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  A MOUNTAIN OF FIRE

  MARIUS THUE

  A MOUNTAIN OF FIRE

  Book 1 in the

  THE LEGEND OF THOKE

  series

  © 2019 MARIUS THUE

  © 2016 MARIUS THUE (Norwegian edition)

  ISBN 978-82-690604-2-3

  Original Title: ET FJELL AV FLAMMER

  Cover design: Gary Johnes

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  www.thelegendofthoke.com

  PROLOGUE

  A pale, scrawny man sits on a long wooden log. He picks up a fistful of coal from the burned-out fire with his left hand and puts two fingers from his right hand into the coal. His fingertips glide slowly across his scarred face, leaving a long black stripe. He repeats this three times, a patchy beard interrupting his fingers’ journey. Years of war and battle has left their mark.

  A woman walks over and crouches down, her back facing him. The man draws on her back in a similar fashion, making his way all around her body. The woman returns the favor shortly after. Tens of other men and women do the same. Fires burn high around the village and lighten the otherwise misty mountainside. The chief and his wife walk out of the village first, followed closely by the beast—a man so large he barely can be called human. They are the only three who don't draw on themselves with coal; they are already frightening enough by nature.

  The scrawny man only wears caribou pelts that cover his legs. His upper body remains bare to show off his black stripes. The dagger in his hand is recently honed, crafted from the finest flint, smooth, wavy patterns etched in the dark stone.

  Others are also equipped with weapons of various kinds. Some carry daggers and some carry spears, while others brings bows and quivers holding a dozen arrows.

  The spears are of simple design: daggers placed in front of long wooden sticks, held together with a wet spun bark. The arrowheads can also be made from flint, but the majority are made from lesser stone materials. The arrowheads are shaped wide into a point, and are adhered to a small stick, held together in the same fashion as the spears. Steering feathers are placed on the other end to improve the accuracy of a shot.

  Every single warrior has now left the village. It’s unusual for a tribe this large to be settled so far north. No one lives in a place like this for long. The conditions are simply too harsh. Yet these people seem to possess skills no other tribe does.

  The black-striped army leaves the light of their village and disappears into the darkness. They are the demons of the mountain. Even the strongest of tribes know to keep their distance when they go out to raid.

  Up on the mountain ridge, the scrawny man overlooks another village. Even in this fog, the flames of their fires brighten the otherwise pitch-black night. The black stripes barely cover his face's violent past. Maybe some new scars will be added tonight. He can feel it in his gut. The other village is about to fall.

  Night glides over into morning. The fog lies even thicker down by the village. The fog must be a sign from the gods, as if this morning was meant for them to attack for the enemy would have no time to prepare.

  The chief, his wife, and the beast stay in the background. They will not make a move until the palisade has been breached. The warriors know what to do. The army walks silently all the way around to the other side of the village. Only the scrawny man remains. He bends down and makes a fire for two torches using the hot sparks from striking two pieces of flint together.

  With the torches lit, he holds them high. The black stripes function as camouflage in the forest, but here they will strike fear into his enemies’ hearts.

  This is it. On this day he will serve as a distraction, gladly giving up his life for the tribe. With a deep breath, he starts to walk toward the village. Small steps turn into a slow sprint before he releases a terrifying scream and starts to run with all his might. The village becomes visible as an arrow soars toward him.

  CHAPTER 1

  The sky is clear and blue, the sunlight barely managing to melt the dusting of snow that covers the small valley. Mighty snowcapped mountains dominate the landscape. It's a remarkably warm day. Something special seems to be in the air.

  A tribe has made camp in the bottom of the valley, mostly consisting of small huts made from wooden logs pushed up against each other then covered by skin from various animals. The dwellings are small and quickly set up as the tribe won't stay here for long. For those who do not have a hut, small snow caves are made on the side of the valley. The entire group seems tense for today a new member is expected to arrive. Childbirth is always incredibly dangerous, both for mother and child, which puts everyone on edge.

  Outside one of the huts, Thorkar stomps around in circles. He is the tribal chief and is about to become a father for the second time. Thorkar is tall and built like a bear. Most consider him a born leader, and the tribe respects him. Men fear and look up to him at the same time. Thorkar is not afraid to rough up the tribesmen every now and then just to keep them in line. The otherwise brave man now trembles with fear, so his fellow tribe members try to calm him down.

  “If you continue to wander around like this, you'll end up digging a hole you can't get out of,” his younger brother, Helok, remarks. “Thorkar the Wise, they call you. More like Thorkar the Buried soon enough.” Helok's remarks are met by laughter from the other men.

  Physically the brothers couldn't be more different. Helok is slim and reaches no further than his brother’s chest, which is actually a normal height in comparison.

  Suddenly a loud scream fills the valley. Thorkar freezes. His expression is not easy to read behind that huge black beard. His long frizzy hair spins around in the air as he turns around and disappears into the hut. Dorkas, who is only three summers old, follows Thorkar with his gaze. When Dorkas's parents were killed by another tribe, Thorkar and his woman, Sira, took him as their own.

  Thorkar soon steps out of the hut. The entire tribe has gathered outside and sits patiently, hopeful to behold the newborn.

  “All is well with mother and child. A boy has been given to us. He will bear the name Thoke!” shouts Thorkar while lifting the child into the air. At the sight of the healthy child, the tribe releases a euphoric cheer. If his father finds him worthy, the child will one day take over as chief.

  Raising a child under these condition is a massive challenge for anyone. There is an overwhelming amount of things that can lead to an early grave: predators, other tribes, disease, and accidents that aren't easy to avoid. Thorkar and Sira lost their first child to a cold that would not leave her chest. She never grew to see her first summer. This time they will be even more careful.

  Fifteen winters later, and the tribe is back in the small valley. This is the day of the great hunters’ test. Thoke has grown strong and will attempt to complete the test tomorrow. If he is successful, he will be deemed ready to lead his own hunting parties. The test he will take is something every tribesman has to complete at some point. If not, they will never be trusted to lead their own hunt, and Thoke will do exactly that tomorrow for the very first time.

  In many ways Thoke is similar to his father. He still lacks in both height and muscle, but he can now look down on his uncle Helok. His facial hair has not grown in yet, but he hopes to one day have an impressive beard like his father’s.

  Thoke crouches down behind a bush. His sky-blue eyes can barely be made out between the twigs. He has pulled his thick black hair
behind his ears so it won't impair his vision as he tracks a deer up to a large stream. The animal is close. He can feel it. Thoke carefully peeks out from behind the bush and looks directly at his prey. If he can connect with his spear from here, it means he is ready for tomorrow’s test.

  Bending down behind the bush again, Thoke takes a deep breath, stands up, and pulls the spear behind his shoulder. His breath is knocked from his chest when he sees Dorkas sitting over the deer, bloody dagger in hand.

  “You're wasting too much time, Thoke!” Dorkas says. “My grandmother’s grandmother would have killed the animal before you!” Dorkas laughs and pulls the deer behind him.

  Thoke and Dorkas have been inseparable since Thoke first learned to walk. At the age of eighteen summers, Dorkas feels like he is already a master hunter. Best in the tribe no doubt. Much to Dorkas’s annoyance, Thoke has already caught up to him in both height and build.

  Dorkas feels like it's even more necessary now to show his superiority, before Thoke surpasses him completely. He's proud of the small beard he has, some stubble on his chin and over his upper lip. At least he has Thoke beat in regards to facial hair.

  Thoke disappointedly follows Dorkas, who is on his way back to camp. They arrive at a deep gorge, where the stream has cut down into the bedrock. The water rushes loudly down there.

  “You have to start seizing your chances, Thoke. You hesitate too much all the time. Your stuck in your own head,” Dorkas remarks.

  “I would have gotten it if you hadn't stolen it!” Thoke picks up a rock and throws it as far as he can. The rock lands in the forest, and a tiny whimper follows.

  A small bear cub runs out from the trees. Dorkas drops his prey on the snow and pulls out his spear. Thoke and Dorkas share a worried look. A huge bear comes roaring toward them.

  “Run, Thoke! I can take it!” Dorkas shouts. Thoke freezes on the spot. He doesn't know if he should run or stay and help. The bear approaches with big leaps.

  “Dorkas!” Thoke screams. Dorkas must realize this will be tough even for him.

  “Over the gorge!” Dorkas turns around and runs with Thoke following close behind.

  “We're never gonna make it!” Thoke’s heart pounds beneath his chest. His feet become shaky and uneven as the gorge approaches.

  “Sure we will. Easy!” Dorkas leaps over toward the other side, but he cannot quite reach there with his right foot. He stretches out his hands and just barely manages to grab the ledge. Thoke is close behind, but right before he's about to jump, he hesitates for a moment. It is too late to stop. With a pathetic little skip, he leaves the edge and catches Dorkas's left leg on his way down. He can feel the deer pelts that cover Dorkas's leg begin to pull apart. Dorkas grabs a nearby branch, which immediately breaks.

  Thoke can see the water roaring over the rocks below. His fingers are freezing in this cold, and he has to fight to hold on.

  Dorkas can hear the bear getting closer. It must have crossed further up river, where the gorge is narrower. With a few desperate strokes, he attempts to get a better grip. The weight of Thoke starts to become unbearable.

  Two hands reach down and pull them both up with a single powerful yank.

  “What are you boys up to this time?” Thorkar roars. Before they manage to muster an answer, the bear rages toward them. It slows down when it catches a glimpse of Grym, the largest man in the tribe and quite possibly the largest man in the world as far as Thoke knows.

  Grym's light brown mane makes him appear the exact same height as the hairier chief. As pure strength goes, however, not even Thorkar compares. The other mountain tribes call them the descendants of giants, given how large they all are. Some even think they are really giants.

  Grym claims to have one time ripped a wolf in half with his bare hands, and therefore likes to be known as the Wolf-slayer. Whether this story is true, no one knows. No one dares to call him a liar anyway.

  Helok sends an arrow flying from a small knoll. It hits the bear right in the snout and sticks. A perfect shot indeed. With all his might, Grym throws his spear right into the mother bear’s right eye, and the beast instantly crashes to the ground. Snow goes flying everywhere. For a moment it seems like a blizzard has hit them.

  “Fifteen winters, Thoke! I would like to think you had put a stop to these stupid ideas by now!” Thorkar shakes with anger. “And, Dorkas, by the gods you're a grown man already! When I was eighteen summers old, I was named the chief of this tribe. Get back to camp now, you thunderous morons.”

  Thoke and Dorkas barely share a look before they bolt away.

  Grym sits down and starts to cut up the bear.

  “Hey! That was mine!” Helok comes running down toward them.

  “I killed it,” Grym remarks. Helok looks at his brother, who only shrugs.

  “You damned fool!” Helok kicks Grym in the back, but it doesn't seem to affect the giant at all. Helok mumbles something under his breath as he walks away in defeat.

  Thoke can still feel his heart beating fiercely under his chest as he heads back to camp. Luckily the way back isn't too long.

  “You’re never too old to seek out excitement. Thorkar could use some of that every now and then,” Dorkas says before walking in front of Thoke. “We should leave and raise our own tribe. Together we could lead the greatest tribe in the whole world. First man back gets to be the chief!”

  Dorkas storms off, but Thoke stays put. Enough running, he thinks. Dorkas would have won anyway. He's always been the faster of the two.

  Suddenly, he eyes the bear cub standing near some oak trees. The little one seems aware that he is now on his own. Thoke bends down on one knee, and the cub approaches him ever so slightly. Thoke takes a few steps closer, before taking a knee again. The bear cub hesitates a bit and staggers back before realizing it’s safe. The cub slowly walks forward and sniffs Thoke's fingers.

  Carefully, Thoke pulls the cub into his lap. The little one does not object. The mother must have given birth to this one late in the summer. The snow started to fall not long ago, and the days remain long still. Also, the cub is small and fortunately has not learned to fear humans yet.

  “It must be put down,” Helok remarks as he passes by.

  “He's right. It won't survive for long by itself,” Thorkar comes walking close behind. “Best get it over with,” he says.

  Thoke holds the cub close and nods as if he agrees. The cub licks his face, and Thoke dries himself off with the thick deer fur on his forearms.

  As Thoke enters the campsite, he sees Dorkas bragging to the women of the temporary village.

  “Grym nearly got his gut ripped open by the bear, but I saved him before the monster reached there,” he tells them. The younger girls begin to giggle and whisper between themselves. Dorkas has always had a way with the women, it seems.

  Thoke sneaks past them unnoticed. Silently, he enters his hut and puts the bear cub down. It immediately curls up in the corner beside a wolf pelt. The cub seems exhausted and falls right to sleep. Perhaps the pelt reminds him of his mother in some way.

  Thoke erected the hut himself, and to be fair it turned out quite nice. He doesn't have enough skins himself, though, so he has borrowed some from Dorkas to cover up the largest holes. Hopefully, he will be able to replace them with the skins he gets for himself during the great test.

  Right as he's about to sit down, his ten-year-old sister barges in.

  “Hey, Thoke, how did it go?” Her face lights up as she spots the little bear in the corner. “Where did you find it?” she exclaims.

  “Shhh, Tseena! Father can't know about this. Not yet anyway,” Thoke commands. He scoots over to the cub and pets it on the top of its head.

  “Do you mean to hide it from Father here in the hut?” Tseena wonders as she also begins cuddling with the cub.

  “Only until we return from the hunt. I hope to think of something clever until then.” Thoke looks at his sister and smiles. “Maybe you could help? You can sleep in here tonight and help
me keep watch! But don't tell anyone, not even Skarn. Promise?” Thoke's face turns to stone, keeping his sky-blue eyes fixed on his sister. She grabs a bundle of her long brown hair and puts it across her mouth to signify silence, nodding in agreement.

  Later in the day, Thorkar has gathered every member of the tribe around the campfire. The clouds keep the sun away, so everyone is wrapped in their warmest furs. Thorkar stands above the seated tribe members. His big black beard covers most of his face.

  “Thoke, it's about time you selected who will bring you out to your hunt. I have already decided that Grym, Helok, and of course myself will join to make sure you're safe tomorrow. You can choose two more to help.” Thorkar's deep dark voice echoes loudly in this valley.

  Thoke stands up and looks around. He already knows who to choose, but he likes drawing the moment out making them uncertain.

  “By the gods, Thoke!” Dorkas stands up, yelling. “We all know you'll pick me so get going already.” Ever the restless one, Dorkas walks over and stands next to Thoke.

  “Dorkas will be with us, apparently,” Thoke says with a big smile on his face.

  Peeking out from behind their mother, Sira, Thoke glimpses his younger brother of two years, Skarn. Sira and Skarn share a unique trait. They both have blond hair and light blue eyes. No one here in the mountains shares this peculiar look. Sira claims the gods came down from the stars and touched her as a child. They gave her this special feature that she in turn got to pass on to her youngest son.

  Thoke smiles and Skarn smiles back. His ice-blue eyes seem to sparkle in joy.

  “Skarn, you're in!” Thoke exclaims. Skarn runs over to him, his long bright locks flowing in the wind.

  “Then it has been decided. Make sure all your gear is ready for tomorrow. Make arrowheads. Even if you think you have enough, you don't really. Sharpen your spears as well. If you think it's sharp enough, it's not,” Thorkar keeps a keen eye on the young men. He claps his huge hands together, and everyone gets back to their business.