The Åströms' Chronicles: Attitude

This story is a work of fiction with no relation to historical or cultural events, taking place in a world resembling ours—equally flawed, yet still vastly different.

***

Varg Åström sat on the highest cliff of the island, looking at the horizon where a tender pink sunrise was being born. He’d been coming here for decades, and the rock beneath him felt as if it had been shaped for his ass.

Watching the sunrise was his favorite part of any day—Varg simply sat, letting his mind wander, thinking of nothing, inhaling the hundreds of scents the island carried.

Just being… there. Beautiful.

It was fascinating that even the silhouettes of dozens of battleships piercing the gorgeous view didn’t stop Varg from enjoying it.

After all, if it was nothing, there was nothing to worry about.

And if today was his last day here, then it was worth watching his final sunrise for five minutes longer.

***

Colonel Oliver Cole stood on the forecastle of Menace, gazing at the island with a wry smile.

What was the brass thinking, sending an entire regiment here? He could smash the savages inhabiting this piece of dirt with a third of the manpower.

Cole glanced over his shoulder at the crew preparing Menace for beaching and hesitated for a second, considering ordering the rest of the ships to wait… but then just shrugged, deciding that ravaging the village would be a nice bit of leisure for his men.

After all, sharing is caring.

***

Varg leaned against the old wooden gates, looking at the village where he had been born, raised, and hoped to die, while dozens of his people approached.

He nodded at each of them as they gathered in front of the gates.

As the last person left the village, the gates shut, and Varg began to strike one of the gate pillars—at first randomly, but soon forming a complex rhythm. His people quickly caught on, clapping, stamping, and humming in unison.

With each new voice joining, the sound resonated, the voices rising, forming a song without words. Yet, should any wanderer hear it, they would immediately understand what it was about.

***

And one heard. Colonel Cole turned his head toward the woods as he caught the distant sound of singing while Menace was beaching.

"At least it isn’t getting closer," a thought crossed Cole’s mind, and he immediately shook his head, glancing around as if someone might have eavesdropped on his cowardice.

Cole shook his head again and frowned, steeling himself for battle.

***

The sunrise had long been born and was about to die into day.

Varg stood on the beach, watching as hundreds upon hundreds of men approached him and his tiny squad in perfectly formed ranks, their armor glittering in the dying sun.

Barely a hundred of his people stood behind him, and Varg could feel the heartbeat of each and every one of them.

***

Colonel Cole looked at a man his own age, wearing old rags resembling armor, standing in front of about a hundred similarly ragged savages.

Cole shook his head with a smile, realizing the tiny doubt that had pierced into his mind upon hearing the singing was meaningless. He wouldn’t even lose more than fifty—sixty men.

***

An eagle made a circle above the beach, gazing down at the two groups of people with sorrow.

The moment these strange creatures grew enough to see the world as eagles do, they would immediately stop killing each other in such numbers.

The eagle spotted a fat salmon and dove, immediately forgetting about everything else.

***

“Do you know the difference between your people and mine?” Varg asked, smiling.

“Besides the fact that we vastly outnumber you?” Colonel Cole smirked, standing in front of Varg with a bored expression.

The brass insisted on speaking to the savages first, and Cole knew there were people in the regiment who would rat on him. Some of them would die today, but if all of them did, it would be suspicious.

“Look.” Lightning-fast, Varg drew his small bow and loosed an arrow. In a heartbeat, it pierced the shoulder of one of Cole’s soldiers, who immediately fell, screaming.

An angry murmur filled the ranks, but Cole raised his hand, silencing them as the wounded, still-moaning man was passed to the back of the formation.

“You call that a negotiation?” Cole asked, watching Varg intently.

The anxious feeling returned, creeping into his mind—not because of what had happened, as Cole couldn’t care less.

Something felt off about the man in front of him.

“What do you think will happen if you do the same?” Varg made an inviting gesture toward his people.

Cole looked at him for a moment, barely hiding his bewilderment, then shrugged and waved a hand, extending one finger.

A short, brunette man shot a single arrow, striking the hip of a tall, bald man with a wide scar across his face in the front line of Varg’s people.

The tall, bald man took a step back and groaned quietly, then locked eyes with Cole. Without looking away, he grabbed the arrow, snapped the shaft, and left the tip inside his hip.

Another murmur rippled through Cole’s regiment—this time, uneasy.

Cole frowned, shook his head, and looked at Varg with an arrogant smile.

“Was that supposed to impress me, savage?”

“So…” Varg looked at the sky, not bothering to honor Cole with a glance. “The difference is that when your man is hit, he falls and dies, scared like a pig in… what do you call it? A slaughterhouse?”

Varg’s people cracked up laughing.

“When mine is hit… I’ll try to explain in your language…” Varg slowed down. “He keeps fighting in return. Over. And over…”

Varg shifted his gaze to Cole, who shuddered at Varg’s expression—his eyes radiating serenity fused with joy.

“Then the enemy dies. Then they fight more. And more. Then more enemies die. Then they die. Happy.”

As this strange savage spoke, the anxiety inside Cole swelled into a tide, sending chills through his bones. He was no longer just worried or afraid—he was terrified.

With an enviable effort, Cole frowned, locking his fear in a distant part of his mind, and took a step toward Varg.

“Surrender now, and we’ll leave your women and children alive,” he said solemnly, raising his chin.

Varg raised his eyebrows.

“You mean those?” He pointed behind his back.

For the first time, Cole gave every single figure in Varg’s ranks his full attention. They weren’t just men but also women and even adolescents, none showing even the slightest worry.

Cole looked back at his own lines and shuddered at the expressions on his soldiers’ faces.

Fear.

“All right…” Cole placed his hand on his sword handle, centering himself. “Surrender, and I promise life for each of you. I respect your courage. Just like you, we don’t want this fight. Accept our king’s reign, and—”

He stopped as the hundred behind Varg erupted into laughter.

“Who said we don’t want it?” Varg grinned.

“Then why are we talking?!” Cole raised his voice, his fear breaking loose.

Varg shrugged.

“The last two armies of your kind taught me that an army is half as strong when frightened.”

Cole opened his mouth to speak, but Varg raised a hand, stopping him.

“But a terrified army that watches its leader butchered becomes nothing more than a bunch of scared whelps…”

Cole’s eyes widened as he stepped back.

With unnatural speed, Varg swung his sword from its old, battered sheath, slitting Cole’s throat.

Blood splattered across Varg’s face as Cole’s body fell clumsily onto the beach.

Varg smiled at Cole’s regiment.

“You came to my land with weapons in your hands and war in your thoughts. You’ll die here.”

A ringing silence engulfed what had just become a battlefield.

Varg licked the blood from his lips and took a small step toward the thousand-man army.

Varg’s people followed.

A thousand neatly equipped and trained men took a step back from a hundred rugged savages.

Then another… And another…

***

The eagle still tasted the fat salmon while circling the beach, observing a larger group of pesky animals running from a smaller one. The larger group split into smaller ones and filled big wooden barrels that quickly sailed away from the lonely island in the vast sea.

The eagle sighed, thinking again about how hopeless people were when he spotted another fat salmon.

After all, the first one hadn’t been that big.

***

“Mr. Åström! Mr. Åström, they’re here!” Rachel’s voice was sharp and hot, piercing Bjorn’s mind like a blade as he slowly opened his eyes.

Bjorn looked around sluggishly, trying to focus on his surroundings while still feeling the resistance of a short sword piercing human flesh… What a dream…

Wait… They’re here… Shit.

Bjorn sprang up from the couch in his office, making Rachel step back.

A book fell onto the carpet, revealing a beautiful island in an endless ocean, its title reading: Varg Åström: A Myth, a Person, a Symbol?

“Mr. Åström, are you alright?” Rachel asked, stepping closer with a worried look.

“Yeah, I am… Thanks, Rachel. Hold them back for ten more minutes.” Bjorn smiled at her and approached a mirror.

He looked like… shit.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“New suit.” Rachel pointed at a garment bag hanging on the door. “And ibuprofen.”

She handed Bjorn a pill, and he smirked.

“You’re the best. As always.”

Rachel just smiled in return.

Bjorn unzipped the garment bag while Rachel rushed toward the door, stopping at the threshold.

“Mr. Åström… Do you have a plan?” she asked without turning her head.

Bjorn thought for a second, one leg in his pants, then nodded.

“Actually, yes.”

***

The sunset painted the sky orange with red strokes, resembling blood spatters, as if someone had been ruthlessly butchered.

Well, in some way, someone had.

The entrance doors of Åström Corp. burst open, and Mr. William Bray stormed outside, followed by a team of lawyers who looked like beaten dogs.

Bray halted in front of the building and spun around to face them, his expression livid.

“How the hell could that have happened?!” he hissed, his face reddening. “You assured me we’d bleed him dry, and what?! We walked away with NOTHING.”

His lawyers remained silent.

Bray spat on the ground and looked up at the window where Bjorn stood, watching at him.

***

Rachel approached Bjorn, handing him a cup of espresso.

“How did you do it?” she asked, watching as Bray climbed into his car.

Bjorn shrugged.

“Got an idea from a good book.” He gestured behind him, toward the sofa.

“What book?” Rachel asked, glancing around the room.

Bjorn turned back to the sofa and frowned—the book was truly nowhere to be seen. He thought for a moment, then smiled.

“Well… Seems I’ll need you to book us a flight to Samorøy, Rach.”

***

An eagle circled above the metropolis on the coast of the largest continent, gazing down with the same sorrow his ancestor had—people hadn’t changed.

Then his sharp eyes landed on Bjorn in the window, and for a brief moment, the eagle almost thought he looked familiar, which was odd, as eagles don’t usually bother remembering humans…

A fat salmon broke the surface of the evening water—a rare sight in such a big city. The eagle immediately dove, forgetting about the pesky animals below.