Jack Mills and the Tomb of Baldur Bjornson (M+/M+) [conclusion posted 4-11-21]
Posted: Sun Dec 27, 2020 10:34 pm
It's been a while since I've written anything, but I've been inspired to write a new story. This one is kind of an "expanded universe" tale that will touch on my other stories. My own personal MCU, if you will. Updates probably won't be as quick as previous stories, but I plan on adding to it regularly. Hope you enjoy!
Part One: Graduate Studies
I had known there was something special about Professor Mills when I first met him at my undergrad orientation. Most of the faculty in the history department were as old and fossilized as the time periods they studied, with huge pompous attitudes to match. But not him. He was warm and inviting, with a big genuine smile. Being somewhere in his early 40’s, he was 20 years younger than his colleagues in the department. And in great shape! The others all looked like a strong wind could knock them over, but Jack looked like he could wrestle a gorilla! But it was his hands that stuck out the most, to me. They were hard and calloused, not from years of turning dusty pages, but from extensive work in the field: excavating lost sites and hacking through the underbrush. Everyone told me I hit the jackpot landing him as my advisor and I was inclined to agree.
After our first meeting in his office, I ran out and bought all of his books. This was real history! Original research on the original artifacts in the original sites! Finally, I found someone who shared my love of history and saw it as a living, breathing thing. Not words on a page, but a beast to be tamed. Four years later, he accepted my request to be my graduate advisor and I was serving as his T.A. while he guided my thesis project. My focus was 10th-11th Century Europe, an era that held special fascination for him, as well. It was a match made in academic heaven!
In the spring of my first year of graduate school, Jack (he hated formality and always demanded I call him by his first name) texted me and called me in for a special meeting. He said he had big news and that I would want to hear it in person. He preferred to have meetings with me at his home, rather than the office. It was a welcome change from the other professors in their stuffy offices with equally stuffy personalities. Usually, Jack and I would discuss our research over beers while working on one of his cars. Unorthodox, to be sure, but an amazingly effective teaching tool.
I pulled up to his house and saw his jeep in the driveway. It was dirty and dented, but the engine ran like a dream thanks to repeated “study” sessions. No one answered the door when I knocked, but this wasn’t unusual. Often he’d be in his study or workshop and couldn’t hear, so he had no qualms about me letting myself in. I got a bit of a weird feeling as I opened the door, almost like we weren't alone, but I shrugged it off.
“Jack?” I called out as I stepped into the foyer. “It’s me, Sean.”
“Ah, Seany-boy!” he replied from the depths of the house. “Get your ass in here! You’re gonna die when you see this!”
Heeding his call, I dropped by bookbag on the side table and walked into his office. He was pouring two glasses of bourbon and trying unsuccessfully to hide his excitement. A large manila folder was on the desk, stuffed with papers and what looked like photos.
“What up, Prof?” I said, dropping on my favorite leather-seated desk chair with a whoosh. It always made a fart sound when the air was pressed out of the cushion and it always made me laugh.
Grinning at the sound, Jack handed me a glass with a smirk. “What are you, twelve?” he scolded, chuckling at the same time. “Every damn time you come in here.”
I took a sip and said, “It’s part of my charm, Prof. Now where’s the fire? Your text made me think you were going to burst with excitement.”
He slid the folder over to me and said, “Open that puppy up and take a look.”
I opened the folder and the first photo was of what looked like a barrow entrance in the earth. There were snow-covered pine trees in the background. The next photo was the inside of a burial chamber. 10th Century Nordic by the look of it.
“What’s this?” I asked, scanning the photo. “Did they find a new Viking cairn?”
“Did they ever!” Jack said. “Read the Runes.”
I squinted and looked at the Runic writing on the walls. I got a sudden shock.
“Wait!” I sputtered. “Does that say what I think it says?”
“Sure does,” Jack said with a big smile on his face. “That is the tomb of Baldur Bjornson.”
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, nearly dropping the photo from the excitement. “Is it legit???”
“All the signs point to yes,” Jack said, taking a sip. “My Norwegian colleagues found it on an island off the western coast a week ago. They’ve kept the discovery under wraps so far, but sent me this dossier as a special favor.”
My hands shook. This was the find of the century! If it was the actual tomb of Baldur Bjornson…
Now, I’m getting a little ahead of myself, here. First a little background. Baldur Bjornson was a legendary figure in Viking history. English by birth, he was enslaved in a raid off the Northumbrian coast in 874 A.D. Shortly after his captivity started, he challenged his master in the sacred combat known as Holmgang and won his freedom. From there he started a legendary career as a raider, becoming the subject of sagas and stories still told today. Interest in him was made even higher last year when Brute Squad Films made an Oscar-winning biopic about him. History says he died of plague in 902 A.D. but there were no records of anything after that. Scholars believe he was entombed rather than burned when he died, but no cairn was ever found. Until now.
“I… don’t believe it!” I stammered.
Jack just smiled. “Sounds like pretty good material for a doctoral thesis, don’t it?” he said, grinning and taking another sip of his whiskey. “Take a look at the bottom of the pile.”
I sifted through the papers and photos, finally coming to a sealed envelope. Jack nodded and I tore it open, revealing two first-class plane tickets to Norway!
“I’m scheduled to give a symposium at the Metro City Museum in a few weeks, but there’s enough time for a little vacation before that,” Jack said. “Can you clear your schedule?”
“Are you kidding?” I said, overflowing with excitement. “This is the chance of a lifetime! When do we leave?”
“Two days from now,” Jack said. “My colleagues will meet us at the Oslo airport and then we’re off to the tomb.”
Just then a voice came from the doorway. “Unfortunately, your travel plans have hit an unexpected delay!”
Standing in the door were three men in combat fatigues and ski masks. They were holding automatic weapons aimed right at us. The masks each had goggles embedded in them and a strange eye symbol embroidered on the forehead.
Jack’s eyes instinctively darted to the desk drawer where he always kept his hidden gun, but the leader of the invaders said, “Don’t even think about it, Professor Mills. My X-ray goggles can see the gun in the drawer. Make a move towards it and your teaching assistant will be going to Switzerland, not Norway. As cheese!”
There was a heavy beat as the two other raiders turned their heads disappointedly towards their leader. “Yes, well, anyway,” he said awkwardly. “Hands up, both of you. Slowly get up from the desk and walk over to the wall, one at a time. You first, junior.”
My heart was beating out of my chest as I put the folder down and stood up. The leader indicated the bookshelf to my left with the barrel of his gun and I slowly walked over to it face-first with hands raised. Jack kept a steely gaze as I was shoved from behind, pressing up against the bookshelf with a grunt. Rough hands darted in and out of my pockets, removing all the contents and dropping them on the desk. All the time, Jack remained clam and collected. How could he be so nonchalant? We were being held at gunpoint by masked thugs! “Has this sort of thing happened to him before?” I wondered.
My thoughts were interrupted as I felt a leather-gloved hand grab each of my wrists and wrench them uncomfortably behind my back. They placed my wrists in a crossed position over each other. Scared out of my wits, I didn’t resist, or even dare to move a hair when the hands pulled away. Almost immediately after, I felt a smooth, silky rope being looped around my wrists and pulled tight, pressing my wrists together. The rope wasn’t course or rough like twine or clothesline, though. It actually felt… kinda nice. My captor made about three or four snug loops and then twisted the rope into a small knot. Then I felt it being turned and wrapped crosswise. It was threaded over and through the existing loops, making a super-secure prison for my hands. I could barely breathe, but I felt an odd stirring down below. Now? Really? Come on brain, this was no time for a surprise boner!
Once my hands were fully secured and the final knots were tied, I instinctively squirmed a little. The ropes brushed against the skin of my wrists, but it didn’t chafe at all. It was firm, but comfortable. An almost pleasing sensation, and not at all what I expected. I didn’t have much time to enjoy the feeling, though, as I was grabbed an pulled from the wall by one of our captors and held in a tight grip with a gun to my head.
“Now, Professor Mills,” the leader said, “it’s your turn. And if you try anything… absolutely anything at all, your assistant here will pay dearly for it.”
Jack scowled and stood up, his hands over his head. “I know how this works,” he scoffed. “Don’t worry.” He stepped out from behind the desk and winced as one of the masked men swooped behind him and pulled his arms behind his back. I watched in awe at his stern resolve as he was expertly made helpless by the invader’s sturdy ropes. His rugged face, peppered with several days’ stubble, contorted slightly as the knots were made extra tight. Apparently, they were taking a lot more precautions with him than they were with me.
“Your reputation for escape is legendary, Professor Mills,” the leader said. “But cast all thoughts of that out of your mind. This rope is a special gift to our employer from a dear, departed friend. Completely escape-proof and tested to withstand the might of those FAR stronger than you.” Jack tested his bonds as I had done, contorting his body in an attempt to slip the ropes that bound his hands. But it was useless, I saw the look of defeat wash over his face as Jack realized he was caught for good.
“Are you quite finished?” the leader said. “Good.” He motioned to his subordinates and Jack and I were both shoved roughly into the two chairs on the near side of the desk. The leader started examining the documents while his companions held us at gunpoint.
“Ah,” he said. “Proverbial paydirt! Pardon the archaeology pun, if you please. Our employer will be most pleased with this find.” The leader activated a device on his watch and a small, blurry hologram of a shadowy figure appeared in the air. “Glinda, this is Tin Man reporting in. Mission successful. We have the Ruby Slippers.”
The voice of the hologram was garbled and distorted, but I could make out its words. “Excellent, Tin Man. What about Dorothy and Toto?”
“We have them both secured,” Tin Man said.
“Maqnifique!” the hologram replied. “Get them both ready for transport. We’ll need their expertise as we travel the Yellow Brick Road. Be gentle with Toto. But make sure Dorothy is quite inconvenienced. She has meddled in my affairs too long and I want to make her pay in the most petty way possible. Glinda out!” The hologram faded away.
“You heard the boss,” Tin Man barked. “Get these two ready for travel.” I heard evil chuckles from behind and almost immediately felt a thick ball of cloth being stuffed in my mouth. My eyes turned to Jack, who gave me a look that said “it’s OK, just be strong” as his mouth was also stuffed. Feeling a little less afraid, I sat firm as duct tape was peeled off a roll and wrapped around my head. Five, six, seven times around it went, completely sealing my mouth. I attempted to call out to Jack, but all that came out was “mmpppgghhh.” Next to me, Jack was being similarly gagged.
Once we were secured to Tin Man’s satisfaction, he grabbed the dossier, headed for the door, and snapped his fingers. I felt rough hands grab my shoulders and pull me up from the chair. I was spun to face the door and started walking after Tin Man into the hall. Heavy booted steps fell in line behind me, followed by the scuffling sound of Jack and his captor. Where were they taking us? And why? And why did Jack act like he thought this was no big deal? It seemed like old hat to him. Maybe there was more to the Prof’s career than I had previously thought. But there was no time to think about that now. We were prisoners and there was nothing to do but see this through to the end.
Coming Soon – Part 2: Magic Carpet Ride
Part One: Graduate Studies
I had known there was something special about Professor Mills when I first met him at my undergrad orientation. Most of the faculty in the history department were as old and fossilized as the time periods they studied, with huge pompous attitudes to match. But not him. He was warm and inviting, with a big genuine smile. Being somewhere in his early 40’s, he was 20 years younger than his colleagues in the department. And in great shape! The others all looked like a strong wind could knock them over, but Jack looked like he could wrestle a gorilla! But it was his hands that stuck out the most, to me. They were hard and calloused, not from years of turning dusty pages, but from extensive work in the field: excavating lost sites and hacking through the underbrush. Everyone told me I hit the jackpot landing him as my advisor and I was inclined to agree.
After our first meeting in his office, I ran out and bought all of his books. This was real history! Original research on the original artifacts in the original sites! Finally, I found someone who shared my love of history and saw it as a living, breathing thing. Not words on a page, but a beast to be tamed. Four years later, he accepted my request to be my graduate advisor and I was serving as his T.A. while he guided my thesis project. My focus was 10th-11th Century Europe, an era that held special fascination for him, as well. It was a match made in academic heaven!
In the spring of my first year of graduate school, Jack (he hated formality and always demanded I call him by his first name) texted me and called me in for a special meeting. He said he had big news and that I would want to hear it in person. He preferred to have meetings with me at his home, rather than the office. It was a welcome change from the other professors in their stuffy offices with equally stuffy personalities. Usually, Jack and I would discuss our research over beers while working on one of his cars. Unorthodox, to be sure, but an amazingly effective teaching tool.
I pulled up to his house and saw his jeep in the driveway. It was dirty and dented, but the engine ran like a dream thanks to repeated “study” sessions. No one answered the door when I knocked, but this wasn’t unusual. Often he’d be in his study or workshop and couldn’t hear, so he had no qualms about me letting myself in. I got a bit of a weird feeling as I opened the door, almost like we weren't alone, but I shrugged it off.
“Jack?” I called out as I stepped into the foyer. “It’s me, Sean.”
“Ah, Seany-boy!” he replied from the depths of the house. “Get your ass in here! You’re gonna die when you see this!”
Heeding his call, I dropped by bookbag on the side table and walked into his office. He was pouring two glasses of bourbon and trying unsuccessfully to hide his excitement. A large manila folder was on the desk, stuffed with papers and what looked like photos.
“What up, Prof?” I said, dropping on my favorite leather-seated desk chair with a whoosh. It always made a fart sound when the air was pressed out of the cushion and it always made me laugh.
Grinning at the sound, Jack handed me a glass with a smirk. “What are you, twelve?” he scolded, chuckling at the same time. “Every damn time you come in here.”
I took a sip and said, “It’s part of my charm, Prof. Now where’s the fire? Your text made me think you were going to burst with excitement.”
He slid the folder over to me and said, “Open that puppy up and take a look.”
I opened the folder and the first photo was of what looked like a barrow entrance in the earth. There were snow-covered pine trees in the background. The next photo was the inside of a burial chamber. 10th Century Nordic by the look of it.
“What’s this?” I asked, scanning the photo. “Did they find a new Viking cairn?”
“Did they ever!” Jack said. “Read the Runes.”
I squinted and looked at the Runic writing on the walls. I got a sudden shock.
“Wait!” I sputtered. “Does that say what I think it says?”
“Sure does,” Jack said with a big smile on his face. “That is the tomb of Baldur Bjornson.”
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, nearly dropping the photo from the excitement. “Is it legit???”
“All the signs point to yes,” Jack said, taking a sip. “My Norwegian colleagues found it on an island off the western coast a week ago. They’ve kept the discovery under wraps so far, but sent me this dossier as a special favor.”
My hands shook. This was the find of the century! If it was the actual tomb of Baldur Bjornson…
Now, I’m getting a little ahead of myself, here. First a little background. Baldur Bjornson was a legendary figure in Viking history. English by birth, he was enslaved in a raid off the Northumbrian coast in 874 A.D. Shortly after his captivity started, he challenged his master in the sacred combat known as Holmgang and won his freedom. From there he started a legendary career as a raider, becoming the subject of sagas and stories still told today. Interest in him was made even higher last year when Brute Squad Films made an Oscar-winning biopic about him. History says he died of plague in 902 A.D. but there were no records of anything after that. Scholars believe he was entombed rather than burned when he died, but no cairn was ever found. Until now.
“I… don’t believe it!” I stammered.
Jack just smiled. “Sounds like pretty good material for a doctoral thesis, don’t it?” he said, grinning and taking another sip of his whiskey. “Take a look at the bottom of the pile.”
I sifted through the papers and photos, finally coming to a sealed envelope. Jack nodded and I tore it open, revealing two first-class plane tickets to Norway!
“I’m scheduled to give a symposium at the Metro City Museum in a few weeks, but there’s enough time for a little vacation before that,” Jack said. “Can you clear your schedule?”
“Are you kidding?” I said, overflowing with excitement. “This is the chance of a lifetime! When do we leave?”
“Two days from now,” Jack said. “My colleagues will meet us at the Oslo airport and then we’re off to the tomb.”
Just then a voice came from the doorway. “Unfortunately, your travel plans have hit an unexpected delay!”
Standing in the door were three men in combat fatigues and ski masks. They were holding automatic weapons aimed right at us. The masks each had goggles embedded in them and a strange eye symbol embroidered on the forehead.
Jack’s eyes instinctively darted to the desk drawer where he always kept his hidden gun, but the leader of the invaders said, “Don’t even think about it, Professor Mills. My X-ray goggles can see the gun in the drawer. Make a move towards it and your teaching assistant will be going to Switzerland, not Norway. As cheese!”
There was a heavy beat as the two other raiders turned their heads disappointedly towards their leader. “Yes, well, anyway,” he said awkwardly. “Hands up, both of you. Slowly get up from the desk and walk over to the wall, one at a time. You first, junior.”
My heart was beating out of my chest as I put the folder down and stood up. The leader indicated the bookshelf to my left with the barrel of his gun and I slowly walked over to it face-first with hands raised. Jack kept a steely gaze as I was shoved from behind, pressing up against the bookshelf with a grunt. Rough hands darted in and out of my pockets, removing all the contents and dropping them on the desk. All the time, Jack remained clam and collected. How could he be so nonchalant? We were being held at gunpoint by masked thugs! “Has this sort of thing happened to him before?” I wondered.
My thoughts were interrupted as I felt a leather-gloved hand grab each of my wrists and wrench them uncomfortably behind my back. They placed my wrists in a crossed position over each other. Scared out of my wits, I didn’t resist, or even dare to move a hair when the hands pulled away. Almost immediately after, I felt a smooth, silky rope being looped around my wrists and pulled tight, pressing my wrists together. The rope wasn’t course or rough like twine or clothesline, though. It actually felt… kinda nice. My captor made about three or four snug loops and then twisted the rope into a small knot. Then I felt it being turned and wrapped crosswise. It was threaded over and through the existing loops, making a super-secure prison for my hands. I could barely breathe, but I felt an odd stirring down below. Now? Really? Come on brain, this was no time for a surprise boner!
Once my hands were fully secured and the final knots were tied, I instinctively squirmed a little. The ropes brushed against the skin of my wrists, but it didn’t chafe at all. It was firm, but comfortable. An almost pleasing sensation, and not at all what I expected. I didn’t have much time to enjoy the feeling, though, as I was grabbed an pulled from the wall by one of our captors and held in a tight grip with a gun to my head.
“Now, Professor Mills,” the leader said, “it’s your turn. And if you try anything… absolutely anything at all, your assistant here will pay dearly for it.”
Jack scowled and stood up, his hands over his head. “I know how this works,” he scoffed. “Don’t worry.” He stepped out from behind the desk and winced as one of the masked men swooped behind him and pulled his arms behind his back. I watched in awe at his stern resolve as he was expertly made helpless by the invader’s sturdy ropes. His rugged face, peppered with several days’ stubble, contorted slightly as the knots were made extra tight. Apparently, they were taking a lot more precautions with him than they were with me.
“Your reputation for escape is legendary, Professor Mills,” the leader said. “But cast all thoughts of that out of your mind. This rope is a special gift to our employer from a dear, departed friend. Completely escape-proof and tested to withstand the might of those FAR stronger than you.” Jack tested his bonds as I had done, contorting his body in an attempt to slip the ropes that bound his hands. But it was useless, I saw the look of defeat wash over his face as Jack realized he was caught for good.
“Are you quite finished?” the leader said. “Good.” He motioned to his subordinates and Jack and I were both shoved roughly into the two chairs on the near side of the desk. The leader started examining the documents while his companions held us at gunpoint.
“Ah,” he said. “Proverbial paydirt! Pardon the archaeology pun, if you please. Our employer will be most pleased with this find.” The leader activated a device on his watch and a small, blurry hologram of a shadowy figure appeared in the air. “Glinda, this is Tin Man reporting in. Mission successful. We have the Ruby Slippers.”
The voice of the hologram was garbled and distorted, but I could make out its words. “Excellent, Tin Man. What about Dorothy and Toto?”
“We have them both secured,” Tin Man said.
“Maqnifique!” the hologram replied. “Get them both ready for transport. We’ll need their expertise as we travel the Yellow Brick Road. Be gentle with Toto. But make sure Dorothy is quite inconvenienced. She has meddled in my affairs too long and I want to make her pay in the most petty way possible. Glinda out!” The hologram faded away.
“You heard the boss,” Tin Man barked. “Get these two ready for travel.” I heard evil chuckles from behind and almost immediately felt a thick ball of cloth being stuffed in my mouth. My eyes turned to Jack, who gave me a look that said “it’s OK, just be strong” as his mouth was also stuffed. Feeling a little less afraid, I sat firm as duct tape was peeled off a roll and wrapped around my head. Five, six, seven times around it went, completely sealing my mouth. I attempted to call out to Jack, but all that came out was “mmpppgghhh.” Next to me, Jack was being similarly gagged.
Once we were secured to Tin Man’s satisfaction, he grabbed the dossier, headed for the door, and snapped his fingers. I felt rough hands grab my shoulders and pull me up from the chair. I was spun to face the door and started walking after Tin Man into the hall. Heavy booted steps fell in line behind me, followed by the scuffling sound of Jack and his captor. Where were they taking us? And why? And why did Jack act like he thought this was no big deal? It seemed like old hat to him. Maybe there was more to the Prof’s career than I had previously thought. But there was no time to think about that now. We were prisoners and there was nothing to do but see this through to the end.
Coming Soon – Part 2: Magic Carpet Ride