The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O.

Vexing my vision, many marvels. Ignore them.

Magnus my guide. I go where he shows me.

“Eastward, thence, lies victory for vikings.

Counting the cairns, the merchandise-mounds.

Standing in the center of the wide east-west way,

Stop at the sixth. Atop it’s an image:

“A fair lass, tresses flowing,

Like the lush Linndalsfallet,

Where it rushes over rocks,

Teeth shining like Sn?fellsj?kull.

“Cradled in the lass’s hands, a bottle.

Bewitching brew, beautifying the hair.

Below it, many more such, stacked like soldiers.

That is the landmark that leads me to the left.

“A long lane, laden with loot.

Its Rune is like Berkano: the Beginning.

Its number, one score and five.

Let it lead me north. Little more to say,

“For in fewer than five paces

Is what my hand has hungered for

Since I found myself in Fatland,

Alone and naked: Numberless knives, new and needy.”

“Furious Ingibj?rg, future-fearing,

By then will have brought Brand.” Magnus’s sword

Swung round toward he of that name,

Berserker of Zealand, brutal and bearlike.

Brand recited: “Vexing my vision, many marvels.

Storolf shows my way. Stop not where he does.

Brand goes beyond. Count cairns thrice more.

Number nine is a doll-dump: toddlers’ toys

“Painted purple and pink, smiling like simpletons,

Box-bound. Brand there turns right.

A long lane, laden with loot.

Shopkeepers screaming. Pay no mind.

“Clashing carts may cause trouble. Don’t be deterred.

Vikings can vault them, berserkers bash them aside.

All the way to the wall goes Brand.

Heaped there are hammers. Axes also.

“Spades, saws on long shafts, all manner

Of death-dealers, racked and ready

Or stacked like firewood on the floor.

Commandeer a cart, kill its keeper if need be,

“Fill it full of those death-dealers, leave nothing

That might be handy for hewing heads

And severing sinews in the struggle to come.”

Thus the berserker, bright-eyed, blood-lusting.

“Furious Ingibj?rg, future-fearing,

By then has Halfdan Sent.” Magnus’s sword

Swung round toward he of that name,

White-bearded king-slayer, lord of legend.

Halfdan recited: “Vexing my vision, many marvels.

Ignoring them, I wait. Ingibj?rg sends more.

In the meantime, knives from Storolf,

Axes and hammers from Brand, harden my hand.

“All told, my band is four. My companions three

Are Thorolf, Bild, and Glama. Travel to the tenth cairn.

Turn to the left. Toys stacked to the ceiling.

Do not let them beguile the eye.

“Long lanes, laden with loot.

Wide ways, well made for waging war,

Like the roads of the red-crested Romans

Ordered just so, as warp and weft.

“Too many for merchants to memorize,

Marked, therefore, with runes they can read.

Romans wrote them first. The fat ones stole them,

As well as Arabs’ numerals, arranged below.

“For each district of the treasure-town,

A Roman rune written, raised high.

For each lane lying below it,

An Arabic number to know it.

“Their runes resemble ours often.

Others are different. One’s like a fish-hook.

That’s in the northeast of the store,

Norsemen’s native land, all the good gear.

“Forests of fishing-poles you can see from afar.

Ropes for rigging. Machetes for making way

Or bringing battle. Don’t be delayed though.

Go till glass gleams on all sides. Behind those wide windows,

“Boxes, brick-sized, written with runes, stacked to the ceiling.

Glass is nothing to Glama. Hammer in hand, he has at it

Shears shelves, loots little boxes, carrying them in carts

Down long lanes to the wall of the wonder windows.

“Halfdan hastens down the glass-lined lane

Till the way to the wall’s barred by a counter.

Behind it, bang-sticks of the Fatlanders

Counter-keepers looking askance.

“They’re the only true foes we must fight at first.

Don’t be deceived that there’s no swords at their sides.

Bang-sticks instead, shooting sling-stones

Faster and more fearsome than arrows.

“At a distance they’re deadly. Get close quick.

For of fighting at arm’s length, axe to axe

They know nothing. Rush at them right away

If their hands are empty. Lie low otherwise.

“Hunker down, holding my tongue,

Till I hear Heid, who’s the only one

Who can get close to the guards.

When the shield-maid has their attention,

“That’s the time to burst in bravely.”

Thus Halfdan, gray-hamed, picked out for his patience.

Magnus’s sword-tip, swinging this way and that

Picked out each warrior, each shield-maid.

In turn, each told the tale, written by Tóki,

Foretelling the future of what was to come,

The doom to descend on the Fatlanders’ storehouse,

What deeds each warrior would do, and when.

Under the awning of the longship, idle till now,

Ingibj?rg waited, sipping stew of spotted mushrooms,

Eyes lazy, but half in this world,

Fingers fondling her broom-twigs.

Magnus met her there, sharing the shade,

Smelling the scent of eldritch herbs,

Gathered round the gunwales, we felt the glamour.

Ingibj?rg had Sent him, sticks thrown, die cast.

Storolf she Sent next, blade-bringer.

Brand the berserker, Halfdan the wise,

Heid the shield-maiden, Glama, Bild, Thorolf.

Tóki was taken. Ship sank from my sight.

I beheld a big box, shiny steel.

It must be the ATTO. I darted to the door.

Vexing my vision, many marvels. I ignored them.

Magnus my guide. I went where he showed me.

North of the nose of the great cart, the ATTO-bearer,

Where it had crashed to a halt after driving deep,

A forest of fabric, as had been foretold:

Clothing of all colors, made for men and women,

Bigger than any bazaar. Beyond that, the marvel

Magnus had mentioned, too strange to speak of:

Wonder-windows, a wall of them. The great gift

Of the Fatlanders is these: panes of perfect glass

Showing not what lies beyond them,

But images, effigies, prophecies, wonders.

Painted in piercing light, melding many hues.

Bright as berries, flickering like fire.

Like the windows of Christian cathedrals

When lanced by the light of the sun.

But not frozen forever, as those are;

Images in movement, flashing and flitting.

Tóki was here to take treasure,

Reading the runes in those windows.

North went I, wandering in the wake

Of the shield-maiden Heid. Her hair

Was braided in back, hanging below

Brushing bare buttocks. Walking behind,

My gaze was beguiled. Gladly I’d go

To battle behind one such as Heid.

She raised her arms, baring herself

To a shocked shopper, a fat woman

Fondling fabrics. Heid, heedless,

Elbows bent, hands swung down behind head.

A knife she held there, stolen by Storolf,

Sheathed safely. She stuck it into her braid

Where the tresses came together at the nape of her neck.

Tucked in, held by her hair, until needed.

Remembering Magnus, Tóki took trousers,

Sacking a shelf-load, but went onward

North to the wonder-wall. East turned Heid.