Chapter 6
The days after Erik's arrival Gertrude's return settled into a calm rhythm. The villagers went about their work, repairing nets, tending fields, fishing on their tiny boats or hauling driftwood from the rocky shore.
It had been a week since Erik's arrival in Korrhavn and in that time, he had attended to to every injured villager, healed wounds both simple and grievous, and helped mend broken tools and even untangle some old fisherman's tangled nets. His presence had become a quiet, steady reassurance in the village. Erik had become something more than a guest — and something less than ordinary.
Yet he still felt restless. His enhanced mind didn't help matters as everywhere he looked ideas and concepts of improvement kept popping up enticing him to act on them.
Word had spread quickly: the life-weaver who rode the massive armored elk, a warg who had many beasts and healed with a touch. The old women whispered that he was one of the Green Men of legend — chosen of the Old Gods, sent from the deep forests to walk among men once more. Men nodded in reverence when he passed, and mothers brought their infants for him to bless.
At first, he tried to refuse — but their eyes were full of desperate faith. So, he learned to simply smile, place his hand lightly on a brow or a swaddled head, and murmur a few quiet words meanwhile giving the child a little checkup and healing if needed. The newborns were healthier and growing bigger that way, or so their mothers swore.
By the beach, men mending nets called to him, "Life-weaver! Pray to the sea gods for us — may the catch be fat and the waves gentle!"
He would nod, feeling awkward yet moved by their belief. Once, when the nets came back bursting with silver fish, they said the Old Gods had heard his words even though he had done nothing.
'They didn't believe me when I tried to explain it to them' he thought in exasperation. Still, he felt the weight of their awe and it made him a little uncomfortable
Helga watched it all with a crooked smile. "Careful, green man," she told him one evening by the fire. "Folk love their miracles — till the day one goes wrong."
"I know that. I'm no god's chosen," Erik said quietly. "Just a man who understands life a little better than most."
"Then tell them that," she said grinning, poking at the coals, "and they'll call you liar twice over."
"Besides who can say whether you are their chosen or not. "She said grinning showing missing teeth "If you look like a green man and perform miracles like one, to us you are one. Your opinion doesn't matter"
Erik huffed but nodded in reluctant agreement. She was right.
He had grown used to the rhythm of the village — the cries of gulls at dawn, the tang of salt and pine, the hammering of Gonir's mallet echoing from his workshop.
Children no longer ran from Kahuna's towering shape; they followed at a distance, daring each other to touch the elk's shadow.
Each day, Erik ventured into the surrounding wilderness, experimenting with his powers in the dappled forests and rugged cliffs. He discovered that his ability to reshape living matter was getting better the more he used it.
So he experimented with many things like with manipulating plants to grow rapidly, coaxing vines and roots to twist and form into makeshift bridges or barriers and finding useful plants seeds and manipulating their DNA for desired results. He had asked Helga to plant the prototypes in her garden.
Wandering the village, Erik had asked around for Gertrude's home. Upon following the directions, he found Gertrude in her home earlier that morning cleaning up her place. Her hands were steady, but the worry in her eyes betrayed her. Henrik — her husband — along with several hunters had gone out searching for her days ago. They still had not returned.
Even so, she greeted Erik with a warm smile, relieved beyond measure to be home.
To pull her thoughts away from the anxiety gnawing at her, Erik shifted the conversation.
"Gertrude," he began, "earlier… some villagers called me a Green Man. Explain it to me. What does that mean to your people?"
Gertrude brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sat beside the hearth gesturing him to sit as well. A gentle, curious smile touched her lips, softening the shadows beneath her eyes.
Gertrude looked at Erik with a curious, gentle smile. "You asked about the Green Men earlier," she said softly. "In the stories of the Old Gods and the North, the Green Men are figures wrapped in myth and nature. They're often seen as a spirit of the forests, a guardian of the woods, woven into the very trees and leaves."
"Some stories say they were priests chosen by the Old Gods, touched by nature's will. Others claim they were spirits — neither man nor beast, but something between. A force more than a person. Wild. Unpredictable. Eternal."
Her expression grew distant, as though she were reaching back into childhood tales told by a fire.
"In songs, the Green Men aren't good or evil. They simply are. Like storms, or spring, or the turning of leaves. The North honored them — asked them for blessings for fertile earth, safe hunts, safe passage through dark woods, blessings for newborns… guidance."
She turned back to him then, studying him with a quiet intensity.
"People haven't seen one in centuries. Many think the Green Men died out, or were swallowed by the forests. But…" She hesitated; the next words fragile but honest. "But when we speak to you, Erik… there's a feeling. As if we're speaking to an old wise man trapped inside a young body. Your healing ability. Your life-weaving. The animals' calm around you. The way the trees almost… listen."
She took a deep breath.
"It all seems part of what a Green Man once was. It is as if the tales are bout you. Perhaps the land itself accepts you. Or perhaps the Old Gods — if they still watch — have woven you into something they recognize."
Gertrude's voice softened.
"Whether or not you are one… the village feels safer with you here."
Erik sat quietly after Gertrude's words, staring into the wavering firelight. The idea of being mistaken for a Green Man lingered around him like mist — ancient, half-formed, and unsettling.
'A religious figure. A symbol. A myth reborn.' He exhaled slowly. 'Me? A spiritual leader?'
The thought crawled uncomfortably across his mind. In his old life — and even in this one — he had never pictured himself wearing the mantle of faith. He wasn't a priest, nor a prophet. He didn't want worship. He wanted progress. Structure. A future built with hands and minds, not blind devotion.
But… he wasn't foolish. Symbols mattered. Belief mattered.
'And in a land like this — primitive, fractured, and suspicious — belief and hope were the strongest currency of all' he thought
He rubbed his thumb on his thighs thinking, planning strategizing as his photographic memory provided him numerous explames of religious figures great thing both good and bad.
'If they see me as a Green Man… that solves the mistrust problem' he thought
'People feared strangers and he was a stranger. They feared magic and what he did would be seen as magic.' Erik pondered
'But if the same magic was wrapped in the comforting shape of an old legend and shrouded in a religious garb— one that their parents and grandparents told tales about — then what was once strange suddenly became something else.' He thought
'It becomes sacred.' He realized
A door that had been half-closed before now creaked open.
He didn't like the idea of misleading them… but was it deception if it helped them? If it healed their sick, fed their children, and lifted them from hunger and cold?
He leaned back, staring at the rafters.
'This could work. All of it.' He thought 'Not just here. Not just this lonely cliffside village.'
If the story spread…
If the wildlings beyond the Wall whispered of a Green Man returning — one who healed wounds, tamed beasts, strengthened forests, and taught them the secrets of old gods that improved their lives.
Maybe, just maybe, they would listen.
"They're scattered," he murmured to himself, unheard in Gertrude's quiet home. "Tribes, clans, families. Unified in their suffering and divided in everything else."
What they lacked was leadership.
What they lacked was a vision.
What they lacked was someone to guide them into a future that didn't end in winter and starvation.
He thought of the school he planned to start, the children eager for tricks and knowledge, of a generation raised on learning, structure, discipline — and loyalty.
One village at first.
But from one seed could grow a forest.
He felt the stirrings of something vast inside him — not greed, not pride, but purpose.
"If the Old Gods need a Green Man," he whispered, "then fine. I'll be their Green Man."
'Not for worship. Not for glory.' Erik thought 'But to teach these people. To improve their lives. To guide them into accepting innovation — irrigation, stone walls, proper forges, written laws, medicine, discipline. To replace chaos with order. To build something lasting.'
And if the wildlings needed a uniting banner…
Then he would give them one.
A single nation, shaped by his hands, under his guidance — and protected from the long night he knew would one day fall.
He closed his eyes, steadying himself.
Religious leader or not…
He would make this land listen.
"Thank you, Gertrude," he told her, rising to his feet. His voice carried a steadiness she hadn't seen in him before — a quiet conviction settling like a stone in deep water. "You were very helpful. Your explanation has helped me clear my mind and come to decisions."
Gertrude looked up at him, still troubled for her missing husband, yet genuinely warmed by his gratitude. She offered a soft smile, one hand resting over her heart.
"Happy to help," she replied. "Truly. We owe you our lives. It was nothing."
Erik shook his head gently. "It wasn't nothing. Not to me. Now I have purpose."
For a heartbeat the two stood in the dim glow of the hearth — the weary mother who had survived against all odds worried for her missing husband and the stranger who was no longer just a stranger.
He stepped toward the door, pausing as the cool sea wind pushed against the wooden frame.
Gertrude's eyes followed him, curious. "Where are you going now?"
Erik glanced back at her, a faint, knowing smile touching his face.
"To start turning ideas into action."
There was something different in his gaze — sharper, clearer. As though a path that had been fog-hidden mere hours before had now revealed itself stone by stone.
"The chief and the elders need to hear what I've decided," he said. "And the village children need… a new kind of purpose."
Gertrude blinked. "A purpose?"
"You'll see," Erik said simply.
And it started with a single conversation with the chief and elders, a small room full of children… and a future quietly taking shape.
That evening, he sat with the chieftain and the elder council by the longhouse hearth. The firelight painted their faces in shifting gold and shadow.
"Your people are strong," Erik began, his tone measured but carrying the confidence of someone used to being obeyed. "But strength alone builds walls, not nations. You need minds that can measure, count, design. Like the southern kneelers who live better lives because of it"
The chief frowned. "We have hunters, farmers, fighters. That has always been enough."
Before Erik could answer, Gonir—thin as a reed, eyes bright with the strange manic energy he was famous for—leaned sideways and whispered loudly as though confiding in the fire itself:
"Enough? Enough for what, Chief? Enough to scrape fish from the same rocks until our bones turn to rot?"
He giggled, tapping his fingers together. "The world spins, but we sit like lumps of cold dough."
The chief sighed. "Gonir…"
Erik hid his amusement. "Thank you, Gonir."
"Oh, don't thank me!" Gonir said, waving wildly. "I'm only saying what whispers I hear in my head. They say nature is all about change and when things stay the same too long that's not natural"
He peered suddenly close at Erik. "And you… you walk like a man about to make big changes for everyone."
Erik smiled faintly. "Gonir is right. This is why you remain here, fishing the same shore your fathers fished. I offer something different. A school of sorts — just a few hours each day. The children will learn reading, numbers, logic. Games of thought. I will teach them, at least until they can teach one another."
Murmurs passed among the elders. One of them, Elder Agnar, the one always suspicious of change — spat into the fire. "And what would that gain us? Idle hands invite trouble."
Gonir snorted, throwing his hands up. "Oh yes, Agnar the Wise!" His tone dripped sarcasm. "Because children running wild in the forest and climbing cliffs are so much safer than children learning how to think."
He leaned closer to the elder, voice dropping. "Maybe you're worried they'll get smarter than you."
Agnar bristled. "Watch your tongue, fool."
Gonir grinned a crooked, almost gleeful grin. "Oh, it wanders on its own. Like a mischievous little snake."
Erik leaned forward. "Idle minds invite worse. I'm looking for diamonds buried in the mud — sharp ones. Leaders, craftsmen, thinkers. Those who can help me build using knowledge given to me by the gods. Your village will prosper, and your sons and daughters will not just survive — they'll thrive."
Helga the wise woman chuckled softly. "You speak like a man who already knows what tomorrow looks like."
"Not exactly" Erik replied "You see I have dreams. Dreams of worlds where people live a better and safer life that is free of hunger, and raider. A place that is safe and prosperous. With the dreams come the knowledge to making this world better like that one" Erik replied. "I intend to make sure it does"
Gonir rocked back on his heels, staring at Erik with that strange, penetrating wonder.
"A man who dreams of a better tomorrow… or a man who makes it?" he mused. "Either way, I'd like to watch. It sounds fun."
After a pause, the chief nodded. "Do it then. But if our children start talking like madmen, it'll be your head."
Gonir clapped happily. "Madmen? Oh, Chief, if only you knew — madness is a treasure! The right madness builds ships, bridges, kingdoms!"
Agnar muttered, "Enough of your babble."
Gonir leaned beside him, whispering in his ear, "It's only babble because you don't understand it."
The glare Agnar shot him could have curdled milk, but Gonir only laughed, airy and delighted.
Agnar's eyes—small, flinty, always calculating—turned to Erik. The elder sat stiffly, arms crossed as though bracing himself against an unseen storm. His jaw worked side to side, chewing on a thought he didn't dare speak aloud.
Erik met his gaze evenly. Not challenging, but not yielding either.
Agnar was the first to look away.
Erik inclined his head respectfully, though the corner of his mouth twitched with something sharper. "I'll take responsibility for their minds," he said. "You only need to allow them to grow."
The chief grunted, acceptance given, discussion closed.
The council broke up slowly afterward, elders rising and shuffling off into the night with Gonir leaving in the end.
Helga lingered longest. She stopped beside Erik and tapped her walking staff lightly against the floor.
"You speak truths these men don't yet have names for," she said. "That frightens them. Their way has helped them survive. They fear change"
Erik shrugged. "Fear can be shaped. With patience."
"And if not?" she asked
Before Erik could speak, Gonir popped his head back into the firelight from the doorway.
"Oh, if not, then things break!" he chirped. "People, rules, bones… but sometimes things need breaking before they can be built."
Helga gave him a long, patient look. "Go home, Gonir."
"Yes, yes, yes… going!" He danced backward toward the darkness. "But Erik! I want to see your school. I want to see if your diamonds shine… or explode!"
He vanished outside with cackling laughter echoing behind him.
Helga gave him a knowing look. "Keep watch on Agnar. A man who fears he's becoming useless is the one who makes the most trouble."
"I noticed," Erik murmured.
When she finally stepped outside, Erik remained alone before the dwindling fire. The flames crackled softly, casting long, restless shadows across the longhouse walls.
Some will resist just because the world is changing faster than they can hold it together, he thought. Agnar especially. But resistance can become loyalty… if guided well.
He folded his arms, eyes narrowing as embers collapsed into sparks.
I'll watch him. I'll win him over if I can. Eik thought and if not… I'll make sure he never threatens what I'm building.
The first school in a land that had never known one would begin soon