The Norseman: Chapter 1

The world gets a bit smaller with every passing year. Men have circumvented the curse enacted at the tower of Babel and, once again, nothing seems impossible to us.

All corners of the earth have been explored. Some of these explorers are household names, while other heros are unsung.

It is one of those unsung explorers that this saga seeks to proclaim.

Almost half a millennia ago, long before Neil Armstrong, Roald Amundsen, Lewis and Clark, or Christopher Columbus, there was Andor Ankerson.

Andor was a farmer’s son in the town of Gilby. All who lived there were descended from the great Vikings. Stories would be told, every evening at one home or another, of the brave and daring deeds of their ancestors; great warriors, explorers, and seamen who,like Lief Ericson, dared to push further into the unknown than anyone of other cultures or peoples. Children would listen intently to the village elders and, in turn, would tell the epic sagas themselves, when they were old.

The village of Gilby was orderly and well governed by the village fathers. They had not suffered war in generations and had left the seafaring ways of their forefathers for the gentler ways of an agricultural people.

Andor had too much of the Viking blood in him to be comfortable in Gilby. He was much like the proverbial eagle that was reared in the chicken yard. Gilby could not contain his soul. One day he would be given wings. This he knew.

One long northern night, the restless Andor cloaked himself in the warmth of his furs and walked in the snow. As he reached his predestined vista, the arora borealis burst forth in such brilliant brightness and styled symmetry as had never been seen before. As Andor stood in awe and wonder of this vision, there appeared two men standing beside him in white garments. The colors of the sky danced upon their vestments.


“Why stand you here, gazing up into heaven?” said one of the strangers. It so startled Andor that he fell to the ground. Scrambling to his feet again, he stuttered, “Who…who are you?”

The first angel responded, “I am Ignaas, the messanger.” The second responded, “I am Asmund, the protector.”

Andor trembled at these words and would not look upon them but fell to his knees and buried his face in the frosty snow, for reverence of these great beings.

“Fear not” said Ignaas, “but stand to thy feet and brace thyself like a man.” Andor stood and boldly looked them in the eyes, face to face. Ignaas continued, “Son of Anker. you are descended form the great adventurers of your people. Therefore your name shall no longer be Ankerson. From henceforth, you shall be Arve.

Would you be held hostage by this village all your days? Would you be content to merely hear of the deeds of your fathers? Or would you have a life of adventure?”

“Great ones,” Andor answered, “Messenger and protector; you know me better than I know myself. Your words ignite flames of adventure in my heart. But what shall I do?”

Ignaas answered, “you shall be the first man to sit atop the world. You shall be known throughout all Valhalla/Asgard? as he who sits atop the world.”

Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the heavenly ambassadors vanished from his sight. Long Andor Arve stood gazing at the waving luminaries in the sky before returning to the village.