out of the window, and thought about his middle name. He was aware that his mum had christened him that name as a clue.
‘Tyrsson’ simply meant ‘Tyr’s son’, but that wasn’t the point. Tyr was a Norse god. He had his hand bitten off by Fenrir. Here’s one version of the story.

Fenrir, son of Loki, twin of Jormangandr had been captured by The Aesir (the main gods of Northern Mythology). Tyr was the only one courageous enough to look after him.
As a game they tried to bind him with chains. Many a time they tried, but many a time they failed. Miserably.
One day the dwarves wove some fabric. It was a magical ribbon called Gleipnir. It had six magical ingredients: the sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, bears’ sinews, the breath of a fish and birds’ spittle. Sinews are nerves and common sense. Spittle means saliva.
None of these ingredients exist because they were all used up to make Gleipnir.
Fenrir sensed that the gods were planning deceit and wouldn’t let the gods bind him lest one of them put their hand in his mouth.
Tyr volunteered.
The gods bound Fenrir, and Tyr placed his right hand in the wolf’s massive mouth. The wolf kicked, but the harder he kicked, the stronger the fetter became. Fenrir could not become free.
The gods all laughed very hard – ‘cept Tyr: he lost his hand.

Luke laughed as he recounted the old tale to himself. Luke wasn’t left handed, so there was no cheesy clue from that to determine who Luke’s father was. But Luke knew that his father wasn’t Tyr!
Luke stared down at the sea. He wasn’t content, but he was happy.
His new album was a hit. Metal Hammer magazine had featured it and it was selling well. He also had a part time job at a book shop, and he was making good money from that.
Now he was a half Norwegian, fifth Viking on a plane to Norway: the land of gods and heroes!
Some more of the money he made had secured his place on the bizarre flying contraption.

When Luke arrived in Norway, he felt really weird. There was something pulling at his mind, urging him to do something.
It felt good though.
He hailed a taxi outside the airport and asked to be driven to a train station.
Luke shivered. In his excitement he’d completely forgotten the weather patterns of Norway. It was the Easter holiday, and the weather had been warming up rapidly in England, since the beginning of April. He wasn’t used to the snow, and only had a thin jacket on.
It wasn’t long before the frozen Brit jumped out of his chariot and paid his chauffer. He handed over the 700 Kroner and rushed to the station, puffing out vapour and coughing like a heavy smoker.

Relieved was Luke. He boarded the heated train with his new black parka (courtesy of the receptionist opening the shop late) and sat at a window seat. He shoved his luggage under the table.
After five minutes a trolley came down the aisle. A man pushing it was calling something Norwegian to all the passengers.
“English?” asked Luke as the trolley man walked passed.
“Ya! English? I’ve been there once!” it was a thick accent.
“I went on The London Eye!”
“It was boring. What can I get you?”
Luke treated himself to a large double-expresso and a snicker bar. To his surprise it was pretty expensive, even for a train trolley.

Luke walked into a bar- bloody snowstorm. Typical Norwegian weather. It was a metal bar.
Luke felt as if the stereotypical image of Scandinavia was the actual reality. Especially when he walked into a tavern named ‘The Handless God’.
Beards turned to face the creaking door, as it opened, revealing Luke. The pulling feeling ceased.
After a few seconds of looking Luke up and down, the men all nodded or saluted and turned back to what they were doing. Luke, like most of them had a lot of hair and this is probably why they acknowledged him kindly. Luke wondered how a hostility would be treated if he, she or it entered the cabin.
The walls and the ceiling were of logs, and the place reeked of a different millennium. Behind the bar were wooden barrels of mead, and the men all had tankards which they would give to the barman to fill up.
The barman’s long hair and beard almost replicated that of a Viking’s.
Luke walked slowly to the bar. He knew that he’d look like that barman 20 years from now. He opened his mouth to speak. No words descended from between his lips.
The barman smiled, baring yellow teeth.
“Har du fått din egen seidel?” he asked.
“I’m English.”
“I know. But if you’re in Norway, people speak Norwegian,” he laughed, “Have you got your own tankard?”
Luke hadn’t.
Tankards were cool traditional beer mugs. They were wider at the bottom than at the top. Luke hadn’t drunk from one before, so he was childishly excited.
When Luke had explained (using one simple word) that he hadn’t a mug, the maybe father slammed a tankard on the bar. The bar was made of wood and had splintered from overuse so the barman didn’t lean on it when he asked Luke what he’d like to drink.
Luke studied the intricate map of wrinkles and creases on the guy’s face.
“What have you got?”
Luke waited but after a pause realised that that was all. He was going to say ‘yes’, but the barman was already filling the mug, and letting mead froth into the shiny tankard.
“Here. On the house. Keep the tankard too. Now, what brings you here?”
Luke answered with a question. “Mr. Tyrrson?”
The barman hesitated. He’d sort of knew since Luke came in, but acted normally as if it was his imagination. Now he was surprised and scared because of Luke’s direct approach.
“Yes, that is me. Benjamin Tyrrson.” (Benjamin’s name is pronounced Ben-yamin. In Norwegian J is pronounced like consonant Y)
Luke sipped at his frothy beverage. It was tasty.
“Are you my father?”
“It’s cold in here,” replied Benjamin.
Luke wanted an answer. He downed his mead.
“Are you my father?”
“Luke,” said Benjamin, “Go to the forest around the back of the tavern. Follow the footpath until you get to a good sized tree. Cut it down and bring back enough wood to keep the tavern warm ‘till morning. I’ll speak to you about the father thing when you get back.”
The whole tavern was silent. They were all waiting for Luke’s reply.
“Now? There’s a snowstorm, it’s cold and dark, and there are probably wolves and bears prowling about!”
Everyone burst out laughing. Someone shouted “There’s worse than that!”
Luke looked worried.
“You’ll see fine, I promise. The axe is outside the front door. Use it to cut down the tree or on any scary monsters if they come.” Benjamin’s words were actually quite reassuring.
The laughing was enough of a boost. Luke marched out.
The axe didn’t look right for chopping down trees. It was more of an old battle axe or something. Luke thought it looked pretty new. He found it leaning beside the door, like Benjamin had said. It’s handle was wooden, but was encrusted with various stones and gems. It must have cost a bomb.
The axe blade itself was made of a thick metal and painted black with golden Nordic art painted around it. You could also see mythological beasts carved into the handle if you looked carefully.
His parka protected him from most of the cold, but Luke regretted going out in the first place. As soon as he stepped out he’d heard the howl of a wolf.
The darkness was scary. He felt as if anything could be a meter away hiding behind the falling blanket of snow.
Luke couldn’t just go back. That would be cowardly and it was pointless. He wouldn’t get anywhere.
Again, the barman was right. Luke could just see enough to make his way to the path.
He could hear the rustling of wildlife, or was it wildlife? Things watched as he walked by and Luke knew this. He didn’t feel safe. Something must have been stalking him.
When he entered the wood it was worse. The noise of the tavern died, and anything could have been watching from the trees.
Luke hated it. He held the axe, ready for any attacker, and kept turning round. He felt as if something was about to pounce at all times. His back felt scared, and so did he. Was this the feeling: ‘chills down your back’?
He felt like just turning and running, but Luke was a grown man. He’d never been afraid of the dark but this was unbearable.
After five minutes, which felt like five hours, he heard something massive run past the tree beside him. He turned, yelping. It had gone and the branches were still shaking, but Luke still swung his axe out of sheer fear.
Hit swooped right through the thick trunk of the tree. It was a good sized tree. In fact…
Luke heard barking, but not the barking of dogs or foxes, the barking of wolves.
The tree fell.
Would Luke die? If he did it would be pointless. Why was he doing this? His father left him and his mother, so what was the point?
He’d bowed to peer pressure, in going out to cut wood. He felt stupid. Stupid! Maybe sending him out was just a ploy to get rid of him. Maybe Benjamin didn’t want a son, so was trying to kill him! Maybe…
The barking was getting louder and louder. Shapes came out of the darkness. One jumped at Luke.
Luke saw snarling teeth, and salivary jaws. It’s eyes were fixed on his exposed neck. It went slowly, very slowly and Luke saw the hunger turn into fear and pain in the wolf’s eyes. He’d swung his axe in defence, and it had sliced right through this poor starving creature.
Luke felt a twinge of guilt when he saw what had first been a terrifying beast turn into helpless puppy, but only for a split second.
Masses of wolves were still monstrous, aggravated by their kin’s slaughter. Luke turned and ran, but the wolves were fast animals. His back felt exposed. He spun, swinging his axe, and caught some wolves in mid pounce. It was just the right moment. If he’d waited any longer, the wolves would have devoured him.
Luke ran more, and to his surprise, he’d gotten out of the wood. He ran off of the path and turned again on the dirt track, but no wolves were there. He saw their yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of the wood. They would venture no further.
There was something different. He was on a dirt track. Luke remembered getting off the train and walking down a tarmac road. In fact there were patches of grass in places, and they could be seen sticking out of the thick layer of snow. The street lamps had been replaced with lanterns. What had happened?
Luke began feeling scared. He was more frightened than the near death experience he’d had with the wolves. Their yellow eyes were still haunting him.
What could he do? He was in the same place but it was different. He was going to walk into the tavern, but caught himself reflected in the window. Where had his black parka gone? Luke was wearing a black animal pelt, and a leather tunic under metal armour plates and chain mail. His head was protected by a silver helmet, engraved with Nordic patterns.
Luke walked into the tavern. He saw the fire burning, and began fuming. After a second, he’d forgotten that anger and was scared again.
“The boy has got blood on his axe!” shouted another armoured man.
“Yargh!” shouted the others in victory. In fact, all of them were wearing armour, including pride faced Benjamin Tyrsson.
The man beckoned Luke over.
“Luke,” he said. “I am your father.”
Luke knew what to think. This was easy. He’d been challenged, so it felt right to be told this now.
He had another pint.
“Now Luke,” said his father, “you might be wondering about your clothes and things. Am I right?”
Luke forgot about his happiness and listened up.
“When you killed that wolf, you struck like a true Viking, so the magic wood turned you into one. It took you to the past.
“You are a true Viking, but if anyone with no Viking roots at all acts with the skill of one he too becomes one.
“This building is your only link to the real present world. People from the present world can visit this and they will see you in present day clothing, not this clothing. To get back to the present world, you need to go out holding onto something from the present world, but, be warned, you will never get back to this world if you do that.”
Luke took in these words. He believed them, despite their outrageousness.
It was hard. If Luke stayed here, he’d be able to venture out with his father, and have a good time. He would miss his friends, though, and they’d have no way of contacting him. They’d have to come to Norway. He wouldn’t be able to play with the band.
If Luke went, he’d only be able to see his father in this tavern.
“Dad,” said Luke.
Pleased by his new name Benjamin smiled. “What is it son?”
“Have you ever considered seeing the present world?”
“You won’t get me out of here son. Not yet anyway.”
Luke grabbed his tankard and downed his pint. “More mead please!”
Luke and all of the Vikings got drunk and partied. After his sixth pint, Luke filled up again and left his father. He walked over to more people his age.
“Hi,” he said. They all saluted. One stepped forward.
“Hello,” he said, “my name is Aksel.” He had black hair and a beard: well what did you expect?
The others just nodded.
“Let’s go,” said another dark one.
“How come you’re not speaking Norwegian?” asked Luke.
“We are,” said a ginger one. His red hair was thin and straight, and his beard was long and cylindrical. “You coming?” he beckoned.
Luke followed them out of the tavern after waving to his dad, and followed them down the track.
There were six men altogether, including Luke. They all walked into a log cabin.
It was cosy in there, with the fire burning. Aksel chucked a log onto it, and sat.
The room was filled with makeshift furniture. The seats were logs of fine wood, covered with pelts and furs, and the table was a wooden box.
The others sat too, but there wasn’t a seat to spare for Luke.
“We must feast, welcoming a new warrior into our midst!” said the red-head.
“Yeah!” agreed the others.
“My name is Henrik,” said the ginger one who seemed like the leader of the little group.
“Aksel,” said Aksel.
The two brown haired ones were twins: Marius and Markus.
The last was Tollack, the other dark haired. He scowled at Luke, his brown-black eyes glistening. Luke stared back, unblinking. He scowled too.
Luke had just made an enemy, or so he thought. He blinked.
Tollack laughed. “You blinked, I win!” Luke shook his hand. It was just a staring contest. He was hungry and was looking forward to his feast.
“Now, you must fight with me,” said Marius, “and this will be a test.”
Marius threw down his armour, and got into a fighting stance.
Luke did the same, but as he wasn’t used to it, he needed help unfastening his plates, and van braces. Just in furs and a leather tunic, Luke was ready.
Before he knew it, the others had gotten ready to fight. Luke thought it was just him versus Marius, but then realised the test. He was to fight with Marius, not against him, so when Aksel lunged at the twin, Luke pushed him away. Marius did the same for Luke.
The others drew back, and eyed Luke, seeing if he’d attack his brown haired ally.
“‘You guys gonna’ attack me and him?” asked Luke.
They all smiled. Henrik brought another seat out of the cupboard, and placed it down.
Damnation! It was the next morning and Luke was walking through the forest behind the gang. They hadn’t yet caught the feast so were hunting now. He was angrily stomping along, having not eaten the night before.
“Shut up!” said Markus, “we don’t want to scare away the animals,”
“Well your shouting won’t help,” laughed Tollack. Markus scowled and stomped along angrily.
“Hypocrite,” said Luke under his breath. Tollack laughed.
“What did you say?” asked Markus.
After suppressing themselves, Henrik, Aksel and Marius burst out laughing too.
“Nothing,” coughed Luke, but started laughing.
“Yeah?” asked Markus.
Luke said hypocrite again while pretending to sneeze. Markus burst out laughing too, but then they all remembered to shut up so they could hunt. Luke was in a lighter mood, and learned to hunt more willingly.
It took a while to find prey, as the loud kerfuffle of earlier had scared the animals away, but when they did find unsuspecting food it was a massive deer. Luke had to drag it to the cabin through the snow. It was hard work.
He wasn’t cold when he got home. The furs surprised him in their comfort and insulation.
At the table a large portion of the venison was cut.
“This is for the Aesir!” shouted Henrik, and he threw the lush meat into the fire. Luke was taken aback; he’d thought the portion would be for him.
They all divided it evenly, and Luke was full up before he ate it, so was content. He threw the rest into the fire. “To Tyr!” he exclaimed.
The night before, he’d slept in the tavern, in a room donated by his dad. The only sacrifice was that there was but one room to rent out… well there was also the meat in the fire for the gods.
He slept there again that night.

Luke was enjoying himself with the Vikings. Well, he was a Viking. It wasn’t long until the Viking’s discovered his screaming talents, and Luke gave sweet music to the Vikings in the tavern every night. He enjoyed all of the work: hunting, training, metal work and carpentry. He’d tried all these things out, but preferred just to be a warrior/hunter. The training was training to be a warrior, which most of the Vikings had started at an early age, but Luke had no trouble picking it up.
One day his father and his father’s friends had taken him for a row in a long ship. They had walked to Arendal and taken a boat there. It was typical, with the boats head as a typical dragon, made out of bronze. The weeks of hardening up made the rowing little trouble for Luke. Life was good, but Luke missed his friends terribly.
It was three months since he’d got to Arenshei when he’d been constantly sleeping in the room. It was his bedroom now. He’d furnished it well, and got up to admire it. After yawning, and exercising his voice he went downstairs. There were new faces there, wearing modern clothes. When they saw Luke, they all smiled and in turn, each hugged him. They were his old friends. After that they sat.
“Luke,” said James, “why haven’t you contacted us.”
The others cut the happy faces and listened up. Luke turned to Benjamin, and Benjamin winked.
“James, go out and get some firewood. The tavern is cold,” said Luke, “and we need the fire to heat us up.”
“Nah, fire makes us cold,” said James sarcastically. “I’m not going anywhere in this weather.” There was another snowstorm.
“You all go with him. There’s an axe outside the door, one for each of you. Find a good sized tree in the forest behind the tavern.”
Each of his friends shook their heads. A couple Vikings stood up and shoved the friends out.
“What are you doing?” asked Luke, shouting at the Vikings.
“Tell them that they don’t come back until they have wood!” one said. Luke remembered they were speaking English, and the Vikings were speaking Norwegian. He’d forgotten because he’d instantly understood Norwegian since turning.
“But their luggage is here!” said Luke, glancing towards the pile of cases. He smiled when he noticed guitar cases and drum cases.
“Exactly,” said the Viking.
Luke smiled at his friends. “You brought the instruments?”
“Yeah,” said Henry. He looked grumpy. “It’s cold, let us back in,”
“They won’t let you come back until you’ve cut wood. I can’t persuade them to let you back in.”
“Well go and cut wood, Luke,” said Eve, Ted’s sister. Her ginger hair was the same colour as his moustache. “It won’t take long.”
“Yeah,” said Kathy. Kathy and Eve also shared a flat with Luke, James and Ted. Eve was married to Henry.
“Come on James,” said Ted, “Let’s go.”
When they’d gone, Luke walked to his father.
“Dad,” he said.
“Why’ve you got that tone?” said Benjamin.
“Well, have you got electricity sockets?” asked Luke.
The Vikings all laughed as if it was an outrageous question. After a minute or two they all calmed down.
“Yes,” said Benjamin. “Over there.”
Luke set up the drum kit, and used the adaptors to plug in the British cables for the guitar amplifiers.
Him and James had met Ted at a Lamb of God gig. He was also looking to be in a band and rent a flat in London. Through him they met Eve, his sister, and then Kathy, her best friend. They also met Henry who completed the band.
Suddenly, five faces wearing armour plate, chain mail and animal furs burst in. James saw the fire.
“You tried to kill us!” he shouted. He ran at Luke, swinging his axe. Luke ducked and moved out of the way while Markus and Marius restrained James. Tollack took James’ axe.
There was a silence. All of Luke’s other friends had scowls on their faces, including the Vikings. Luke smiled. He waited a while, to make the silence long and tense, just for effect.
“They’ve got blood on their axes!” he shouted. All of the Vikings laughed. “Let go of James,” he added quietly to the twins.
“Where have all the lights gone?” asked Kathy, “and why are we dressed like this?”
Benjamin explained all about the time and getting back, and how Viking they are.
Kathy said, “Well, I think we should go back,” but before she could say more Luke interrupted.
“No! I’m not leaving my dad and my new friends. Just stay for a while,” he said “please?”
“This is weird. I’m sorry Luke,” said Henrik, “But I’m not staying here with you and Darth Vader in this time period. I can’t, I’ve got my family!”
“Just stay ‘til you’ve got to go. You’ve booked tickets back haven’t you?” asked Luke.
“Yes,” said Eve, “we have six. We’re going in two weeks.” Six meant that there was one for Luke too. He smiled.
Luke turned and saw all of the Viking’s huddled, discussing something quietly. It seemed like the whole village had turned up. After arguing some more, Luke and his friends watched silently as all of the Vikings came to a conclusion.
“Luke,” said Benjamin, “The whole village is here. We’ve decided to come into the modern world, when you and your friends have to go. It will give us enough time to get ready. There are seventy three of us in total. May I ask if you and your friends have enough items for each of us to carry?”
Luke’s friends nodded.
“Where is my luggage anyway?” asked Luke, having not seen it for months.
“Behind the bar,” said Benjamin, “sorry, I forgot.”
“So did I,” laughed Luke as he opened his case and took out his microphone. He used his own adaptor to plug it in to the wall.
“Luke,” said James. He looked guilty. “I’m sorry for getting angry.”
Luke laughed. “Pick up your guitar, mate. Let’s show these Vikings who’s boss!”
Luke screamed the vocals to the last song in Concrete Fire’s album. He was enjoying himself, and so was everybody else. They all enjoyed the singing. After the song he thanked everybody and bade them goodnight. They all hurried home and Luke’s friends knew not what to do. Fortunately Henrik stayed behind and told them to follow him. He had beds for when the other Viking friends stayed over at his log cabin.

Everybody was getting ready to travel to the present tense when a worn out boy came through the door of the tavern.
“Everybody, listen!” he shouted. All the Viking’s turned straight away.
“A messenger!” shouted someone.
“Norway,” said the boy, gasping for breath, “Is under attack. I have come from Arendal, where the Celts are attacking.”
“When did they start attacking, boy?” asked Benjamin, nervously.
“One week ago,” he cried. Another Viking gasped.
“They’ll be here in a day!” said Benjamin. “We have to stay and fight!”
Luke’s Norwegian friends roared in anger. Luke’s British friends looked a bit taken aback. Luke shrugged.
“Luke,” said James. “I’m staying with you to fight.” James knew that Luke would want to stay with his father. The others agreed. They would stay too.
“Then let us fight!” screamed Luke. He dropped his jumper which he was going to use to walk out, and picked up his axe.

Luke was sitting in the Tavern with his ten friends. They were all drinking mead. Another two weeks in Norway was not any trouble. Luke didn’t mind, and nor did anyone else. The Vikings had sent the Celts running back to their holes, like frightened rabbits, but an aeroplane had been missed. Henry had volunteered to go to the present tense to book more tickets home. He could still see Eve in the tavern though, and they both spent most of their time in there. Henry hired out the other room.
Luke was about to go and refill his tankard when the biggest wolf he’d ever seen burst through the door. Everyone was too shocked to do anything, and the beast walked straight up to Luke and bit his right hand clean off, and then walked out. After a few seconds of nothing but Luke’s screams Kathy asked Henry to call an ambulance. He did, and the paramedics arrived, and took the screaming man out on a stretcher. Outside the door, Luke saw the wolf watching him, it’s eyes hungrily staring at him. It ran and leaped at his face just as he came out. Luckily the wolf was in the past, and Luke had come out on a stretcher from the present. It disappeared as his face was between it’s jaws. Only Henry came in the ambulance with him. The voices of the paramedics spoke in an unfamiliar language, as they cleaned him up, and anaesthetized him.

Luke Tyrsson Bellamy was sent home and given an aluminium hand. After two weeks, his friends and his father arrived at the door. He split up with his band and formed another with his still best friend James Thyme.
Benjamin Tyrsson became a private Norwegian tutor and built a bar called The Synthetic Handed God.
Concrete Fire produced two other albums before the record company became bankrupt, and Ted Reynolds was sent to prison for driving drunk.
Tollack Fretheim took up drum lessons and Aksel Strommen decided to take up guitar. They both contributed to Luke’s new band.
All of the Viking friends went to collage to get some education.
Tyrsson’s Hand, Luke’s new band is more popular than his previous one.
The Large Wolf was sent by Loki, a menacing giant, to trick Luke. He ordered it to bite the man’s hand off, but in the end, the wolf’s temptation was too great to resist eating Luke. Unfortunately for him, he missed, and was warded off by Marius and Markus Welde.


Notify me when...

"This extract remains the exclusive property of the author who retains all copyright and other intellectual property rights in the work. It may not be stored, displayed, published, reproduced or used by any person or entity for any purpose without the author's express permission and authority."

Please rate and comment on this work
The writer appreciates your feedback.

Book overall rating (No. of ratings: 
Would you consider buying this book?
Yes | No
Your rating:
Post a comment Share with a friend
Your first name:
Your email:
Recipient's first name:
Recipient's email:

Worthy of Publishing is against spam. All information submitted here will remain secure, and will not be sold to spammers.

No advertising or promotional content permitted.