AllFreeNovel
Share Us
PART ONE
JOURNEY NORTH
Hastily Done
Forseidhris a tree, and some branches wider than others. Those gifted with its touch may bend one of the great forces of nature to their will, and those with any of the weirding may call a spark. The most blessed among them we callelementalist, and they perform not mere kindling but hold actual flame…
—Navros, First Scholar of Naras in the days of King Edresil
By solstice day the great Althing at Dun Rithell was almost over. Our father took Astrid and Bjorn to the last day of the riverside fair but I did not accompany them; I was already thinking upon the fire.
Mother was abed with winter ague and Bjorn her firstborn useless when it came to organizing, both by temperament and upon account of maleness. If you wished something heavy lifted, something bulky heaved a great distance, something stabbed, slashed, or thumped into submission, he was not only willing to oblige but also an expert of such endeavors, but should you wish for aught else disappointment was the result. Astrid had already done her part with the great feast upon the penultimate day; many a toast was drunk to her health and Ithrik the Stout had already gifted our hall with a great gem-crusted plate as a sign of earnest.
My sister liked the sheep-lord’s middle son Edrik well enough; he was a fine fighter and careful with his father’s great flocks. Astrid’s marriage, while not final by any means, at least was assured insomedirection. Come spring Bjorn might be married as well, if any of the visiting girls and their kin liked the look of him. Both prospects pleased me like they should any good sister, but did not mean I wished to go a-fairing that day.
Besides, crowds are always… difficult. Though the quality of my cloth and the marks upon my wrists grant me space and there is always Arneior, I did not cherish the thought of being called to render a summary judgment between drunken warriorsorperform some small trick to please a wide-eyed child among a press of visitors and jostling neighbors. Arn might have wished to go upon her own account, but I did not think of that until Father had already left with my siblings and my shieldmaid gazed longingly down the road, her ruddy hair a beacon in the strengthening dawn. Twin hornbraids crested on either side of her head, their tails dangling behind her shoulders wrapped into clubs with leather thongs, and the stripe of blue woad down the left side of her face shoutedOne of the Black-Wingéd’s own, do not touch.
If she had not the woad, her very carriage and steady glare would serve as warning enough. It is known the battlefield maidens of Odynn’s elect choose those of quick tempers, not to mention swift spears.
“Oh, fishguts,” I said, spreading my hands; the last band upon my left wrist—ink forced under skin with a sharp point—twitched. The scab was almost off, but I had to refrain from scratching or drawing the pain aside to heal it more quickly. One does not useseidhrupon such marks. “I did not think, small one.”
One coppery eyebrow shot up, and Arn scowled at me. Which is usually a cheerful sign; I have called hersmall onesince she was sworn to me at Fryja’s great festival during my sixth springtime—and my shieldmaid’s ninth, for she is older, though I am supposed to be the wiser of our partnership.
“I do not wish to go,” my shieldmaid said, her generous mouth pulled tight. The scales and rings sewn onto her daily hauberk glittered fiercely as the sun’s first limb reached above the horizon, frostand thin metal both gilding the roof of our home.When the sun rises, Eril’s hall echoes it, our men said, and one or two might even lift a drinking horn to the eldest daughter when they did.
One born withseidhris considered lucky, even if ’tis best to be cautious of avolva’s temper. What is the sun but the largest bonfire of all, and if I could produce flame to hold back the night who knew what I could darken? It was a logical enough assumption, though the trepidation somewhat misplaced.
I did not think it wise to dispel such caution wholesale, though. Nor had my teacher Idra.
“You do not wish to attend the fair?” I mimicked astonishment, letting my eyes widen and the words lilt. There was a snapping, growling, baying explosion in the direction of the kennels; the houndmaster Yvin would be taking his shaggy, nose-drunk charges upon their traditional run through the South Moor soon. When they returned there would be scraps for both dogs and pigs, and both groups might be exhausted into reasonable behavior for the rest of the day. “Not even after the bonfire is laid?”
“It will take all day to stack,” Arneior replied stiffly, and I laughed, taking her left arm. The other, of course, was not to be touched even by her charge. Her longhead spear—well upon its way to earning a name in its own way—occupied her right hand, its butt resting easily upon swept cobbles.
Soon the tables would be brought out for the Fools’ Feast before the great evening celebration to mark the Althing’s ending—though not the end of legal cases and other matters to be decided—and I would be very busy indeed.
For the moment, though, I could tease my Arn. “Not if I hurry things along.Avolvais hard to please.” The proverb used to pain me; I watched as Father’s golden head sank into the crowd passing down the road, just outside our courtyard’s great timbered gates—ajar to show hospitality during the Althing, as was the custom. Astrid, as she only reached Bjorn’s shoulder, was already lost to view; my brother, though he had his final growth upon him, would not quite match our father’s height. Still, both of them were well-named, a big good-natured bear and a shimmering star.
I oft considered my own naming a great jest, for I am dark-haired as my mother and my father’s mother. For all that, I have my mother’s eyes; they said there was some of the Elder in Gwendelint of Dun Rithell’s line, but I know not the truth of such a tale.
Despite a dark head my temper is much like Eril the Battle-Mad’s, and those who see us together are unable to think me anything but his get. I have his nose, and my chin, while rather more pointed, is also shaped just as his, though my mouth and cheekbones belong to Gwendelint. More than that, Father and I share the same quality of gaze—the word ispiercing, as an awl will go through thick leather, and when applied to a pair of eyes it means we see much more than we wish to, though Father’s are dark and mine clear pale blue.
A steady stream of freedmen, bondsmen, servants, and thralls carted wood from every household and camp to the great green across the ancient stone-paved trade-road; the large flat outcropping of greyish rock in the midst of vast grassy space was black-topped from other burnings and bore a stubby crown of stacked logs already. Hopfoot my mother’s steward, his reedy tenor aquiver with age, had been fussily directing the laying of the base since the grey mist before a winter dawn. The wicker cages along one side of the Stone would be quiet at this hour, though—they were small and relatively few, holding only promised sacrifices of fowl and rabbits.
There had been no war or raiding to bring excess livestock lately. Perhaps that accounted for my unease. I could even say I sensed somewhat amiss, but it would be a lie. That morning neither the blessèd gods—Aesyr, Vanyr, foreign—nor any other passing spirit gave no indication of the future, not even to me.
I was merely nervous in anticipation of what I had to do that evening.
My skirts touched Arn’s knee as we slipped back through the gate; the green-and-white winter festival dress was last year’s, true, but I had grown no more and would not reach even Astrid’s height. Small am I,little Solveig like a paring knife, Father had crowed more than once, lifting child-me in his brawny arms.
As I grew older he became uneasy with my strangeness, but that was only to be expected.
“Hastily done is ill done.” Arneior rolled her shoulders precisely once, a sign she was ready for the day’s labors, whatever they might be. “And where is your mantle, my weirdling? Your mother will scold.”
I shrugged in return. Mother would not glimpse me from her bedroom window; I had mixed her morning medicine with a sedative so she could not fret overmuch at being unable to oversee the feasts. My great fur-hooded green mantle was warm, yes, but I had merely stepped into the courtyard to bid Astrid good hunting in the market and also bring Bjorn the blundering his new beard-pin, forgotten at table. The night’s frost was already turning to steam, lifting from our greathall’s gilded roof just as the weary sun hauled itself above the black-timbered breast of white-hooded Tarnarya for the last time that year.
Our great mother-mountain would be renewed with dawn, like the entire world.
Tonight was the Long Dark; the bonfire would burn throughout, holding vigil. I would not sleep much either, making certain the flame kept steady, but at least it was dry weather. I did not taste much snow or ice upon the wind. Our river kept much of winter’s worst excesses away, and we thanked her each spring for the blessing.
