Chapter Six
White Steppe warriors, both male and female, swarmed past and around Tarn, who remained at his father's side, oblivious to the shrieks of injury, pleas for mercy, and death cries. Not even the boisterously sung battle songs sung by groups of men and women as they dispatched the raiders registered. He stared at his father's motionless, bearded face, longing to see movement, feeling utterly desolated and alone, robbed of his heart.
"He died fighting," Talena soothed. "A warrior true. Ye be proud of him and be like him when ye become a man," she encouraged, eyes moist with unspent tears that would never fall.
"I must build a pyre," he said in a hollow voice, eyes focussed on his father's still face as though to engrave that image into his heart for all time to come.
"The men of the village will…"
"Nay!" said Tarn savagely. "'Tis my honoured task. None shall lift a single log."
"The body must be cleaned, anointed with oil, and prepared. He is too heavy for ye to lift," Talena placated in a motherly tone. "Certain duties are shared."
"Then you will aid me, as father aided those he freed. I am Tarn, son of Connor, the last warrior of Atlantis and I must warn Vulcan the mightiest of warriors enters Valhalla this night."
"Tarn, ye be not a man yet," Talena said softly, wrapping an arm around his small shoulders. "Much preparation rests between now and then."
"Aye, but when I am, when I have been sword trained, I shall take up my father's sword and claim what is my birth right of two nations."
Talena measured the fierce look in Tarn's emerald-green eyes, home to boundless depths of battlefield-spawned vengeance that seemed to say, 'In my heart flows my father's blood. Doubt me not.' When Tarn matured, he would be a man to reckon with; his father's son true, Talena thought to herself. So much death and destruction for one so young. To lose both parents in just a few short months was difficult for an adult to process, let alone a child. Asgard raised her warriors to be inured against the injustices of violence and the inequity of southern slavers who preyed upon their mountain folk. Asgardian family bonds were as solid as the mountain upon which they dwelled. Tarn would be no different, a son of Asgard true, she would see to it and raise the lad as one of her own.
Tarn solemnly canted his head to Talena and then went to the raider his father last slew where he removed the cloak with which to wipe his gifted sword clean. A warrior cared for his weapons first. To leave the blade caked with blood and upon the ground dishonoured it, and thereby his father's memory. Having retrieved the scabbard and whetstone pouch from his father's body, and displaying determination from one so young, Tarn slid the sword home. The village headman, surrounded by a troupe of fur-clad warriors, emerged victorious from the forest. Most showed scrapes and cuts and other minor signs of battle, insofar as blood-stained their furs, and all blew hard from their run, but other than that no grievous injuries taxed their numbers. The headman, after appraising Connor's prone body and still expression, stepped forward to address Tarn and Talena.
"Ye be Connor's lad?"
Tarn stood up, puffed out his chest, and proclaimed proudly, "I am Tarn, son of Connor, the last warrior of Atlantis. I must build a funeral pyre to warn Vulcan a mighty warrior comes to Him."
"Aye, ye be Connor's whelp for sure. My name is Bhildrelf, son of Bhildrelf. Your father and I grew up together. We were sword-brothers and began our training the same season. Ye be as bold as Connor and possess his fearless countenance as well. One day soon I will regale you with childhood stories about your Da that you will no doubt enjoy hearing. Now, what say ye about Atlantis?" petitioned the village leader.
Tarn retold the story of the earthquake and giant waves. Several White Steppe warriors turned to one another with a look proclaiming the wisdom of staying in Asgard. And while most had heard of Atlantis and were aware of her existence in a general way, none could hope to fathom the scope of a city that once possessed a population of two-hundred thousand. Why, two-hundred thousand people amounted to half of the entire population of Asgard! When Tarn came to his father's rescue of the captives, Talena recited the events up to the time Connor sent her to wake the village.
Tarn completed their shared tale reciting his father's part in the battle.
"Father saw them begin their attack ere Talena reached the village. He ran into their numbers and slew many. From his blindside he was struck, and from behind a tree did he receive his death bow. Even twice wounded, father slew his attacker." Tarn pointed at the fallen raider, then said, "It was my father's last request that I alone build his pyre."
A small half-grin toiled to curl the corners of the headman's mouth as Tarn concluded his brief account. The lad reminded him of Connor when they were boys who forever found themselves in trouble leaping first into one madcap situation to another and thinking nothing of it. Not thinking at all, he nearly said aloud.
"Thy father's last request shall be honoured, lad. I will no gainsay him in death what I would not do in life. Connor died protecting kith and kin. A nobler death canna be had." To three warriors behind him, he ordered, "Let us bear him proudly upon our shoulders into the village and have the women anoint his body. A warrior son of Asgard has come home to his final rest. Let all within two days run know Connor, son of Ecklan, will bear our village's honour into Valhalla this eve. Let no man stack wood upon Connor's pyre but Tarn, son of Connor."