The Ballad of Balder (Bearer of Light) by: Dr. Paul Perkins

Flickering, the flame cast an amber glow across the parchment.  Olaf thought carefully before he wrote, parchment was scarce.

“Not sure what to write?” The priest asked as he walked into the room behind him.  “Solitude and silence are the keys to a clear mind.  The words will come.”

Olaf didn’t look up.  He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, trying to remember the stories, but they only came in bits and pieces.  His mind, finally clear, and without thinking his hand dipped the quill into the small bottle of ink on his desk, and effortlessly he put pen to paper and began to write.

Out of the mist the dragon rose, eyes glowing with the flames of hell.

Out of the darkness and evil’s throws, the howling hounds their tales tell.

Out of the grave the warriors rise, shield and hammer to battle call.

Out of the mud and mire tries, to escape with honor in battle fall.

But winds will blow and specters fly, their voices screech throughout the night.

Sails and oar are useless then, though the warriors pulled with all their might. 

Pelting rain and pounding waves, throw the ship from side to side.

Helpless against Aegir’s wrath, until its soothed on morning tide.

Weary each man his strength was spent, as one they held the night at bay.

But land in sight gave rise to heart, and hope for glory in the coming day.

Balder stood upon ships bow, radiant strength on glassy bay.

Shadows form across the land, Loki’s minions in full array. 

The stench of death filled the air, redolence that bode not well.

And evil stood against the light, in defiance of freedom quell.

Balder’s lips silently moved, a prayer for Thor to defend.

Hammer high and lightening flash, back to hell the enemy send.

“Fear not,” Balder cried out loud, “Today is but a day to die.”

Cheers rang forth to steady hearts, and clanging shields with each stride.

The enemy stood defiant still, unmoved by threats and oaths.

Silently they marched on, a chill that stuttered the warriors’ approach.

Face to face the armies stopped, no one uttered or dared move.

Each heart pounded for fear it stop, and in the end the battle lose.

Then Balder raised his hammer high and shouted for all to rush.

And none were to stay their hand, until the breath of foe was hushed.

Blood spewed from each cracked skull against his hammer’s weight.

Balder thrust his shield forth and deflected the enemy’s blade.

As fierce a foe as one could want, to fight for honor’s name.

With victory life will come to all, on earth or Valhalla’s domain.

Across the field of battle strewn, the bodies of warriors fall.

In hope that when the Valkyrie come, they are ushered into Odin’s hall.

For in that glorious hall await, the fallen warriors of battles past.

Dawn to dusk toward Ragnarok’s fate, the battle that is the last.

Within the fury rose to pitch, and nothing else filled his mind.

No sound of laughter, no fair kiss, nor gentleness of kind.

Only that which dropped the fiend, who dared to force his will.

One thought, one act, one resolve of mind, less Balder’s blood be spilled.

Arrows darkened the noonday sun, in hope to reach their mark.

The dreadful thud of driven shaft, the light of life dimmed dark.

Searing pain of flesh and bone, Balder staggered beneath his plight.

Yet, through the sting he pressed on, to wage a glorious fight.

With loss of blood his strength did wane, each step an anchor bore.

He thought he heard the beating wings that led to an open door.

Within he heard the cries of men, in battle that never ends.

It beaconed him to join the fray, and the glory that lay within.

And though he feared not fate or death, or what would lie ahead.

He strained to stand against the rush to honor the proven dead.

With hammer gripped and shield worn, Balder renewed the fight.

Until the enemy of his land was turned and set to flight.

A cheer broke out as victor stood and reveled in conquest won.

This day of blood and death had seen the enemy on the run.

The piers were built and fires set to bid the dead farewell.

The living sang and drank a drought to wish their journey well.

The song they sang for all to hear was Balder’s deeds and might.

Though fallen now they knew that he had bought for them this night.

For in the end he could not stand against the Valkyrie’s song.

Welcomed he to Valhalla’s hall, and the Einherjar he belonged.

Into the mist the dragon sailed, eyes glowing with the flames of hell.

Into the darkness and evil’s throws, the howling hounds their tales tell.

Into the grave the warriors lay, shield and hammer in battle fall.

Into the mud and mire tries, to escape the fate that awaits us all.