Post by Daubee on Dec 12, 2012 22:48:34 GMT -5
From among the weapons at the foot of the couch, from one of the cylindrical quivers, still of the sort carried in Torvaldsland, I drew forth a long, dark arrow. It was more than a yard long. Its shaft was almost an inch thick. It was plied with iron, barbed. Its feathers were five inches long, set in the shaft on three sides, feathers of the black-tipped coasting gull, a broad-winged bird, with black tips on its winds and tail feathers, similar to the Vosk gull. I lifted the arrow. ‘What is this?’ I asked the Forkbeard. ‘It is a war arrow,’ he said. ‘And what sign is this, carved on its side?’ I asked. ‘The sign of Torvald,’ he whispered. ‘Why do you think this arrow is in this place?’ I asked. ‘That men might find it?’ he asked. ‘I think so,’ I said. He reaches out and put his hand on the arrow. He took it from me. ‘Send the war arrow,’ I said. The Forkbeard looked down on the arrow.
‘I think,’ I said, ‘I begin to understand the meaning of a man who lived more than a thousand winters ago. This man, call him Torvald, built within a mountain a chamber for sleep, in which he would not sleep, but to which men would come to waken him. Here they would find not Torvald, but themselves, themselves, Ivar, alone, and an arrow of war.’ ‘I do not understand,’ said Ivar. ‘I think,’ I said, ‘it was not the intention of Torvald that it should be he who was wakened within it, but rather those who came to seek him.’ ‘The chamber is empty,’ said Ivar. ‘No,’ I said, ‘we are within it.’ I put my hand to his shoulder. ‘It is not Torvald who must awaken in this chamber. Rather it is we. Here, hoping for others to do our work, Torvalds way of telling us, from a thousand years ago, that it is we on whom we must depend, and not on any other. If the land is to be saved, it is by us and others like us, that it must be saved. There are no spells, no gods, no heroes to save us, In this chamber, it is not Torvald who must awaken. It is you and I.’ I regarded the Forkbeard evenly. ‘Lift,’ said I, ‘the arrow of war.” Marauders of Gor- 232-235
‘I think,’ I said, ‘I begin to understand the meaning of a man who lived more than a thousand winters ago. This man, call him Torvald, built within a mountain a chamber for sleep, in which he would not sleep, but to which men would come to waken him. Here they would find not Torvald, but themselves, themselves, Ivar, alone, and an arrow of war.’ ‘I do not understand,’ said Ivar. ‘I think,’ I said, ‘it was not the intention of Torvald that it should be he who was wakened within it, but rather those who came to seek him.’ ‘The chamber is empty,’ said Ivar. ‘No,’ I said, ‘we are within it.’ I put my hand to his shoulder. ‘It is not Torvald who must awaken in this chamber. Rather it is we. Here, hoping for others to do our work, Torvalds way of telling us, from a thousand years ago, that it is we on whom we must depend, and not on any other. If the land is to be saved, it is by us and others like us, that it must be saved. There are no spells, no gods, no heroes to save us, In this chamber, it is not Torvald who must awaken. It is you and I.’ I regarded the Forkbeard evenly. ‘Lift,’ said I, ‘the arrow of war.” Marauders of Gor- 232-235