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Autor/en: Rudi London
21. Dezember 2012 - epub eBook - 0 Seiten
Let us travel together a full one thousand years back... to 1012: to the days of the spear, the ax... and The Speaking Cross! Leiv "Lucky" Eiriksson, a Norwegian Viking now settled on Greenland, decides to come back to the land west where he first built a dwelling eleven years earlier; but this time he takes a big chance: bringing his twelve-year old son, Lil' Leiv with him. We have been digging deep into historical pasts to find you these treasures and many scholars have deliberated intensely over this through the ages: did you know that Christopher Columbus once traveled to Iceland; to study those maps the Vikings had drawn... after their fruitful visits to what King Olav Tryggvason most properly named... Amerika. You'll learn how Manhattan and Niagara Falls, in the today's great state of New York, first got their names. You will rejoice even more over getting this first hand knowledge: who was the one that initially introduced the now famous Viking helmet with those two horns.... It will also amaze you to no end learning what the Vikings called the natives of the New Found Land. We might thrill ourselves with such tidbits, however, this adventure is all about Lil' becoming a man, getting introduced to the Laws of the Universe, flirting with destiny, finding the sweetness of true love... to suddenly lose her in an explosion of challenges complicated by a shocking discovery of the horrendous practices by the sun worshipers from the Lost Tribe; his search for a reunion of two hearts... lives being shattered with mind shivering Ezekiel like attacks by the earth trembling Whirlwind Cloud... Sodom & Gomorrah, please step aside!
For you dedicated history buffs, we did modernize a bit the language spoken in this book-to make it available for all ages. You know how hard it is sometimes to get a real grip on the King James; and, please keep in mind this story happened half a millennium prior to his Bible making. Many words have been bravely carried by the wind through the ages, but others have been lost into the mist of a forgotten past. Those forever gone words must now be replaced with the fresh and the new and the exciting: because we want this story to survive in a modern world. English, in those past exploring days of 1012 and up-where the Chance West saga begins, was indeed heavily influenced by our Norse heroes, the Vikings. According to Lil' Leiv's very own rune (diary) book-kept through the ages by the Cherokee Indian Nation until it was lost during the Trail of Tears-and also, as later studies show, the Old Norse language did have an enormous impact on certain groups of natives on the east coast, such as the Algonquian and many other tribes; thus the new world managed to preserve some of the wonderful words uttered by players involved with this very beginning of Amerika...
Rudi London received his Skuildus Kalenstranda Esoterisium Philossomato Deuseexes from The S.K.E. Institute-founded in 1357 by Primitus Regius Ned Henry MacStrand from Scone, near Perth, Scotland. Sk. London has received lyrical awards from The American Song Festival, Los Angeles, Music City Song Festival, Nashville, among others. His poetical works have been featured in books, newspapers, magazines, on radio and TV networks including popular music charts and talk shows, translated into four different languages with marketing and distribution to numerous countries in both Europe and The Americas. The S.K.E. Institute introduced London to The Magnificence of The Word. The underlying principles establishing the true relationship between language practice and actual physical behavior was the primum mobile of London's novel debut, The Operator Is Calling. With his second book, 3 Angels, the author took us on a journey beyond imagination. In No Escape From Berlin, we entered right into the middle of evil. And now... Chance West adds another dimension to your view of the Universe.
1 In Jens!
“In Jens! Do you hear me? Jens… come back in… to the house! Hurry! See them up there on the hill? They’ll be chasing you down! I’ve opened the gate… look over here… In Jens!” Viking Chieftain Leiv “The Lucky” Eiriksson stood tall on top of the ladder next to the gate hollering out words snapping at the air quicker than hail in a hammering hailstorm waving frantically with his right hand held up high for Jens to see it all the way from the field. Jens, or Blue Dane as he was mostly known by the crew—always wearing a light blue helmet in addition to having light blue threads weaved into his chainmail coat—had come traveling from Greenland on Alfarinn Hallgrimson’s longship and had decided so brilliantly to sneak on shore pursuing a hunt for some fresh meat; he was about 300 yards away from the old northeast Vinland Viking settlement, Djursvoll, when the powerful dark master of danger brought dramatic change upon Dane’s sunny day. Counting thirty plus half naked scruffy looking menfolks with scary colored paint strokes all over their faces and large eagle feathers attached to their pitch black long hair stirring the wind of this late afternoon had suddenly come hoarding down on Jens while he was busy picking up a bunny rabbit he’d just bow shot dead. Leiv knew of these menfolk kinds from previous visits to what his father, Eirik, always had referred to as the New Found Land; he knew the feather-dressed natives were in plenty; he knew a few would always mean more; these let-us-put-fright-in-your-sight red painted locals would soon be piling, piling, and piling on; without mercy; until it would be all of them and none of any others. Leiv knew the Vikings didn’t have much time to get back on their ships… “IN JENS!
“What’s Lucky crying over now?” twelve-year old Lil’ Leiv asked Bjartar Karlsevne, one of his father’s servants. The two of them had quickly run up from shore to see what the racket was all about; this was their first visit to New Found Land. The three Viking ships they had sailed in on earlier that same day, one knarr and two longships, were all in standby mode while Chieftain Eiriksson was checking out the scenery around the old dwelling he’d built there eleven years ago—back in 1001—on his first visit to this enticing new land of mystique out far west of Greenland. Lil’ spat firmly on the ground and shook his blond ocean-stormed curly hair; not that he really cared much about using the nickname Lucky but he would never call his father by his real name because he had issues with him. Numerous issues. Too numerous to dwell on now… “Who’s doing all this yodeling and howling out there?” Lil’s real challenge right at this moment came from being too short to stretch his head above the protective barrier made out of Norwegian style staves—close standing pine logs, tar filled with mud and rocks in between the different size posts—originally built to surround the entire settlement; “What’s going on?” he barked at Bjartar.
“Those good for nothin’ local paint jobs out there are doin’ this yodelin’ and carryin’ on while dancin’ around Blue Dane, that Danish feller from Alfarinn’s ship—they’re swingin’ their axes evil high… nasty lookin’ bunch… I think I just heard yo’ pa call ‘em Injens.” Bjartar, tall enough to see over the log wall while standing with his own feet solidly planted on the ground, decided to completely ignore the impatient and rather obnoxious tone in Lil’s voice—because through years of humbled
Viking experiences he most observantly had come to learn these powerful life guiding truths: A servant’s head always sits loose and ready on such servant’s shoulder… awaiting potential permanent body-severing punishment from his master’s sword—just in case improper behavior should develop, or daring words happened to come rolling off said servant’s shivering tongue….
Lil’ felt a great need to study this paint job business in person and found a sizeable rock he could manage rolling over to the wall for him to stand on so he could take in the action… his eyes barely peeking over the top edge. The heavy built log wall had been somewhat decaying after years without maintenance but whiffs of pine tar here and there gave confidence it was still standing strong as it circled the entire camp all the way down to the docks. This not meant to completely stop enemy attacks but rather slow them down.
Servant Karlsevne pointed with an anger-shivering finger toward the feathered ones—now dancing closer and closer in on poor Blue Dane out there on the field… then Bjartar added with a swift move of his hand upward, more to the right… “And look, there’s even more of ‘em comin’ over that hill…”
“What are you two heathens doing here…?” Leiv Eiriksson had finally given up on the field-hunted hunter and started down his shaky ladder. Ever since the late Norwegian King, Olav Tryggvason, once brought Lucky to know Jesus, and convinced him to bring the Gospel of Christ out west to all the lost folks on Greenland, Chieftain Eiriksson had begun referring to the unsaved as heathens… “Didn’t I clearly tell you to stay on the knarr?” This heathen business was one of Lil’s issues. He’d rather listen to his grandfather, Ol’ Eirik and his kind of nights-by-the-fire talks of the Valhalla Norse gods,
such as Odin, Thor, and Balder…
“We’re headin’ right back thar, sir…” Bjartar humbly bowed his head a tad for mercy and signaled with a discrete hand gesture to Lil’—his partner in crime—it was time for them to retreat. Then, mumbling under his breath—but loud enough for his master to hear him, “Just wanted checkin’ in on yo if everythin’ was good.”
“Remember,” Lucky snapped at him impatiently, “when I need you I’ll call you. Hurry on now!” An arrow swooshed right over his head and he cried, “Now they’re coming after us! On the ships! Get…” Chieftain Eiriksson was interrupted by another arrow hitting his helmet as the three of them ran for their lives down to the ships.
“Mann… you’ve stirred up the entire nation out there looks like,” Alfarinn yelled from his longship Frøydis, named after Lucky’s half-sister; a lady Skipper Hallgrimson had come to learn much respect for after hearing of her earlier brave journey to the land west. He turned to his war man Torstein Hegvollan, a muscle-built and well-trained commander of the sword. Torstein was blessed with an overload of strong-curled red hair screaming to come out from under the battle-worn helmet he always had firmly planted on his head. It was in a crisis like this they used half the crew for bow fighting and the other half for rowing… “Hegvollan, get your war men loading up with arrows ready to shoot on my command!” And to the oar men he cried, “Take to your thwarts, check your oars into the holes, and prepare…” The men didn’t really sit on thwarts when rowing, they sat on their trunks… but the Skipper always said it that way, and that way it was!
“What about your pony?” Lil’ hollered on top of his lungs; he was on his wa
y to his father’s knarr when he discovered Alfarinn’s yearling had not been brought back aboard the longship. The silver white Shetland pony had been enjoying the fresh early May grass on shore and loving the gift of horse life; now his newfound Garden of Eden harmony was being brutally interrupted by an overload of those wild painted locals howling and barking with evil in their eyes while trying to scramble over the barrier surrounding the camp…
“N-n-n-e-e-e-i-i-i-i!” The pony tossed his front hooves climbing crazy up toward the blue sky with wide eyes terror popping.
The Chieftain’s son got a sudden calm coming over him and walked up closer to the front of the animal… started humming a lullaby his mother always sang to him when he was a little boy… then he lifted his arms gently up in the air and spoke with a soft voice… “Easy boy, easy…” The little yearling from Shetland did not know what to think… which was the scariest… this two-legged mumbling arm waver in front of him or the painted bird-feathered crazies crowding over the log wall wherever you turned? “N-n-n-e-e-e-i-i-i-i!” Better toss those hooves back up on high.
Lil’ quickly concluded no way the horse could hear his comforting and soothing lullaby-humming through this ear-blasting yodeling concert all around them and decided to do a trick he’d seen Bjartar once do on a schizophrenic horse, back home in Greenland. Lil’ waited until the pony had come back down on all fours and then the boy jumped at it from the yearling’s left side, snapping his right arm around the animal’s neck, grabbing hold of one ear with the left hand and sinking his teeth into that stinky and Shetland hairy pony ear, biting at it with full power… the pony froze!
And right then, Lil’ froze too, equally paralyzed…
Because, while holding
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