Or, How Toringard Saved the Abbot

It was the year 1523, a young John Sinclair was riding through the English countryside. A minor lord known for his mischief among and towards the aristocracy and a penchant for colluding with commoners, much to the dismay of his family and socially accepted equals. His last bit of youthful freedom before beginning at Oxford in a couple months. He had just eluded his personal guard, as well as avoided the notice of the Crown’s men in the area. There were reports of fae in the area. John wasn’t sure what to believe, but the stories, oh the stories. They spoke of general malevolence. Tricks, greed, stealing children, bewildering men out of their fortunes or station. Names had power to them. Careful to never give their true names and quick to use yours against you. Stories varied on how to outmaneuver them. It was said they could not outright lie, but would tell a half-truth here, omit the truth there. It was also said they had their own form of aristocracy, one which was even more conniving and malicious than the humans’ version. A common belief was iron was their weakness. Causing pain and rendering them powerless. John never met a fae that he knew of, but he was reasonably sure of his wit and charm and believed he would never fall prey to their tricks and could identify one when he saw them. Ah, the naiveite of youth and inexperience.
After a while of enjoying his ride, he came across a young woman, beautiful wasn’t a strong enough word to describe her. John was smitten at first glance. She was picking flowers and arranging them in a wreath. He slowed his steed and dismounted with a flourish.

“Good day to you, I am John, a pleasure to meet you…” He tilted his head slightly, an unspoken invitation to introduce herself. Lost in thought, she flinched at John’s voice.

“Oh! You startled me. You may call me Aubrette.” She stood up with flowing grace that enthralled John. Usually, confident and competent in all his interactions with others, John found himself struggling to speak coherently.

“Whataryedoinoutherealone?” he stammered in a rush of words barely understandable. She giggled with a glee that disarmed John thoroughly. She regarded him with a look both welcoming and predatory. John stood motionless, unable to think clearly.

When she spoke, he felt a chill, it was exhilarating. “I may ask what a lordling is doing traveling without a retinue as well.” John suddenly sobered from her mind-numbing aura, slightly on his guard.

“H-how did you know I was a lord?”

“You carry yourself in a manner that speaks of self-assumed authority, yet there is a modicum of humility underneath. The question is, are you affecting a disarming countenance, or do you truly not see yourself as greater than other men?”

“My father taught me to judge another’s actions and words more than their perceived station. Learn their worth yourself and judge them only after they show you who they truly are.”
She smiled warmly, “A man of honor and integrity. Rare for these times and rarer still among the aristocracy. I would much like to know you better.” John relaxed and smiled in turn.
The following weeks rushed by in a whirlwind of experiences both enlightening and passionate. A budding romance between two youths, one innocent to the world as of yet, despite his station in life. Aubrette lived in a small cottage, to all appearances a simple commoner with an affinity for nature. She told John her family was gone, and she was alone until he came into her life. She often would worry about the Crown’s men and the Sinclair retinue finding them. “They will never accept me for you.”

John always reassured her, “Once I have finished my studies, I will be my own man. Able to make my own choices for my life. My family will have no choice but to accept you. It is not unheard of for lords to marry commoners. Besides, once they finally meet you, they will love you as I do.”

While enjoying a small meal, in the nearby woods, John said, “I leave for university soon. I am not sure I can focus without you near.”

“Oh, my sweet lordling, we will not be apart forever. I will still be here when you have completed your studies.” They embraced, a tear of joy running down John’s cheek.

The sound of horses and clamoring steel shattered the tender moment. Mounted men baring the Crown’s sigils, armed with swords and spears surrounded them. “Stand back John! She is one of the fae and has enthralled you with her sorcery!”

John stood up, separating himself from her, a look of shock, betrayal, and pain upon his face. “Please tell me if they are mistaken. You cannot be fae. The stories. The stories say fae are evil and only take from us.”

Aubrette, with a face equally pained, “Not all fae are evil, just like not all men are good. And no, I have not enchanted you with sorcery. I truly love you and would never sully that. I only wished for you to love me, of your own will.”

The leader of the men scoffed, “Seize her, put her in irons. John, please step back. We do not want any harm to come to you.” The men dismounted in a flash, two of them overwhelming Aubrette and slapping iron manacles on her wrists. She screamed in agony, wisps of smoke and the smell of burning flesh wafting from them. John was torn, was this true love or was it all a lie? A moment of hesitation, then a surge of anger. No! This was love. He could not stand by and let them take her captive or harm her further. Armed only with his fury, he launched himself at the men holding Aubrette. He was severely outmatched. The other men subdued him easily. The leader dismounted and stalked Aubrette.

“John, we do this for your own good. You have a promising life ahead of you. We cannot allow you to be enthralled to the fae.” With that, he drew a large hunting knife and slit her throat. A fountain of blood spraying all of them. Tears of agony streamed from John’s eyes. Then, the air shimmered and the world lurched. They were surrounded by dozens of fae. In the blink of an eye, all the men save John were felled, dead or dying.

One of the fae, clearly the one in charge approached John. “This is your doing manling. You cost me my only daughter and heir. But I will not kill you. You will live with the guilt of this on your soul. I curse you and your male blood to live, unable to die naturally, and more, to never know the true love of another. You will come to be complacent believing yourself immortal. When you wander this realm for long enough that I feel you have suffered sufficiently, I will then come to you and kill you myself and show you that all men must die eventually. But you will die alone.”
With that, the air shimmered again and the fae were gone, including Aubrette. Only her blood soaking into the soil was left. An image burned into John’s very soul. Shaken, feelings mixed with profound loss and betrayal permeated him. The Crown’s men did not even give her a chance to prove herself. But then, she was fae, why had she kept that from him? Was it real love or just a fae trick to disarm him and take everything from him? Shaken to his core, unsure who he could ever trust save his family, John stood and swore to himself, God and anyone listening that he would destroy any fae he encountered, as well as balk at the supposed authority of other men. A strange dichotomy that would shape and darken John’s soul in the decades to come.

He blinked, and John was aboard the Damned Promise. They had just recently plundered an English merchant ship of its goods and the royal navy had pursued them relentlessly. A war galleon closed in on them and a pitched battle ensued. Finally, the ships were within boarding distance. Both the English captain and Captain Redbeard barked orders to board each other’s vessels and repel the enemy sailors. Although the ship’s physician, John never shied from the combat. Only stopping when crewmates were injured.

The battle continued for what seemed an eternity. Then, John saw an opportunity open to take down the English captain. He rushed to the gunwale, stepped onto the rail and launched himself towards the galleon’s deck. Just as he was clearing the rail of the English ship, his foot caught it and he slammed face first to the deck, his quarterstaff sliding well out of reach.

He quickly recovered, grabbing a rapier from a fallen sailor, and sprinted his way up to the stern castle and the English captain. They squared off in a furious display of swordsmanship. Thrusts, slashes, ripostes. To any watching the spectacle it seemed they were evenly matched. But John knew he was faster, stronger, much more experienced. He began pushing the captain back on his heels. The captain barely keeps John’s rapier from removing him from the living. The rest of the Damned Promise’s crew were routing the English sailors. John sent the captain’s sword wide. His chest open for the coup de grace. Suddenly, a loose plank sprung up, catching John’s foot, causing him to miss his mark and overextend. The captain recovered first and ran John through. Blood spluttering out of his mouth, John bit into the man’s throat, ripping it out and spitting it to the deck. He looked down at his chest, the sword protruding just below his sternum. He dropped to his knees, and before the blackness overtook him, he heard Captain Redbeard cry out, “John has fallen, get him back to our ship! Make ready to sail with haste!”

John woke with a start. Gasping and clutching at his chest. But there was no sword, only a tight bandage around him. Strangely there was no pain. He was in a small hut, lit only by a fire in the hearth. He looked around and saw Coedwig and Spruce sitting at a small table. Coedwig looked at John and nodded. “Awake now, are we?”

Still groggy, John stood slowly, stiffness seemingly from long rest rather than the grievous injury. He made his way to sit across from the odd duo. “I assume one of your potions has saved me from my fate?” Coedwig nodded and grinned. John sat for a moment in thought and nodded as well. Seeming to have come to a realization long coming. “You have my gratitude and respect for that. But, more than that, you have my loyalty. I will not soon forget what you’ve done for me. Not just the healing. You, through your actions, reminded me of one of the most important lessons my father imparted to me. Judge a being by their actions and words, not their perceived station or lineage. I lost sight of that a long time ago. I let the stories of men and one personal encounter shape me and unfairly judged the fae as a whole. I swore to destroy any fae I encountered and should have sworn only to destroy the one who cursed me. Thank you for helping me remember honor.” He reached out his hand and Coedwig clasped it. “Now, have you got any bourbon?”

Coedwig, grinned wickedly, “No, but I have something better.” John grinned as well. He knew he was about to partake in one of Coedwig’s glorious potions.

Covered in sweat, John woke in his bunk on the Damned Promise. It was in a partitioned area of the hold set aside as a sick bay and his personal quarters. Dreams. He had been having them frequently as of late. Dreams they may be, but they were true moments of his past. It had been nearly a year since he had been made Abbot of the Bourbon Monastery. A year of consistent accidents and miscalculations. That last incident where he nearly died was a month ago. Though this time was the worst, by far. A step slower in combat, missed thrust here, and trip there. Nothing serious until then. But John knew something was wrong. Nearly a century of life and he could only remember a handful of times he had made missteps, that is until recently. The last few months, he was experiencing mishaps even out of combat. He had chalked it up to age, but now he wasn’t so sure. He quietly pulled on trousers and a loose shirt and made his way to the upper deck to clear his head in the fresh night air.

The cloudless night allowed the stars and full moon to shine on the deck. John stood on the forecastle; a cool breeze stirred. He thought to himself, “What can be causing this? And what can I do about it?”

The air shimmered, and he was suddenly in a mead hall. A roaring fire in the hearth and a long table, covered in a feast. At the end of the hall seated in a chair on a raised dais, was a bearded man with an eye patch and a raven on each shoulder. The man’s presence was other worldly. John had his suspicions about who this could be, but he kept a wary eye out just in case this was a trick of some sort. “The Mad Monk, the Cannon Ball Dodger, the Felon Physician, Faebane, the Pious Pirate John, Abbot of the Bourbon Monastery. Be welcome and at ease. I am Odin and long have I watched your exploits.” John smirked, “maybe I guessed right, but could still be a trap.” Despite his caution, he bowed his head in deference.

Odin continued, “You have been floundering in the darkness, unable to get your bearings. The problem is your curse. More to the point, you have sworn allegiance to a man similarly cursed. Your proximity and brotherhood with Captain Redbeard are causing a reverberation. He is not affected, but you unfortunately, have been plagued with bad luck. You have a choice. Kill the one who cursed you, his name is Marin, or leave the Atlantic Raiders. I think I know which you will choose, so I will provide you with a map to the island where he resides. This will be a test to prove your worth to me. If you succeed the curse will be lifted and I will grant you the boon of longevity, to live as long as you wish, and welcome death when you are ready. You will also be free to once again find love. You may continue to pretend at being a man of the Christian God, so long as your true faith lies with me. I charge you to embrace my people among your Coalition. You may count yourself among them through your father’s bloodlines.”

John stood motionless for a long moment, the end of decades of strife and turmoil within his grasp. He had prayed endlessly to Yahweh without answer. Yet here a god he knew of from stories and legends sat before him answering those prayers. He dropped to his knees, swearing a new oath of faith to Odin. Relief surging through him. Odin spoke once again, “Before you take leave of this place, sit and sate yourself with food and drink. It will bolster you against the plague of your curse long enough to face Marin.” John sat and did as he was bidden. When he had his fill, he stood and was once again on the deck of the Damned Promise feeling invigorated.

Day broke and he made his way to the captain’s cabin. He knocked. “Come in.”

“May I have a word, Captain?”

“Of course, John, come in, sit. What’s going on?”

“Where do I start? First, I must tell something about myself that only my brother and father, may he rest in peace, knew the full truth of. I was born in 1505 and was cursed by a fae who blamed me for his daughter’s death. In our short time together she and I fell in love, but she was killed by English soldiers thinking to save me.”

Redbeard sat back, “Well that explains some things I’ve often wondered about. Why tell me this now?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed my bad luck as of late. If not for your taking me to Coedwig, I’d likely be chained in the fae realm wasting away for eternity, until such time as the bastard has deemed that I’ve suffered enough. It seems my curse and yours are reverberating off each other, causing my accidents. In short, I must be rid of mine. And to that end, I have had a divine vision from an unlikely source. Odin himself has given me the bastard’s name, Marin, and a map to the island he skulks on. So, I ask your leave to pursue this to its end. I also ask your leave to take Toringard with me.”

“You have my leave to go, of course, but why Toringard, I thought you didn’t like him?”

John nodded, “Yes, it may appear that way, I’ve been an ass in many ways and have come to see the errors in my thoughts about him and others among the crew, namely the fae. Truthfully, I see greatness in him, and his strength is unrivaled. Besides, Odin charged me to embrace our Viking brethren, and Toringard is the one I’ve come to trust the most.”

Redbeard sighed, “Then you have my blessing, but Toringard must agree to accompany you, I will not order it of him.”

“Naturally, I will ask him and impart the dangers inherent. If he agrees, we’ll take the Filthy Father to find this island. If not, I will go alone. Thank you. You have been a brother to me, and indulged my shenanigans, flaws, and weaknesses. When this is done, I can again devote myself to the Coalition fully and without distraction.” They both stood and clasped hands, then pulled each other into a bear hug.

John sought out Toringard. “A word my friend?” Toringard smiled. “First, I would like to apologize for any and all slights I have made towards you. It is inexcusable, but know it was not out of malice, but me lashing out at others instead of confronting my own feelings of inadequacy.”

Toringard just smiled, “Don’t worry about it, but it is nice to hear it. What can I do for you?”

“I have someone I have to kill, and I’d like you to join me. It will no doubt be dangerous. We will face a fae and his cohorts. I cannot guarantee your safety.”
Toringard quirked his head, “Why me though?”

“I need a man with strength of arm and unmatched battle prowess at my side. I can think of no one else that fits the bill, or that I can trust to have my back, save the captain himself.”
Toringard beamed, “Skal! Let me get my axe and shield! When do we leave?”

“First, we’ll stop at the Monastery, from there we’ll take the Filthy Father. The one we seek is called Marin; I have a map to the island he is on.”

At the Bourbon Monastery they disembarked the Damned Promise and boarded the Filthy Father. John and Captain Redbeard met eyes, an unspoken order from Redbeard to make sure Toringard returned. John nodded, unsure if he could keep that promise, but willing to die to insure it. To him it was better chained and suffering for eternity in the fae realm rather than lose a brother.

The Filthy Father was a sloop John used to ferry him from the Monastery to wherever the Atlantic Raiders were. He hoped to approach the island stealthily as the Filthy Father had minimal armaments, sacrificing power and defense for speed. They approached the island under cover of darkness. John dressed in dark jerkin and trousers grabbed his quarterstaff and belted on his father’s rapier, Toringard grabbed his axe and shield. They both took to a longboat. John issued orders to the brothers aboard the Filthy Father. “Take her out of sight. Return here in a tenday. If we don’t return or if only Toringard returns leave and never come back. My brother Steven will take over as Abbot and send word to Captain Redbeard that I failed my quest, but more importantly, if Toringard doesn’t return that I failed him.”

One of the brothers inquired, “Why a tenday, seems a bit long, no?”

“I do not know fully what we’ll face. This could be a night or could be drawn out. I want to limit your exposure here and protect the Monastery as a whole. I want to limit the repercussions of my actions if I fail,” John answered. The Brothers seemed satisfied with that.

The island was covered in forest. John and Toringard beached the longboat and dragged it to the edge of the forest, covering it with a bush to hide it. Quietly, they made their way into the forest. A few hours later they could see a citadel rising above the trees. John stopped for a moment and whispered, “We’ll have to approach quietly. Try to gage what defenses they might have.” Toringard nodded and they crept closer to the keep, John taking the lead. At the edge of the tree line, they could see a solitary guard patrolling in front of the main door. Lit torches adorned either side of the door. A crenulated wall topped the keep with towers at each corner. No sign of any other guards was apparent. Either they were incompetent, or they believed no one would find them here. That or they believed the solo guard would be enough to slow any humans long enough to sound the alarm.

John turned to tell Toringard to hold fast, but he wasn’t there. When he turned back to the keep, he saw Toringard creeping behind the guard. Before he could move to help, Toringard bisected the guard cleanly and bolted back to the tree line. The only sound was a sickening squelch as the two halves fell to the ground. John held his breath. No sign of any alarm, it seemed they still had the element of surprise. He smiled, glad in his choice of partners. They slinked toward the keep taking up position on either side of the door.

John tried the door, felt a slight tingle running down his arm to the handle and it quietly turned. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to Odin. Opening the door, he blinked at the light inside. As his eyes adjusted, he saw no one in the entry hall. Opening the door fully he waved for Toringard to follow. They entered the keep and quietly closed the door behind them. A wide hall led to a single door. He looked to Toringard who nodded and hoisted his axe. As they approached the door it opened out. A voice boomed from within, “Ah, John, have you grown tired of wandering alone through the world? Come to embrace death finally? Alas, you will not know the sweet rest of death today. Guards. Take him alive! Kill the large one slowly and painfully. Make John watch.”

John glanced at his compatriot, “You ready?”

Toringard hoisted his axe and yelled, “Tyr!”

In unison they both bellowed, “To Valhalla!” and stormed into the fray. They faced twenty Fae warriors in a large room. At the far end Marin dashed through a door, a lone Troll stood to block access. John and Toringard split to either side. Toringard shield bashing and chopping down the warriors two at a time. John was a flurry of movement, spinning his quarterstaff in a blur. Felling equal numbers by spearing them in throat and just below the ribcage. With no one left but the troll, they approached. Suddenly, ten more teleported into the room. John cursed, “Keep them busy so they don’t interfere, I’ll take down the troll and go after Marin.” Toringard nodded his understanding and shield rushed the newcomers. John sprinted towards the troll. He adjusted his grip and with all his strength swung his staff crashing into the troll’s face. The quarterstaff shattered, leaving him holding a sharp, splintered shaft. The troll smirked and raised his giant axe to strike. In a flash John jabbed the broken staff under its chin like a dagger, straight through the soft tissue and into its brain. It convulsed and dropped heavily to the floor. A look of bewilderment eternally painted on its face. As John reached to open the door, he glanced back. Toringard had chopped six of them down already. He motioned to John to go on ahead, sheer enjoyment plastered on his face. John gave one last glace at his friend, an overwhelming feeling of awe and gratitude flooded him. Despite all the jibes this man stood shoulder to shoulder with him, even holding the rear guard alone so John could complete his task. John turned the handle and followed after Marin.

As soon as he cleared the doorway, John was blasted against the wall by an unseen force. He stood shakily, drew his father’s rapier and steadied himself. Scanning the room his gaze fell upon Marin, armed with a saber and chanting. John darted forward, interrupting the chanting. The duel was on. Back and forth they slashed, thrusted, parried, riposted, and parried again. John could barely keep up; a century of experience was no match for millennia. Soon he thought he’d have to resort to a tactic reserved only for unwinnable situations. He resigned himself to allowing Marin to run him through, so that he may respond in kind. At the final moment before he moved to let the inevitable thrust take him, he imagined one other scenario. He baited Marin by lowering his guard, as Marin thrust at him, John dropped low below the saber, spun on one heal kicking out the other leg to sweep Marin off his feet. As Marin upended, John placed his rapier under the fae as he fell piercing his heart through the back. Marin sputtered and cursed. A bolt of lightning shooting from his hand into the ceiling. The ceiling cracked into a spiderweb pattern, and a large portion fell crushing John beneath it. Tasting blood and unable to breathe with a crushed chest, John welcomed the sweet rest of death. Straining one last time against the weight, he listened to hear how Toringard fared. His vision began to tunnel.

Just as the void nearly took him, he heard heavy boot steps rush toward him. With a roar of rage, Toringard lifted the stone off of John. “You’re not dying today, John!” He tossed the stone against the wall sending it through leaving a new exit. John smiled weakly and coughed up blood.

“Thank you, my brother, but I don’t think I am long for this world.” He closed his eyes and hoped his soul would know peace, or at least be content wherever it ended up. He felt warm, comfort even. Expecting to drift into death, he felt a surge of energy enter him. His chest reformed, bones knitting back together, wounds closing. His breath came easy, if a bit rapid. He sat up and saw Odin standing there.

“The Pirate Abbot yet lives. You completed your task, willing to die if it meant success or at the very least your comrade would survive. You are judged worthy, and I will grant you what I have promised.” Odin turned to face the other man. “Toringard the Baptized! You felled twenty-one fae alone and you saved your shield brother using strength beyond the human limits. I judge you worthy as well. And henceforth grant you the strength to rival Thor. Go now both of you, return to your friends. Celebrate, but be weary. Storms are yet on the horizon. You will need all of your strength and cunning to weather them.” With that Odin vanished.

Toringard reached down to help John to his feet. John dusted himself off and embraced his brother in arms. “Well, we still have just under ten days before they come back for us, let’s see what treasures we can plunder to bring back with us.” Toringard let off a raucous laugh and they commenced to plunder the keep.

As morning broke on the tenth day, they saw the Filthy Father approach. John signaled for them to send more ashore. There was too much treasure for one trip from shore to ship. Treasure stowed in the hold and freshened up from their ordeal John and Toringard stood on the deck as they sailed back to the Bourbon Monastery. Fair winds and tranquil seas made for a swift and uneventful journey. On the docks when they arrived were John’s brother Steven and Captain Redbeard awaiting the duo. John hugged Steven, “It’s finally over, we are free of that damned curse. Father can truly rest in peace.” Steven let out a whoop. John then turned to Redbeard. “My Captain, my friend, my brother. We were successful. Toringard fought with great prowess. He also saved me from death by ceiling. I’d be hard pressed to find a greater man to fight beside and call brother.”

Redbeard smiled widely, “I’ve been telling you that for ages. Glad you finally got it through that thick skull of yours.” They both chuckled as word spread to the rest of the crew. They surrounded the Viking warrior extolling him with praise.

“And Captain, we did not return empty handed.” He motioned to the chests being unloaded from the Filthy Father. He leaned into whisper, “we also have a warning from Odin. Storms are on the horizon. But for now, we celebrate, rest, and make some mischief.” He smiled as he walked off the join the rest praising Toringard. John’s voice raised above the others, “Toringard, the Boulder Tosser! Let our foes quake in fear of his name!”