Hyperion Sky

It is in the roots, not the branches, that a tree’s greatest strength lies.

Matshona Dhliwayo

Whoops! I promised a little ancestral Viking tale of daring on the longship Drakkar and boofed the publish and post. Then a thought occcured to me. I wanted to swing away from Dream Paralysis in general to the theme of Norse legend, which was the subject of the dream I was locked into in my previous post.

I remembered an old family story handed down over the generations that tied into my extended Scandinavian family in the Philippines and our long connection with the Philippine people. The Norsemen were phenomenal sailors and tradesmen, making it across the seas and riverways to distant lands long before the European explorers.

In defiance of proper writing, I decided to write some background legend that emerged in the murky depths of my subconscious and burst into my dream state to keep me entertained while I snored in a cacophony of bliss. This is the root of the dream’s beginning.

The Artesian Well

• Tiger’s eye follows slowly. 
• She knows he is strong.
• She prepares herself.

My forefathers were soldiers of fortune long after their Nordic golden years of Viking conquest had passed. Their stories were handed down to me when four generations gathered at the table during Yule to tell old stories of conquests in the emerging new world and exotic islands of the Pacific. They boasted that they were well known in foreign lands before any Spaniard or English showed up to make claims in the name of their Kings.

One story, in particular, captivated me as a young boy forever dreaming of pirates, treasure, and maidens with sunlit hair and hazel eyes in dire need of a brazen pirate to love. I never forgot the allure of adventure in those days, which played out in my imagination as I devoured books and stories of my heritage like Turkish delights in my grandmother’s garden. After Sunday brunch, I sat under the Florida sun in a creaky wicker seat. I itched for adventure, and my great-grandfather held nothing back from his tales of the old country.

An uncle of my paternal clan, An, took his trade to the islands of the Philippines, where he met a noble King named Lapu Lapu in Mactan. He was a proud leader angered by the Spanish claiming he was their subject because their god was the mightiest of all gods. “Let them climb the mountains in their armor on ponies looking for me and only finding death,” he had said to my distant uncle.

This was the start of the flames in my young mind.

Vikings love a good fight. The way to Valhalla was in a battle where the Valkyries lifted the fallen who died with a blooded sword or ax in hand. “Hell yes! Tell me more. Pass the horn of ale. Oops, sorry, great-grandfather.”

A twinkle in his eye at my thirst for Viking life was the only hint of forgiveness and tolerance I would see.

Lars Anson bargained with the King that if he would give Lars the pretty young servant girl who danced to entertain the King, he would fight the Spanish and help the King vanquish the invaders. I suppose my ancestor liked Ale a bit too much, or he had his eye on Valhalla. The King favored the young girl and believed the gift significant, so the deal was struck.

Solgudinne became her name; Norwegian for the goddess of the sun. Lars thought of it one day as she served him breakfast with the sun rising over her back, reflecting in the bay. Solga was dutiful, as being betrothed to such a fierce warrior was a great honor. When Lars chased the Spanish soldiers with the King, Solga made their hut into a home and greeted him with eagerness and love. It was said that Lars loved Solga more than life, and he believed Solga loved him too. She was the only person to tame his Viking soul. With such great love, misfortune was just a matter of time.

The Spanish were not giving up this paradise in the East, and more Spanish arrived like the flow of a river, unstoppable in their cascade into the islands. Solga’s duties grew frantic as the Spanish moved closer to Macan. Her honored position forced her to take over the feeding and care of wounded warriors or the widows and children of those who fell in battle. She protested she was a simple court dancer. Still, the eyes of desperate people said otherwise. Somehow, she gave light to the darkened souls drenched in fear of the long-nosed demons that ravaged the peaceful life of the Kingdom of Lapu Lapu.

Lars came home one evening, the bloodlust still in his heart. He took his wife to bed, where she endured his conquest of her body. As with all her duties, she endured until Lars lay exhausted, his last battle behind him. In the morning, Lars took his wife to the middle son of King Lapu Lapu and asked him to return Solgudinne to her village over the western mountains into the hidden valleys beyond. Neither the young Prince nor Solga understood this gesture other than an attempt to save them from the impending attack. They protested until the King ordered it in a curt shout of his authority.

Only Lars knew that Solga was destined to be the new Queen of Macan as the Prince’s first wife after the war had settled, and peace once again made the fields of rice grow thick and sweet in the lowland terraces of old Macan.

The next day, Lars and the King, with most of their men, fell to Spanish swords. Lars was cremated, and his ashes were put in a clay urn where it made its long journey back to Bergen, Norway. In an oath of revenge, Lar’s son vowed to fight the Spanish for the Macan people as his father had. He would be with his father in Valhalla after his ax was beaten to pot metal against Spanish helmets.

When he arrived, he was taken overland across the great mountains into the hidden valley near the Mananga River. He met with Solgudinne’s village and asked where he might find her. They pointed up the valley but told him it was sacred land and they could not go with him. He searched for six months. Not a soul was found in this primeval forest with such beauty. The Viking warrior was tempted to take a wife and live out his life there.

One day, on a hunch, he followed a small stream between a cracked boulder until he came to an artesian well where water poured out of the rock into a pool of water. On the edge of the pool was a young woman of stunning beauty. The sun sent a beam of light through the canopy, lighting her back and hair in golden hues. She appeared to be washing clothes.

The vengeful Viking knew this woman was too young to be his father’s legendary goddess of the sun. He retreated back to the stream’s edge and camped for the night. He would return in the morning and track the girl to her home.

The next day, Lar’s son retraced his steps to the pool, where the dawn’s light reflected from the pool like a mirror of constant motion. He sat enraptured by the scene until he noticed movement. It was a white-tipped tail attached to a female tiger looking directly at the son of Lars. He slipped out his saex and prepared to meet his father in Valhalla. The tiger raised and regarded the intruder with an almost disrespectful lack of interest. She yawned to show her teeth were mighty long and slipped into the forest like a ghost in the wind. 

This was told at many a clan meeting year after year where the legend of the eastern sun goddess, Solgudinne, was born, and the Anson clan would keep her alive in memory until this day.

My grandfather was in the Philippines in the Navy during McArthur’s return to the people he swore his allegiance to. Before Gen McArthur, my grand Uncle had survived the Bataan Death March and was waiting in a prison camp. My father visited the Philippines during the Korean War, and I had my chance while stationed in Korea. The clan kept their promise to fight for the people in return for their gift of the sun’s daughter. It was my honor to meet many Philippine people whom I admired as people with the souls of the tigers that disappeared long ago.

Five hundred and twenty years later, Solgudinne brings the light of life to the islands and Nordic lands. I’m sure the young woman seen by my ancestor was the daughter of Solga and that her heritage lives on in the islands wherever life took the children of the goddess of the sun. As for the Tiger, who knows? My people thought the young woman and the Tigress by the artesian well were one and the same. This is how legends and mythology of the Norsemen were born for my clan.

To wrap up, Another uncle of my paternal clan and his German business partner moved to the Philippines in the late 1800s and set up an export business. Both married locally and by World War II both families were large and prosperous. It was believed that they were all killed by the Japanese during the conquest. With Norse and Island blood, they surely gave more than they got and rest in Valhalla. We lost contact with them and when I came along, no one in the extended family had heard from our Philippine cousins again.

In 2020, I found a single relative of our paternal clan in the islands through Ancestry DNA search. She was my parent’s age and being cared for by another person. She is gone now and I often wonder what remains of our history lost in the land of islands looked after by Solgudinne the goddess of the Sun.