Aratheon Books

Bothvar Beorcolsson

I slowly wake up, finding myself encased in brown fur. I try to move, only to feel pain surge through me. My vision slowly clears. I’m inside a cave… A fire burns. I look up to see two huge white beasts sitting beside two smaller ones. The shorter of the bigger ones get up and picks a large glowing mushroom before walking over to me and pushing it against my mouth. It makes some grunts and growls as it motions its other hand to its mouth. It wants me to eat the mushroom. I open my mouth and take it in, forcing myself to chew and swallow it. It sucks the moisture out of my mouth and I can hardly swallow it down without gagging. The big yeti brings me a large stone bowl full of that earthy water. I drink. I feel so weak. I collapse back down and drift off again.

I awaken again inside the cave with the yetis. Once again, the smaller of the two bigger yetis, one without horns who must be an adult, rushes over to me, forcing another mushroom into my mouth and practically drowning me with the earthy water. After I get it down, I get up feeling much better. To my amazement, my wounds have all but healed. I feel as if I was never hurt to begin with. The yeti grunt and makes a bunch of strange hand gestures as I climb to my feet and stumble out of the cave. Those mushrooms and the water must have some powerful healing effects. I feel as good as new. A little tired, but better. The yeti hesitantly walks out from the cave behind me. I turn to them. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

They don’t seem to comprehend. I must show them my gratitude somehow. The dead bear is still there. I walk over to it and find that it hasn’t yet gone bad. The cold of the mountain has preserved it. Thankfully, no other beasts have come for it. 

I salvage what meat I can from the bear after that fiendish monster spoiled a little less than half of it. Thankfully, I’m able to save most of its pelt as well. I even take the bones. They can be made into useful tools, especially its claws and teeth. Nothing goes to waste. Everything seems more vibrant than before. Even the dull gray colors of the mountain seem to brighten. The clouds take shape into forms that seem to come alive. It must be the gods looking down from above. Are they happy with my progress?

I take three-fourths of the bear meat, more than I’d like to, and carefully make my way up to the yeti cave. I feel I owe some kind of debt to these creatures, for they surely saved my life from those fiendish monsters with the mushrooms. Hopefully, this will help to pay it off. I lay the meat in front of the cave entrance. I hear the rumbling of the ground as the beast charges out. It makes the wind surge at me like a storm. It stops just before the meat and beats its chest wildly while a roar erupts from its huge, toothy mouth. I can feel my beard blowing in the wind of its roar.

But I don’t even flinch. My lack of reaction seems to calm it as it looks down at the meat and back up at me. Behind it, two little yeti cubs hesitantly come out along with what could only be its mate, the hornless yeti.

The horned beast in front of me is nearly as tall as a tree as it towers over me. It reluctantly takes the meat and turns back to give a good portion of it to its cubs and mate before eating the rest. Then the yeti goes into the cave and comes back with a pair of antlers. It must be from one of the fiends we killed. It sets the antlers down in front of me. I look up at it and nod, picking the antlers up before slowly backing away. The yeti watches me leave before it heads in with its tribe or pack, or whatever you call its family.

I think I just made a friend with the beast. Interesting. Maybe this will help with winter. It is smart enough to make a trade.

Once I get the meat, hide, and bones back to my cave, I spend the majority of the afternoon smoking it and drying it out with the makeshift smoker I made with the wood. I also set the bear hide out and made a frame for it. Then, I have to create another fire and smoke box to smoke the pelt in. I clean the bones and keep the fat. Grease can come in handy. I store it in the makeshift ice box I made. It’s gotten quite cold out; cold enough to keep the snow frozen, so I can keep most of my meat out here. I just need to make sure no other animal can get into it. But I know winter is only beginning.

I pull the grease out to try to make oil with it. However, it catches on fire and as I try to put it out with water it erupts in my face like a breath from a dragon. I stumble backward as my beard catches on fire. I quickly smother it out. Then I have to stomp out the grease fire and smother it with a hammer. It confuses me. Water is supposed to put fire out, but it only made this burning grease erupt even hotter. I’ll have to remember this. I feel like it would be a good weapon to use on elven ships. I can only imagine them trying to put the flaming grease out with water, only to make the fire spread. The idea brings a smile to my face.

With the claws, I make a spear with some of the wood. I use a bone to make another hammer and ax. With the smaller bones, I just eat the marrow out and create bone dice. I do not know what the dice say, but surely, they mean something.

I create a saw with its teeth, and that makes the process of cutting wood much easier; I do not like to rely on it, however, because it takes away from the reason I am here. I’m here to gain strength, not to chop wood.

The Antlers I hang as a trophy and as a reminder of what lives in these mountains.

—

Every day, I think about my wife and child, but not for too long because it hurts to know they are without me. I pray to my gods that they are kept safe along with my family and my brother’s wife and children. I wonder if his son has been born yet. I’ve been doing a lot of carving in my spare time and I’ve carved my son some toys along with Thorkel’s children.

I push those painful thoughts out and imagine the elf that took my brother from me. I’ve burned his face into my memory. I will never forget it. It spurs me on to push myself above and beyond my physical limits.

What really surprised me after I was attacked by those creatures was that in the morning my wound was nearly healed completely, as if it never happened. Was it the mushrooms that did it? Do they heal the flesh? I must remember that and take them with me when I return.

I harden my body and temper it through pain and hardship. I’ve become strong enough to lift the small rock to my waist. It feels far lighter than it used to be. Just a heavy stone that takes some effort with both hands.

And yet, I still can’t budge the hammer. Whatever it is made of, it is stronger and denser than glowing metal. Once I am strong enough, I will use the smaller rock as a tool in order to smith a hammer once I smelt the glowing rock. I don’t know what I’ll use as an anvil, But the surface that the hammer sits upon seems hard enough. It’s a dark metal with an emerald hue to it. Somewhat similar to the green glow rock, but not quite.

—

After many long days, I can lift a decent size glow ore with relative ease. I’ve chipped out several large chunks and I’ve made quite a pile with it.

One night, I snuck back into the village unseen, using the side entrance of the wall. Thankfully, with hunting, I gained the skill to sneak quite well. I sneak a peek into my father’s Stronghold, sneaking in without being noticed. I slip inside my room where my wife lies asleep with our son. They look so peaceful. I just wish I could stay here with them. I miss them so much. I take them in for as long as I can before I place the carved toys, I made for Hrut down on the table next to them. I then leave some for Thora and Thorkel’s son outside their room. Then, I sneak out of the Stronghold and down into the town for what I came here for. Into Aldam Bronzehammer’s blacksmithing shop, I enter. I lay down several chunks of glow ores I have brought which should be sufficient to trade for what I need and grab Aldam’s spare anvil, several molds, a spare quenching bucket, spare tongs, spare vices and clamps, and a spare apron. Oddly enough, I’m able to carry all of it in packs without much trouble. I thought for sure I’d have to make several trips to get everything I needed. I’m just surprised at how light the anvil feels. Much lighter than the chunks of glow ore. I remember I could barely lift it at one time, now I can just carry it under my arm as if it were a roll of blankets. I leave Aldam something to know it was me before I head back to the cave.

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Lura Syllana

On the way back to our room, we run into three other girls. Two with red hair and one with blonde. They stop as soon as they see us. “Oh look, it’s one of the strays, and it looks like she found a friend.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Chalia says. “They’re just stuck-up nobles who think they’re better than everyone else because they come from wealthy families.”

“We are better than you,” the blonde-haired one says.

“Sure, Irlinda. If that’s what you need to tell people to secure your ego, go right ahead,” Chalia says.

“Says the bastard child. Did daddy not love you enough?” the taller of the redheads says.

Chalia clenches her hand into a fist. The blonde one named Irlinda looks at me. “Let’s see… Copper skin and yet you have pure golden hair… Odd. You have the skin of a low-born and the hair of a noble. Are you another bastard? If you’re a noble, you certainly don’t want to be seen around with the likes of bastards and low-born filth. I don’t understand why we let the gutter trash in here to dirty the purity of the church.”

“Clearly you know nothing about grace and humility,” I say, and that gets a laugh from Chalia.

Irlinda lets out a huff, tosses her golden blonde hair over her shoulder, and pushes past us with her friends on her heels. We enter our room and Chalia helps me get settled in. I have little, so it doesn’t take long.

“So, what did she mean about bastards?” I ask.

“Who knows. Irlinda is always trying to belittle others.” Chalia avoids my eyes as she walks over to her bed and starts to straighten it even though it’s already pretty smooth.

“So, here’s the basic life of a Novice. We have classes every day except for the days of rest, and they’re all about the holy sacred texts, the core beliefs, the history of our church, and all this other boring stuff. We also have to learn different languages, especially dwarven and human languages. Then we have chores we have to do on top of that because, apparently, hard work builds character, or something like that. Then, many unfortunate souls are assigned to help a Sister or Brother do such boring monotonous tasks. Thankfully, I’m with Damaris. I doubt you’ll be so lucky,” she says as she opens her drawer up and pulls out a bag of dried fruit, and starts chowing down on it.

“Isn’t supper soon?” I ask.

She shrugs. “They like to feed us small portions because, apparently, it builds character.” She says sarcastically. “You’ll want to avoid getting caught doing anything you shouldn’t be. Punishments suck. They’ll take a switch to your bottom and then you’ll have to do a lot of monotonous manual work.”

“You’ll also get buried underneath books upon books to read,” she says as she pulls out a giant book with a dusty green binding. “Hopefully you can read and write because if you can’t you’ll have to waste time you could use for advancing in the levels to learn those skills.”

“I can do both,” I say.

“Good, now get comfy. We’ve got a little while before supper,” she says.

“Can I borrow a book?” I ask.

“By all means, have your pick. You’ll get your own soon enough,” she says without looking up.

I grab a book called Creatures of Aratheon and open it up. As I skip through the pages, one in particular catches my eyes. On the parchment sits a rather hideous creature with antlers that has long arms and crotches on his hindlegs. Its eyes seem hollow and its flesh is rotted with nasty patches of fur covering it. It’s called a Wendigo, and it’s a creature of the dark. The light hurts it. It feeds on anything living. Its teeth and claws are vile and can poison the flesh, but there is a cure in the Luminescent Emerald Mushrooms that can enhance the senses and heal the body of almost any poison, cut, and even broken bones. They’re found deep in caves of mountains.

The book also has several rumors about these Wendigos. That they’re created by a Witch of the Dark, or witches. It’s not clear whether there is only one or many. These witches, or witch, are rumored to be very powerful and live in total darkness. Of course, these are just rumors and there’s no evidence of such witches or witch. Some think the creatures are from the Dark Realm itself. Of course, many think the Dark Realm doesn’t exist. I snap the book shut as another catches my eye.

I grab one that says Known Artifacts and dig in. It’s a thick book, and there are loads of different artifacts. It talks about the Divine Sword, Jophiel’s Holy Everlight Staff of never-ending sunlight to shine away the darkness, an Amulet of the Sun, the Dagger of Dread, a Pendant of Strength, and several different hammers, one being the Sacred Hammer that’s important to the church. It was once the hammer of Lord Angel Akrasiel, and only the pure of heart or Akrasiel himself can use it. There’s also a hammer from some dwarven pagan builder god, a Hammer of Justice or something, and of course, it talks about the specific ways you can use them and the requirements for each of them. Like the Hammer of Justice can only be used in seeking justice, to no one’s surprise. Why are there so many hammers?

They also mention these orbs of energy which I find truly fascinating. There are several different kinds of orbs for different types of magic. These orbs contain a nearly unlimited amount of magic that can be drawn upon by the wielder. Of course, even though they have an extraordinary amount of power, there’s a limit to how much you can draw at once, but, over time, the orbs actually replenish themselves through some kind of fusion process that I don’t quite understand. There are blue orbs that use Arcane Magic, white Divine orbs, red Demonic orbs, purple void orbs, black dark matter orbs, elemental orbs, and so on and so forth. It states that one only needs a trickle of magic within them to use these orbs, which nearly all life has. In order to channel one, you have to have a high level of concentration on the orb and focus on what you want to do with the flow of energy from it. I would love to get my hands on one.

I skip to the rings to try to find one that resembles mine, but before I can really dig in there’s a knock on the door and it opens with the girls from across the hall barging in. The darker-skinned girl, I think her name is Inhepireth, speaks up. “You two coming to supper?” Chalia snaps her book shut and practically leaps off her bed. “Yep, let’s go, Lura! I’m starving.”

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

I’ve spent day after day, honing my strength. Doing whatever I can to become stronger, faster, and a better warrior. I came here with the purpose of lifting that hammer so I can kill the elf who murdered my brother. And that is what I’ve been doing. Working my arse off from the time I get off my bedroll to the time I collapse on it from exhaustion. I stop counting the days that have gone by as I stalk the mountain for those pesky little goats. You have to be quick to catch them. Before, I only caught two. Kept one for milk and the other kept me fed for quite some time. Especially after I dried out most of the meat. However, the Fall is all but over and game will grow scarce soon. Fortunately, I’ll still be able to fish once the shore freezes over. Now that I can move without making noise, I’m far better at catching the pesky goats.

With my hunting bow in hand, I stalk the mountains, looking for my prey. I’ve learned to be as quiet as a hare when I stalk through the land. Whether it be on the mountainside or in the woods below, I make no sound louder than a breath of air, and even that is as quiet as the wind can be with a subtle breeze.

A single noise could alert my prey. Or worse. Goats and rams aren’t the only things that call these mountains home. I’ve heard tales of large white-haired human-like monsters with horns growing out from their head and teeth as sharp as knives. They are as fierce as any giant brown bear or dire wolf that stalks these lands. yeti, I’ve heard them called.

Not to mention the stories I’ve heard about Jotnar and griffins taking up home in the caves of these mountains as well, along with things that come out in the night. I stalk quietly through the rocky cliffs and gorges. Listening to any sound that might lead me to prey. My bow is notched and my quiver is slung over my back, ready. I have my ax ready to use for the killing blow with a long knife at my belt.

In the distance, I hear an animal tracking through the rocky pathways. It does nothing to silence its travels. I silently follow the sound. Keeping a distance away to be safe. I find an overpass leading to a trench and I climb up it to creep overtop whatever animal I stalk.

I finally get a glimpse at what I stalk and I swallow a gasp. By Ornulf’s beard! It is a giant brown bear with claws the size of my arm. I have to be careful or the thing could kill me. I pull back on my bow and take aim. Slowly, I take a few steps forward to get a better shot. But a goat leaps out of the mountain pass and takes off running from behind.

A roar that makes my ears scream bellows through the trench. I get a shot off, but it hardly nicks the bear. I pull out my ax as the bear charges at me. The thing is as big as a small hut and every step it takes sounds like a hammer clapping down on an anvil.

Just as it gets close, it raises up a massive paw and I dive underneath it as it comes crashing down. I chop at its side, and it howls out. The air gets knocked out of my lungs as I slam against the wall after it backhands me. I barely get my ax head up as its jaws try to close around my throat. But I raise my ax in time, and instead of wrapping its jaws around my neck, it eats the iron of my ax, cutting open its jaw as blood pours all over me. It retreats, thrashing about.

I waste no time climbing to my feet and lifting the ax over my head before I bring it down on its skull. It collapses onto the ground, dead.

Praise the gods. This will keep me fed for a long time and I’ll use the fur for a nice cloak. Nothing of the bear will go to waste. I just have to go back to the cave and get the sled I fashioned with the wood I’ve cut from the trees below. I grab my bow and the broken arrow as I rush back to the cave to grab it.

Darkness slowly falls upon the mountains. I rarely ever stay out after dark. As I come back to the place of my kill, I hear something. A foul stench takes over the air. It smells rotten. The air has grown colder. I keep quiet as I sneak up above the trench, and what I see terrifies me. The creature that is tearing into my bear is unlike any I’ve ever seen. It has antlers on its head, but it is no deer that I’ve ever seen. It sits on its hind legs and crouches like a man, but its hands have claws the size of the bears. It’s covered in fur and yet bones stick out of its back. It looks somewhat human but has unnaturally long arms.

I won’t let this monster steal my prey! I pull out my bow and notch an arrow before pulling back. Suddenly it lifts its head up, sniffing the air. My god, its head looks like the skull of an elk. Suddenly, it looks up at me with socketless black eyes. I let loose my arrow and stick it in the shoulder and it lets out a blood-curdling cry. I notch another one and stick it in its eyeless socket.

It swipes at the air in pain, but then it springs up out of the trench and charges me as I let off another arrow into its chest. That doesn’t stop it as it knocks me back with a backhanded blow. I barely have enough time to roll back before it lands where I laid. I get to my feet and leap to the side as its clawed hand swipes through the air where I stood. I pull my ax out and cut off its hand as it swings down at me. A howl escapes my lips as its other hand slashes across my chest, tearing through my tunic and flesh. I waste no time in chopping its head off, watching its black blood spray out of its neck. What manner of creature is that? Those claws are sharper than daggers. And the stench… It smells like the rotting corpse of a pig. Makes my blood curdle and my stomach turn over. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up as my skin covers in chills. I’ve never felt fear like this before.

Howls echo out as two more of those things crawl over the top of a ledge and leap down. By the gods, if I have to die this day, I will die fighting. “Bring it on, you godless monsters. I’ll take you both on. I may feast in Valholl tonight, but you will freeze in Niflheim!”

They charge at me, and I swing my ax like a madman. Chopping at the first one, but getting tossed aside as the second one’s antlers dig into my side. It slashes across my shoulder and my own blood spurts out. A high-pitched, blood-curdling scream echoes out of its mouth as it towers over me. Is this how I will die?

Suddenly, a deep, earth-shaking roar booms out from a cave nearby. The creature looks away from me, giving me a second to grab my ax and bury it in its skull. It falls off of me to the side. However, as I climb to my feet, two more come out from the shadows just as the other stares off into the cave that I finally notice. I can barely stand on my feet as I lose my life’s water.

Its attention snaps back to me as the other two make their way over, crawling like possessed demons. I let a roar out at them. “Bring it on.”

However, just as they approach, a blur of white bursts out from the cave and slams into the first one, grabbing it by its foot and slamming it against the ground, tossing it aside like a piece of meat. The colossal beast stands on its tree-sized legs and beats its dark black chest, letting out a roar that would match thunder in ferocity. It is completely covered in white fur with horns coming out of its massive head. It has a face not that different from that of a man with a beard and eyes. But where there should be human teeth are razor-sharp ones and a wide snout. It must be what they call a yeti. I didn’t believe the tales I heard about it, but I believe them now. The mysterious creatures have forgotten all about me and now circle the yeti.

They attack, and the yeti slams its fist against the first while the second claws at its back, but is tossed aside by a backhanded blow. I watch in shock while gripping my ax. What should I do? Run while I still can? Should I help the yeti? Wouldn’t it attack me after if it kills those things? One thing is for sure if those things win, I’m next.

A third one climbs back up and charges the yeti, slashing at its back. “No, you don’t!”

I leap at it with my ax over my head and slam it down into the back of its neck. It takes another swing to lop off its head. The yeti is struggling to take the two other ugly creatures. One circles around to its back while the yeti swings at the other in front of it. They both charge at the same time. I rush up to its aid and slam my ax into the back of the one that has its claws dug into yeti’s back. I continue to hack at it as it collapses until it stops moving. The yeti grabs ahold of the one in front of it, slams it on the ground and pounds it with its fist before grabbing its antlers and snapping its neck, twisting its head all the way around. The thing twitches one more time before it goes still. Everything slowly goes dark as I fall to my knees and collapse.

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

I knew what I must do. I needed strength. I needed to harden and become a true Viking. One capable of defeating the elves that killed my brother, and I knew something that would give me what I needed to be able to kill them. A weapon so powerful that no weakling could ever pick it up.

I walked up to the cave I once visited as a child with my brother not that long ago. It feels like nothing has changed since I last walked inside this place, but the world itself is no longer the same place it once was then. I walk into the darkness until it surrounds me, but the dark does not last as the cave blooms in strange iridescent light from the rocks and the mushrooms. The memories of the past haunt me as I walk past the glowing pools. I remember Skardi eating these strange mushrooms. He acted strangely after that. Strange for Skardi at least. I look up at the thing that will bring me my revenge. The hammer still sits upon the natural altar of rock. I can see my brother standing above, his childish hands gripping it as he tries to lift it. We were just boys back then. Too weak to lift a weapon like this. It must be the hammer of a god. Why else would it be left here? It must be meant to be found by a warrior strong enough to wield it. And that warrior will be me.

I walk up to the hammer and wrap my hands around its hilt. I can feel the power within it. It hums with power. With everything inside me, I pull. I pull with all the strength that I have, but to no avail. No matter how hard I pull, it does not move an inch. I am not surprised. I may not yet be strong enough, but I will be. I’ll stay here however long I have to in order to get strong enough to lift this hammer. Even if I have to stay here all winter long, I will do whatever I have to. I’ll hunt for food; I’ll chop down the trees at the base of the mountain for fire to keep warm. I’ll eat these damn mushrooms and drink this water if I have to, but I will not give up until I wield this hammer.

—

I discovered that in order to get any sleep in this place, I need to wrap a thick cloth around my eyes. The ore and the mushrooms never stop glowing.

I hunt and fish to eat while smoking what I can and using the cold of the mountains to freeze and store my food for later. I’ve resorted to drinking the cave water because it’s fresh and the only source I have. It has a strange earthy taste to it which I think is probably from the strange glowing rocks that light up the pools in the cave.

I spend most of my days going out to hunt or fish in the morning, then I hack down a tree below the mountain and spend all morning chopping wood to bring up for winter. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get strong enough to lift this hammer, but I won’t quit until I can wield it.

In the afternoon, I do everything I can to get stronger. I push myself from the ground more than a hundred times. Use the side of an overhanging ledge in the cave to pull myself up a few hundred times. These glowing rocks are too heavy for me to lift. I’ve even taken a pickaxe to loosen them from the ground, but even then, I can’t lift the rock. I use these rocks as a gauge of how strong I am getting. Surely once I can lift one of these rocks, I can lift that hammer.

Hunting brings its own challenges. Most of the animals can hear me coming from far away. I’ve had to learn to be quiet. To walk as lightly as air. That in itself is a challenge. I’ve created new boots that don’t make as much sound. I’ve learned to pay more attention to my surroundings and where I step. I figured out how to recognize loose rocks to avoid them and the clunking sounds they make. It took me a while to figure out how to control my breathing. To keep it as calm and quiet as possible. Through this, I have discovered this flow that makes everything so vivid and makes me aware of everything around me. Even my own heartbeat. Through my calm and slow breathing, I can keep my heartbeat just as calm. I’ve become a stone in the presence of a storm. Unmoving and unwavering. Through practice, my steps and movements have become as silent as a subtle breeze through a valley. This new way of being has kept me well fed and has given me quite a few hides.

When I am not hunting or fishing, I temper my body until I’m too exhausted to move anymore. Then I eat and drink before crawling to my bedroll and passing out. I’ve come to believe that whatever is in this water gives my body some rejuvenating effect. I wake up with no aches or sores. Not only that, but I feel stronger and faster than the day before. I’m able to do more ground pushes and cliff-hanging pulls. I’m more efficient with the wood, cutting and carrying twice as much as I did when I first came here not that long ago.

And yet, I still cannot lift the hammer. I’ve taken time to explore the mountains more and have found some coal deposits in a nearby cave. That will come in handy during winter, so I’ve taken to mining some and gathering it up. I’ve considered smelting this strange glowing ore with the coal I’ve found once I’m strong enough to lift it. Maybe I can make weapons far better than our own iron axes and swords. I’m not a great blacksmith, but I’m decent enough with Aldam’s training.

As the days pass by, I continue to work harder than ever. The sole thought I hold on to is the face of the elf who killed my brother. That arrogant, sharp face and his fiery red hair. I’ll kill him. I will. With that hammer, I’ll smash his head open. This sole thought drives me beyond my limits.

I hammer out the weakness from my body. It’s hard work. I can feel my body strengthen far beyond anything I’ve ever thought possible when I was just a lad.

After most of Fall has passed by and the leaves have changed colors, I try once more to lift these glowing rocks. I grab onto the smallest chunk I can find. With both hands wrapped around the small little stone-shaped ore, I bend my knees down and lift it with everything I have. To my amazement, I’m able to lift it off the ground by a hair. I moved it! I’ve never been able to do that before. This is good. This is progress. I can live with this. Soon, I’ll be able to lift that hammer. I can feel it. I know it’ll be mine. Just as that elf’s head will be mine, severed from the rest of his body. Or smashed. I can imagine either or. Maybe I’ll use the hammer to bash in his chest and then cut off his head to present to my father. I’ll make sure to get a good expression of fear on it before I kill him. But in the meantime, I’ll continue to push myself past my limits and get stronger. I need to lift that hammer.

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Lura Syllana

The priestess whose name I remember now as Damaris, thankfully had a robe for me as I left with her out of the courtroom. The collar was taken off, and immediately I felt the sickening weakness fade away as it is replaced by an overwhelming surge of energy washing over me. Like walking into a hot steam room after being doused with ice cold water. Two completely opposite feelings were felt at once, but it was a most welcoming feeling. Something I didn’t even realize I felt until it was taken from me by that collar. I will never let another collar like that find its way around my neck.

I follow her all the way through Mid-Town. A section of the city I’ve never been to. I’m amazed by how clean and well-kept it is. The streets don’t have trash on them, nor are there any homeless people. Buildings are clean and well maintained. Roads are made of stone. People don’t look suspicious. In fact, they actually look happy. They greet each other as if they were family. Maybe they are for all I know. People aren’t afraid to show their faces. They walk as if they have all the time in the world and every person they run into is someone important to talk to. Their faces are full of compassion and health. No one looks as if they’ve gone hungry or have been using glimmer. The air seems cleaner. Fresher.

It’s hard to understand how people can be so happy and carefree when just beyond the wall, not all that far behind me, people have to fight over a few coppers and no one trusts anyone.

We make our way up to the gate to the upper city. A place few are allowed to enter. The priest is allowed in with no problem, but the guards eye me suspiciously.

I can’t stifle the gasp that escapes my lips as we enter the upper city. It’s nothing like I’d ever imagined. Not at all.

The streets are made of white and silver marble. The buildings are also pure white with silver trim. There are trees everywhere. I’ve never seen a tree before. At least not outside a painting. There are flower gardens that line the walkways. The air smells of their scent, which is sweet and refreshing, along with a smell of sharp perfumes that linger. And grass. Lots of grass. It’s so green and lush. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even the sky seems clearer. And the air isn’t so stifling hot. It seems refreshingly cool here.

What really strikes me as odd is how few people travel the streets. The ones who do seem as if they have somewhere better to be. They have fair skin and most have golden blonde hair with deep blue eyes. My own dark skin tone sticks out like a dirty copper coin in a purse full of shiny silver. Few stop to talk. They all walk with their noses to the sky and their eyes far above everyone else as if seeing the sight of another person would be a severe affront to them.

Not one of them stops to say hello to one another. Nor do they even acknowledge the existence of anyone else. Quite a few are being carried in palanquins held up by slaves. I’ve never felt like as much of an outsider as I do now. These people couldn’t be any more different from me. I thought the ultimate life would be found inside these walls, but none of these people seem happy. Not like the people in Mid Town. Hell, even the people in Low Town are more willing to talk or say hello.

I follow the priestess through these lonely streets until we arrive at yet another wall. The gates are open and unguarded. Inside, we come upon a pathway of pure white marble without any other swirls of color in a sea of verdant grass. Men and women wander the paths. Some wear vibrant white robes, others wear plain brown, while a few wear bright yellow. There are several warriors here and there in the most prestigious shining armor with golden or silver tabards that show off a white circle of silver lining. Some have a crimson lining.

Before me stands something akin to a palace. A humongous cathedral with stained sparkling silver and gold trimmed glass and white stone. Several towers reach the very peak of the sky surrounding a gigantic dome.

A thought hits me and fills me with fear. I am so afraid of running into Orym; I wish I could cover my face. What would I even say to him if I did? Thanks for tricking me into falling in love with you and believing it was reciprocated. Maybe thank him for leaving me after he took my virginity, too. What a fool I was for believing his lies. He is a horrible person. He was so convincing. Made me feel so special. But I felt like a real piece of shit when he never came back. I felt as low as the sand covering the ground in Tent City.

As we enter the cathedral, the inside is just as magnificent as the outside. This is far different from the church that I still wouldn’t have called little at the time in low town. It’s coldly beautiful. The inside seems to sparkle and shine with light, blessing the place through the stained windows. Golden and silver rugs cover the white marble floor. The walls are decorated with golden and silver banners of that same silver circle. Everything just seems so devout and holy. Is it bad that I can only think about how much I could get for the rugs and banners?

I stop dead in my tracks and feel my heart trying to break free of my chest when I see what could only be a Paladin in front of me as we round a corner. Orym… I look up to meet his eyes and sigh in relief. It is not him. He steps around me, leaving me staring at nothing.

“Everything okay?” Damaris asks.

I nod while closing my gaping mouth. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

She gives a curt nod and continues on. People in white robes who I’m sure are priests either congregate to talk or wander about their business. Some men are in armor here and there. “Welcome to the holy sanctum of the Light, child. Today starts your journey to finding the Light’s Divine grace.”

I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath until I let it go. She doesn’t wait for a response and continues on.

“Look at this,” another golden-haired woman says to two other golden-haired women, all with fair skin. “Damaris has found herself another low-born stray. Where does she continue to find them?”

“Amoann, it is good to see you as well. Although it seems to me you need to brush up on the Light’s gospel. Particularly on grace and humility,” she says. Something just occurs to me… That night with the man with red hair… Faidhor Haryrwen is a name I will never forget. After he… After he did what he did to me, I was healed by a woman. The angel with the golden hair… She’s the one who healed me. Damaris. At least, that’s what she said in the courtroom.

The other woman’s eyes seem to narrow, but she doesn’t have anything to say, nor do her high-born friends. You can always tell a high-born from their complexion. While us low-born strays have dark skin tones, some being pure chocolate with mine being a bit on the copper side. Those of the high blood rarely ever feel the sun’s heat. They have the luxury of wealth and can pay anyone to do anything they want while they sit inside their mansions getting fat. Most also have golden hair. Of course, that alone doesn’t mean anything. I have golden hair as well and it hasn’t helped me at all, but I suppose my family was once considered high-born when King Volodar was still in power. We were one of his few loyalists. The rest were bought in gold by the Council and the Golden High Elf Trading Company.

There are many in the lower parts of town still loyal to the rightful ruler. The king who led our people out from under the Wood Elves’ strict thumb and their blind views. A bunch of tree lovers. Although I’ve wondered if maybe things aren’t so bad in the forest. It can’t be any worse than what we suffer here in the desert. I heard some say that this land became a barren desert to punish us for leaving the practices of our ancestors and betraying them. They think that’s why the King’s beloved wife died and drove him to his abdication. Some pray for his return or that of his children, Prince Faelar Morric and Princess Ariana Morric. They pray one of them will come to save us. However, none have seen any of them since.

I follow Damaris all the way through the halls of silver and gold decorations, passing many other elves in white robes or armor. Although there seem to be a few nobles here and there, dressed in their fancy silks with their noses held to the sky.

We head down a stairway, through several corridors, and down more stairways. The decor grows rather dim the further down we go. The priests on these lower levels all wear yellow robes. Eventually, we reach a floor that is all normal sandstone with rugs of crimson color, lacking the holy white, silver, and gold colors. The elves down here all wear simple brown linens and seem to be a bit younger than most. Although I notice some aren’t so young. We arrive at a room with two beds.

“Here is where you will stay throughout your training as a Novice. Once you become Accepted, you will be moved to a room all to yourself a few floors above,” she says as she raises her hand to the halls surrounding us. “For now, you’ll have to share it with another Novice. Fortunately for you, I found someone who’s very accepting, and I think the two of you will get along quite well.”

I nod to her before forcing myself to meet her eyes. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me, and I apologize for skipping out on you on the bell tower. Looking back, I wish I would’ve taken your offer.”

“The Light works in mysterious ways. I think you were guided away because you had a journey of your own to take, and strange enough, it still led you back to the Light. Do not dwell too much on the past, child, and for that matter, don’t get too distracted by the future either. Stay in the here and now. Focus on what you can do today.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before her eyes meet mine, showing the empathy she holds in her heart. “You’ve been through a lot, and I’m sorry you had to endure so much pain. I hope now you can take the path of healing and let go of all that burdens you. And as far as your purpose, I’ll do my best to help you free your family. Many of us here find the practice of slavery despicable, but sadly, those in power find it profitable. Hopefully, we can change their minds and right the wrongs of the past.”

Before I can stop myself, I find my face buried in her chest with tears in my eyes. She wraps me in the warmth of her embrace, gently stroking my hair. “It’s okay, now. You are safe here. I promise I will not let anything happen to you here.”

She holds me for a while longer before we’re interrupted. Damaris pulls back and a smile crosses her lips. “Ahh. Chalia, just in time. Meet your new roommate, Lura.”

Chalia nods. She’s beautiful. Dark raven hair, bronze clear skin, and vividly bright blue eyes. She smiles and nods. “It is nice to meet you. Anyone who Sister Damaris vows for is a friend of mine.”

I nod. She offers her hand and I accept it. Damaris puts a hand on both of our shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Good. I’ll let you two settle in and get to know one another. Chalia, will you let Lura know where my room is and my study? That way, if she needs anything, she knows right where to find me.”

“Yes, Sister Damaris,” Chalia says with a curtsy. Chalia bites her lip as the two’s eyes linger on each other for a while longer. Damaris smiles and nods before walking away. Chalia turns to me with a smile. “Well, might as well get to it then, huh?”

I smile and nod. She closes the door and turns her back to it. “There’s a lot to cover. We’ll start with the important things. Actual priestesses and priests who wear the white robes regardless of whether they have silver or gold are always to be referred to as Sister or Brother – unless they’re a bishop, Archbishop, father, mother, or High Mother and High Father. I’ll let you know who those are and you’ll have to refer to them by their proper title. The men and women in armor are Paladins or Paladins in training, and you have to refer to them as such, aside from a special few.” She pauses to see if I’m getting all this before giving me a sympathetic smile and continuing.

“It can be quite complicated. With Paladins, you have the Hand of the Light, which is their leader. Then you have the Lord General, who leads the armies. And the High Marshals who give out the Lord General’s commands to their sect of the army. Then you have the Vindicators who… I’m not really sure what they do, but they are highly respected. Next, you have the Legionnaires who are, from what I can tell, like Captains. They lead smaller units. The Justices are the ones who seek out corruption and enemies of the Light. The Crusaders are at the forefront of the battle.” Her eyes light up for a moment. “Oh! Now I remember. The Vindicators lead the Crusaders at the front of the battles. The Warders are sent to guard important people such as kings and queens, along with acting as their advisors. Sentinels are like Justices and Warders combined. They seek out evil and are normally stationed in every city that is protected by the Light. Then, the Sentries make up the bulk of the Paladin Order and are just your common foot soldiers. Apprentices are exactly what they sound like; they apprentice under a seasoned veteran. Lastly, are the initiates. They’re those who are Accepted among us Novices who possess the physical abilities to fight.”

“That’s a lot to know,” I say.

“Oh, honey, that isn’t even half of it. We haven’t even gotten into the ranks of priests, Accepted, and Novices. Did I mention Accepted yet?” She pauses a minute and scratches her head. “Oh wait… I did. There’s so much to learn it’s easy to get overwhelmed. Anyway, they’re one step above us in becoming priests. Instead of wearing brown robes, they wear yellow. Showing they’re one step closer to the Light. Now, within each of these ranks, there is a leveling system based on knowledge of the Light, abilities, and potential. You, like me, have much potential. It’s easy to see who does by the brightness of their eyes. Those who have bright and glowing blue eyes like us have more potential. It’s as simple as that, which I’m sure you’re aware of that already. Unfortunately, that sets the bar pretty high for us.”

She gives me an apologetic shrug. “Now, the more you learn and are capable of doing, the higher level you can achieve. There are ten levels within the Novice rank, the same as the Accepted rank. When you reach all ten levels, you move up to the next rank. Now, with becoming a priest or priestess, there really isn’t a cap on how many levels there are. Of course, you start out back at level zero with each rank, but once you reach level ten, you earn the silver. At level twenty, you earn the gold and are eligible to become a bishop. Bishops are voted in by the priests and priestesses. The Archbishop is voted in by the bishops. Only those who have reached a level of fifty can become a father or mother. And you have to reach a level of one hundred to be eligible to become a High Mother or High Father. Only one person can be one of those at a time.”

“Okay. That sounds simple enough,” I say.

“Oh, it doesn’t end there. Not even close. The higher level you are, the more power and influence you have within your rank compared to others who are a lesser level than you. Obviously, the High Father and High Mother have the most power, followed by the rest of the Mothers and Fathers. Then the Archbishop and the bishops. Beyond that, within the priests and priestesses, it’s all about level. You also have little cliques within each rank. The nobles usually stick together, then there are those who follow certain Mothers, Fathers, and bishops. Even among the Novices, there are little cliques. Of course, just like in the rank of priest, in Novices, the nobles will stick with their own. I am, and you most likely will be too, part of a clique. We call ourselves Damaris’ strays,” she says with a giggle.

“Doesn’t that seem a little insulting?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I think it was meant that way to begin with, since most of us are from either Low Town or Tent City. Damaris took me in and brought me to the church, just like you. She does that with a lot of unfortunates, such as us. Don’t worry, within the Novice rank, including you and I, there are thirteen of us. So, you won’t have to worry about the nobles who tend to pick on low-borns because we stick up for each other.”

“I’m not exactly a low-born. At least my family wasn’t always. I’m just an outcast,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it, I think we’ll get along great. Just don’t tell any of the other strays that you’re not a low-born. Ironically, with the strays, things are the opposite. Even though we tend to be inclusive, even we are a bit exclusive and tend not to get along with most high-borns,” she says with a smile. Her cheeks have dimples that only come out with a smile. “May I ask what name did your family belong to?”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” I say.

“Of course. You don’t have to tell me,” she says with a reassuring seriousness. I think it over for a minute, but I can’t tell her. My father made me promise not to tell anyone and I’ve already told too many people.

“Maybe some other time?” I ask, biting my lip.

She smiles as she squeezes my shoulder. “Of course. You don’t have to tell anyone about your old life. You’re one of us now. We always help each other out. That’s what Damaris taught us. To act with grace and humility.”

That causes me to laugh. Chalia raises an eyebrow. “What is so funny about that?”

“Nothing. It’s just, she told another priestess, I think her name was Amoann? I don’t remember, but she told her she needed to learn more about grace and humility.”

She also laughs at that. “Amoann could certainly use it.”

“So, what exactly do I have to do to level up?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Well, first you must take the classes we all take and pass the tests. Each test you pass, you gain a level. Which also means you have ten classes that vary in length. Some take a season to finish, while others take several cycles. None of them really show you how to use the Light. That’s for the Accepted. But it’s mostly about the Light’s teachings and the history of the church. You’ll also learn a bit about other cultures and languages. There’s a lot to learn. The teachings of the Light are quite in-depth.”

“I thought it was just about Light. I mean, it’s not like there’s a specific god, is there? Not like the old religions of the Wood Elves, or the different religions of the humans and dwarves,” I say.

“That’s a general misconception. There are gods of the Light. They’re called angels. And the Light is a being in and of itself. We just generally refer to it as the Light. Or El,” she says.

“Huh… I did not know that,” I say.

“There is much to learn. I’m only level three, so I’m not that far ahead of you since you start out at zero. It’s a long journey to being Accepted,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the strays. At least the Novices.”

“Wait, there are more strays outside of the Novices?” I ask.

“Well, it’s complicated. Us strays are loyal to Damaris. Damaris’s mentor is Vedana Oddheart, a mother who is also close with the High Mother, Mathienne Naesalor. If you really want to simplify it, you could simplify things into two… well, more like three factions. Those who follow Mathienne Naesalor, the High Mother. Those who follow the High Father, Arbelladon Warmspear. He’s losing supporters because of certain allegations, However, until he is brought down, he remains one of the most powerful of the Church. And then there are those who follow the Archbishop, Goren Wranyarus, and his close friend father, Anfather,” she says, then she scratches her chin and then lets out a sigh. “Well, the noble’s kind of form their own separate factions and, to be fair, not all nobles are the same. Some are more reasonable than others. But most think themselves above the rest.”

“What are the allegations against him?” I ask.

“Well, none seem to have substantial proof, and most were Novices who are no longer with the church. They said he… misbehaved with them,” she says.

“Like, had sex with them?” I ask.

“That’s putting it politely,” she says.

“You mean he raped them?” I ask, in shock.

“Well, they’re just allegations and I, myself, am not sure I believe them. All the ones who made allegations against him previously worked at Brothels. So, what does that tell you?” she asks, and her words cut like a dagger in my heart. Does she really think that just because someone worked in a brothel, they are untrustworthy? If she knew the truth, would she trust me? Would she even want to be my roommate? A thought in the back of my head really bothers me… The brothel, I remember… My eyes go wide. The High Father… He was a customer of Zaralraden! And the rumors about him were not too pretty. I do the hard thing and keep my words to myself; instead, I just nod my head. Clearly, she’s never felt true poverty.

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

I’ve lost track of how many days we’ve been out at sea. It feels like most of the summer has gone by. Raiding season must be almost over. It feels like a total defeat losing Thorkel and the others. A giant part of me died with him. I do not know what to do as I wander the ship, aimlessly looking for work. The others seem to leave me alone, all but Skardi, Solmund, and Griotgard. Even they seem to treat me like a child. Careful not to say the wrong thing, as if a single word could cause me to shatter. But they too, seem lost. Varin was an important figure in their lives, and he’s gone too.

The sun beats down on us like a searing, furious fire. Our water supply is limited, but we did manage to get more food from the last raid. A lot of the men have gone through the loot, talking about claims they will lay when the Earl gives them the chance to take their share. Several of the slaves are passed around to keep the men from getting too agitated. Rognvald thinks that letting them have a good fuck will keep them from fighting each other, but disputes still seem to happen, especially over potential loot. I suppose it’s inevitable when you keep men cramped together like this for days.

As days go on, the anger and hate I hold seems to be at a simmer compared to the raging fire it was after Thorkel’s death. Despair has taken its place. I feel hopeless. I don’t know what to do without my brother. As if I’ve lost my will to carry on. I am not hungry even though I haven’t eaten much for days. If it weren’t for Skardi, Solmund, and Griotgard forcing food down my throat, I wouldn’t eat anything.

I’ve taken to the wine, but even it can’t drown this void inside me. I look down at the sea and wish it would take me too.

But then I think of that elf. The one with the burning red hair and the anger and rage returns, but it lacks the energy it once had. I’m too weak to feed the fire inside me. The wine seems to be the only thing I can stomach, but even that has begun to make me feel sick. My hair has started to fall out, and I’ve gained sore spots and begun bruising easily.

But I’m too exhausted to do anything about it. I know I’m getting sicker and sicker, wasting away, but I don’t care anymore.

“I can’t take this anymore. I won’t watch you die, you stupid boy,” Rognvald says as he forces an orange fruit into my hands. “Eat this, it’ll ward help with the scurvy, that’s what’s causing all the shit bruising and sores. Also, no more wine. It’s dehydrating you.”

I wearily eat the fruit before he forces me to drink water. Over the next few days, he watches me closely, making me eat more fruit and drink more water. The sickness slowly fades, but I don’t feel any better. I just feel lost.

I head down to see the slaves to find Gizor harassing the women. Fondling and molesting a brown-haired monk girl as she and her compatriots struggle while she cries. The older male monk is unconscious. He must have tried to stop Gizor. “Stop harassing the slaves, Gizor.”

He looks up at me. “Oh, don’t spoil my fun. They’re Southern heathens. They worship a false god. What do we care about what happens to them?”

“They are claimed by the Earl. I don’t want them damaged before Sigvor gets a look at them. Do you want to anger my father?” I ask.

He grumbles and sighs. “Fine. What about the elves?”

I look over at them all huddled up in the corner. I don’t understand why their ears are long and pointy. It annoys me. And their eyes. It’s unnatural the way they glimmer, so blue and shiny. I hate them. I hate them all. “Have at them.”

Gizor grins as he walks over to the elves. I ignore him and turn my attention to the monks. The red-head goes to the brown-haired one to comfort her as she tries to cover up. I look at the brown-haired girl as the blonde one rushes down to help the older man. He’s bleeding. “Please, you have to help him. He’s hurt badly. That man hit him in the head.”

I sigh and take a look at the gash at the back of his head, lifting the cloth she has pressed against it. It’s pretty deep. “I don’t know what more I can do for him.”

“If you take my collar off, I can heal him. Please,” she says, begging me. There are tears in her eyes.

“And allow you to strike me down with your magic? Do you think I’m stupid?” I glare at her.

“No. I don’t. And I won’t. I’m a priestess of the Light. I forsake violence. Just let me heal him and you can put the collar back on.”

I pull out my knife and point it at her, along with the talisman I was given to protect against magic. “If you try anything, know that this protects me against magic. I will cut your throat without hesitating.”

She nods. I put the talisman back and take out the key, grabbing her collar and pulling her close enough to unlock it. She doesn’t hesitate and pulls the old man’s head into her lap while pulling a crystal out from under her robe. Stealthy little Southerner. What happens next was nothing short of miraculous. A bright yellow light appears from her hands and shrouds the man’s head, engulfing him in the light. It’s so bright I have to look away. After what feels like an eternity, the light finally fades. To my astonishment, the gash is completely gone. The woman staggers a bit, but the boy monk comes to her aid. I quickly put the collar back on before she has a chance to use her magic against me. I’m not foolish enough to trust a Southerner by her word. She looks even more frail once the collar snaps in place. Her hands go to her neck before she pulls them away. She looks up at me, but instead of defiance, I see gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you for letting me heal him. And thank you for stopping that man from harassing us. I just hope you might reconsider allowing him to harass the elves.”

“It was either you or them.”

That causes her eyes to go wide. She bites her tongue.

“So, tell me about this… Light? How is it that you’re able to do such things?” I ask.

“The Light is our saving grace. We’ve been blessed with the ability to be the vessels in which the Light gives us its flames of hope,” she says.

“I’m confused… Is this Light a person or…” I scratch my head.

“It’s complicated,” she says.

“Is it a being? I don’t get it,” I say, my face contorting as I try to wrap my mind around it.

“The Light is a force. It’s all around us,” the brown-haired girl says.

“And you harness it?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” the blonde-haired one who healed the old man explains. “We let it guide us and use us as its tools.”

“So, it talks to you?”

“Well, not exactly,” she says, causing me to run my hands through my beard.

“Well, how does it guide you if it can’t tell you what to do?”

“It has messengers. A long time ago, the Angel Akrasiel came down to Aratheon and saved us from the other gods. The ones who want to destroy us,” she says, hope returning to her eyes as she talks about this Akrasiel, whoever that is. “He is the Light’s protector. Our guardian angel. He guided us and taught us how to use the Light, but only to heal and protect the innocent people.”

“So, this Angel Akrasiel, is he a god? And who are these other gods? There are more?”

“Well, I guess he is like a god. He has the power to fight the other gods. We were taught by Akrasiel’s first disciple, Terel Glarespell, who sat beside the Angel and learned the way of the Light. He taught us about the holy kingdom on the holiest island, and he told us that most religions have a foundation that was built upon a kernel of truth,” she says with pure and absolute confidence, as if there’s no doubt in her mind that what she says is truth, but I have nothing but doubts. “That there are many different gods of many different powers. That some of these gods are benevolent, some are neutral, and others seek destruction and are full of malice. Some are agents of chaos, while others want order. Some create and others destroy. Perhaps your gods are also among these.”

“And this man tells you what this angel says? He has spoken to him?” I ask. All of them nod. All of them besides the old man, he’s still out. “Where? Where is this man? He’s a human like us, right? And this holy island, is it among the Southern Human Kingdom or the elven kingdom?”

“Well, yes, he wrote books on it. He taught us a great many things that the Angel said. He and the other disciples built the first churches, but he left the first church because they no longer practiced what Angel Akrasiel taught and became weighed down by bickering council members and a senate that serves no purpose but greed. And he stays at The Holy, the divine city of the Light on the Holy Island. It is its own nation apart from the humans and the elves. It’s kept secret from all other nations. Even Terel himself is kept secret. Even most of the other disciples believe he is dead. We have our own army of the Light full of Paladins and priests. And Terel, he’s an elf,” the blonde one says.

“An elf? I hate elves!” I growl. The flame reignites within me. “Elves are no good. You can’t trust the fools of elves.”

I get up and walk away. Stupid Southerners. Trusting the words of an elf. That Terel elf has them wrapped around his finger. But I know, you can’t trust any of them.

—

The day comes when we finally arrive home. The town gathers at the docks when they see our ships. I thought this day would be a happy one when we first set sail. I thought I’d be overcome with joy to see my wife and child, but it’s her sister, her daughter, and the baby in her belly that fills me with sadness. Who will look after them now that my brother is gone? I’ll have to take that responsibility. My brother’s seed must live on.

We dock and the crew stagger off to reunite with their families. I am the last one off. I do not know what I’m going to say to my family. No words will ever be enough.

My wife rushes to me with my son in her arms. He’s grown. His head is full of hair. She buries both of them in my chest. It takes every bit of strength I have not to collapse.

“Where is Thorkel?” I look up to see Asfrid walking to the ship with her daughter in her arms. “Where is my husband?”

I can’t even fight the tears welling up in my eyes. I have to tell her. Arni looks up at me and her eyes seem to lose the joy they held as she sees the pain in mine.

“I’m sorry, Asfrid,” Rognvald says as he approaches her. “He… He sacrificed himself so we could get away.”

“No…” she says as she looks to the ship, still searching. Her eyes fall on me. “Please, Bothvar. Tell me this isn’t true. Please tell me Rognvald is lying.”

I tear my eyes away. “He tells the truth. Thorkel is dead.”

She nearly collapses, but Rognvald holds her steady.

“Move aside,” I hear father say as he and mother push through the crowd. When he sees me, his eyes go wide. “Is it true? Tell me what happened. Did Thorkel fall?”

I nod as the words get caught in my throat. Rognvald steps forward. “I’m sorry, Beorcol. He went out like a true Viking. He sacrificed himself. He, Varin, Styrkar, and Saksis took the ship we captured and rammed it into the elven war ship, crippling it so we could escape.”

My father’s eyes turn to rage as he grabs Rognvald’s jerkin. “Why weren’t you on that ship instead of my son?”

“He was in command. I tried, but he wouldn’t allow it,” Rognvald says, fear and regret dripping off his voice.

“That means nothing to me,” father growls. He turns on the other crew. “Were none of you brave enough to step up and take his place? What kind of Vikings are you?”

His eyes land on me. “And you… He was your brother. You just let him go? Why didn’t you stop him?”

I let go of Arni and step past her to face him. “You’re right, father. I am a coward. I am not worthy of being the brother of Thorkel. Nor am I worthy of being a Viking or your son.”

The smack he delivered sent me to my knees. “You are pathetic. Look at you. Your brother is dead and you act like a sheep. Where is your anger? Are you even my son? Vikings do not feel sorry for themselves. We get stronger and we get revenge!”

I look up at him, and the fire inside me rekindles. The elf with the fire red hair burns in my eyes. “You’re right, father. I promise I will stop at nothing until I kill the bastard that murdered Thorkel. I’ll rip his heart out.”

Father takes a deep breath as he stares down at me with vile content. “Good. Leave my sight until you do.”

He turns and walks away. My mother bends down to help me up, but I jerk away from her. “Bothvar…”

My wife steps up to me, but I push past her. “I know what I must do. I must get stronger. I will be the strongest warrior there is, and then I’ll kill that bastard elf. I’ll cut his head off and bring it back to father. I promise I’ll avenge Thorkel and the others. I’ll kill every last one of them on that ship.”

Without looking back, I leave them all behind. I grab what I need: my ax, my pickaxe, my bow with a full quiver, my fishing rod and net, a bedroll, and some spare clothes all packed up in a travel bag. I grab the case I had long forgotten. The old wooden case. I open it to find that bright, radiant, gold and white hammer. I go to lift it but shout and pull my hand away. It burnt my hand. What is the name of the gods? It didn’t do that when I took it so long ago.

It felt warm but good to hold it. Like everything was going to be alright. Now I can’t even touch it. What is the deal? I close the case and shove it into the corner of my room. Stupid hammer. I don’t need it, anyway. The hammer I’m after is far better and stronger. Only the strongest of the strongest can lift it. And that will be me. I will lift it, and I will be strong enough to kill that bastard elf. The red hair Demon. He will pay. I’ll bash his skull in with that crimson hammer. I’ll feed the sharks with his dead, headless corpse. The sea will run red with the blood of him and his crew. I’ll burn his ship down and send it to the bottom of the deepest depths. He and the rest of the elves. They will all feel my wrath. Every last one of them. I grab my pack and put a different hammer in. My wife stands at the door as I turn to leave. She holds our son. The look on her face deeply bothers me, but I know I can’t stay. She’s concerned, saddened, and afraid. Her eyes are full of tears. “Where will you go?”

“I think you already know.” I put down my pack and walk up to her, pulling them both into my arms. “I need to find the strength to avenge my brother.”

She leans up and kisses my cheek before she pulls away to look into my eyes. “And you think that hammer will give it to you? Are you sure that is what it is meant for?”

“What other purpose would a hammer like that have? I am certain that no one but the strongest can lift it. I will be the one to gain such strength and wield that hammer. Those elves will pay for the death of my brother.”

With one hand holding our son, who’s now big enough to rest on her hip and cling to her. His little blonde hair is covering his head. Those blue eyes seem to share his mother’s worry. How can I leave this boy? This beautiful boy.

But it is my duty to avenge my brother. I must do it. How else will he enter the halls of Olaf? I lean down and kiss the brow of my son. Then I take my wife’s soft face in my hands and give her one last kiss. Nuzzling my nose against her own beautiful one. She kisses me and threatens to not let go, but she understands. She knows my pain all too well. She’ll stay with her sister and my brother’s daughter and unborn son. She knows what I must do. She may not like it, but she understands.

I know she will be looked after and taken care of by my siblings, my mother, and my father. Even though he is angry with me, he will not let any harm come to my wife and child or my brother’s wife and children. I stroke her soft cheek, wiping away the tears before giving her one more kiss. She holds onto me for as long as she can, but I must let her go. As much as it pains me, I do just that and walk away. 

I leave Stormfront. The sadness in her eyes hurt more than any cut that a sword or ax could ever give. I wanted to hold her as long as I could, but I owe my brother a debt. I will avenge him. The mountains are where I must go. When I come back, no one will ever be able to defeat me.

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Lura Syllana

I’m paraded through the streets as people either stare wide-eyed or turn their heads. All know they could share the same fate. They bring me to a prison where I’m stripped of my clothes, sprayed down with water, and given a rag to wear. I’m held in a small, single cell with no window in complete darkness. The only thing I have is a cot and a bucket to shit and piss in. Well, except for the invisible ring on my finger. At least I still have that. But it won’t do any good with this collar.

I have no idea how much time goes by before I’m given a maggot-filled slop. It’s cold and damp. The only sounds I hear that are not of my making are rats scurrying about, guards making rounds, and other prisoners groaning, shouting, mumbling, and chatting to themselves.

I have no tears to cry, nor do I regret what I’ve done. That man was a curse upon this city and needed to die. The only regret I have is the thought of losing all my coin that I saved up to free my family. Part of me, a small part, feels I should’ve just endured it. It couldn’t have possibly been worse than what’s already been done to me, but I would rather seek death than let Phraan have any part of me.

The chill makes my skin constantly shiver. The smell of this place alone is enough to make my insides turn. Yet, the physical discomforts no longer bother me. I’ve felt so numb for so long. The pain I’ve endured has become my armor. Unfortunately, I don’t feel anything anymore. No happiness, no joy, or even pleasure. After what that first man did to me… After what all of those men have done to me. Orym, Faidhor Haryrwen, Phraan, and all of those men who just wanted to use me for my body regardless of whether I profited from it – even the ones serving me… It all just left me hollow inside. The pleasure I thought I felt when I had a man on his knees was more about the power I could have over them. The power that was taken from me many times over. I took no genuine pleasure from it. And I despised those men. Half of them had wives and children of their own and yet here they were, with me instead. My father would never have done that. Right?

He’s a good man and would’ve done anything for my mother. He did steal, but that’s nothing like being disloyal. And he changed. He stopped stealing. But… What does it all say about me? I’m the one selling my body for the pleasure of men just for coin. But I’m not the one who enjoys abusing helpless women.

I don’t know anymore. I’ve just come to hate men. All of them. They are all vermin. I guess I’m not so hollow after all. There’s one emotion I still feel.

Finally, the door to my cell opens and I’m blinded by the outside light as I’m lifted off the cot and dragged out. It takes me a long while to adjust to the brightness of the outside. The armed men lead me, stumbling through the halls and up the stairs. I feel so weak. I don’t know if it’s because of being imprisoned or this damn collar.

I’m brought into a courtroom and forced onto my knees before a rather old man. His pointy ears sag and his eyebrows are just as long as his ears. His hair is thin and white. I can imagine he has more wrinkles and splotches than hair.

“Lura is your name, correct?”

“Yes,” I say.

I’m given a swift backhand by the guard standing next to me. “You will show Judge Twinsign proper respect and address him at all times by his title.”

“Yes, Judge Twinsign.” I spit out.

“You were arrested and brought before me for the crimes of using magic without a permit and murder,” he says, as he reads the parchment before craning his neck and looking down at me through strained eyes.

“He tried to rape me,” I say. Another swift smack against the backside of my head. “Your honor…”

“Bah… You’re a whore. Isn’t that what you’re paid for?” the judge asks in a condescending tone.

But before I can retort, the doors to the courtroom open up and a woman with bright golden hair and a white dress walks in. A familiar woman.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” the judge asks through squinting eyes.

“I apologize for my intrusion, your honor, but it has come to my attention that this girl is on trial for the use of magic. I am a priest of the Church of the Light and we could use talent such as hers. I would like to make a request that she be released into the hands of the church,” the woman says.

“She isn’t just being tried for using magic without a permit. She also murdered a man named Phraan,” the judge says.

The woman stops in front of me and stands tall with her hands clasped behind her back. She seems so sure of herself. So confident. That’s when I realize how I know her. “Yes, I’m quite aware of the situation. The man also tried to assault her. I talked with the Madame of the brothel and she gave me the details. One worker reported to me that she heard signs of a struggle and cries coming from the room before a bright light poured out of the cracks of the door. I can also attest personally that she suffered an assault several cycles ago. She’s been victimized, and I would warrant her action wasn’t one of murder, but self-defense. Not only that, but Phraan has a history of violence towards women and other criminal activity. Therefore, the only crime she should be punished for is using magic without a permit. As decreed by the council, the church has every right to have any who use magic without a permit handed over to the church so they can be taught to heal and serve the people. Unless you wish to go against the council’s decrees and the full weight of the Church of the Light, I suggest you hand the girl over.”

“But… But she is a whore. It is expected that she serves a man for coin,” the judge says.

“Is she not allowed to refuse offers or customers like any other business? Does her position require her to endure abuse and physical violence? The exchange is sex for coin, not to be beaten, humiliated, and forced against your will. With all due respect, your honor…” She says with a weight of judgment. “But the law clearly labels rape as being illegal. Rape is defined as the victim being forced to have sex against their will. The law also states that when death occurs from defending an assault against one’s self, then it is not recognized as a crime. Do you not agree?”

“Well… I…” He spits and sputters. “Perhaps you’re correct.”

“Then it means, and feel free to correct me if I am wrong, but it means that the girl should be handed over to the church since she is no longer being charged with murder,” she says. “I… Well… Fine. So be it. I declare that Lura is handed over to the church. However, I declare her property to be confiscated by the government. Now be off,” he says, slamming the gavel against the block. That last command felt like a punch in the stomach. All my hard work. All those men I had to put up with, was just erased. The coin I worked so hard to accumulate is gone. How am I ever going to free my family?

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

Part 3!

A few days go by as we continue to sail east. The crew’s morale has all but vanished. Thorkel seemed to be the heart of it all, and without him and the rest, we sail in silence. This entire journey has been an utter failure.

We should’ve sailed west as Thorkel wanted. Maybe then we’d have seen success, and he’d still be alive. This is Thrain’s fault. Thrain and Gorm. Them and these elves. I want to hunt every last one of them down and kill them myself. Especially the one with the fire red hair. I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do.

More days go by as I put my anger and hate to work. With every rope I tie, I imagine tying it around the elf’s neck. My every effort is motivated by only revenge.

After days and days of sailing east, we finally come across both Throst and Einar. They must’ve regrouped after scattering. We sail up to them and tie the ships together. They share with us the tale of how they escaped the elves. Throst lost them in the fog while Einar crippled the other elven ship with a few well-placed shots with the Ballistae.

“We should continue south to see if we can find a few more ships before making the journey home,” Einar says.

“And what about the elves?” Koll asks. “We barely escaped.”

“They have two ships that need repairs and won’t make it back. The others we might be able to take in battle since we have a ship more than they,” Einar says.

“I’d still rather avoid them if we can,” Koll says.

“Perhaps we can find some unlucky merchant ships on their way up. Perhaps,” Rognvald says.

“But we have to tempt fate in order to do so,” Koll says and looks at Throst. “What say you, Throst?”

“Our only raid has been rather disappointing. We’ll still need more supplies if we want to make it through winter. I say we try one more time,” he says.

“Then it’s settled,” Koll says. “We’ll sail south.”

The men nod. I follow Rognvald back to our ship and we set sail, turning our ships south. Days go by as we continue to sail. We’ve eaten through more than half of our own food supply that we have brought with us. We did not get much from the only merchant ship we have found. It was mostly ale, wine, fine silks, and slaves.

With the scorching sun continuing to burn down on us and what little fresh water we have, we have to drink it sparingly. I’ve gotten used to the salty smell, and it no longer bothers me.

After what feels like forever, we finally come across two ships sailing north. As they see us, they try to turn back, but it is too late. We give chase and manage to sink our chained ballistae bolts on their deck and hull. Eager for someone to kill, I am one of the first on. Killing the few men who are willing to fight. I revel in the slaughter. All I could see was the elf who took my brother from me. His face was in every man I killed. It may have not given me pleasure to watch my sword sink into another man’s flesh, but it fed my need for revenge. Savagely ripping my blade into the gut of an elven sailor. I stare into his eyes, seeing the red-haired, vile elf who killed my brother. I watch the life seep out of his eyes before I move on to kill another and another. No matter how many I kill, I can’t satiate the thirst for blood. The raging fire within me doesn’t waver. It hungers for more death. Especially these elves.

I killed as many as I could until there were none left. It dawns on me that I have earned my first kill, and it doesn’t even matter to me. Not when that foul elf still breathes.

We take everything we can from the ship, including the people who didn’t fight and survived as slaves. Some of the crew took the opportunity to plant their seed in the slaves, but not I. I only see them as enemies. My only desire is to kill them all, but I hold my hand. Even though I haven’t satiated this new desire for blood, reason and logic wins out.

The ship is not completely damaged beyond repair, so we leave a few men to man it and take it back with us. Throst and Einar were successful in capturing the second ship, so we finally decide to sail back.

I take inventory of the new slaves. Most beaten and battered. Surprised to see some humans among the elves. I look at the humans. Some seem rather cowardly. One in particular, a short and chubby man-child who stinks of shit. I’m sure he soiled himself. It seems like this ship was carrying a few monks, both men and women. My men got the magic suppressing collars around their necks. Five of them. Three women and two men. Then another woman with dark skin the color of tree bark and curly black hair. She’s already a slave with a collar around her neck. It’s hard to deny her beauty however. Although she looks like she hasn’t eaten in a while.

“I… I am a nobleman and my people will pay a huge ransom to have me back,” the cowardly, shit-stinking man-child says. “My name is Lord Guthhere of Riverhall. My father is one of the advisors to Lord Arcas Ragnus.”

“Do you hear that, men?” Gizor says with a chuckle. “This whelp is a lordling…”

The rest of the crew chuckle and laugh. Gizor does a fake bow. “Well, lordling, my apologies. If we had known you were a lordling, we would’ve asked your permission to raid your ship.”

The crew snickers. Gizor spits in the cowardly lord’s face. I ignore the charades and look at the monks. The women are beautiful. All three have warm ivory skin. The dark brown-haired one is a little taller than the other two. The blonde is of medium height, and the red-haired one is the shortest of the three. All three women look broken and none meet my eyes. The two male monks are quite different. One is quite older than the other, balding and growing a beard. He gives me a defiant stare while the younger, who has blonde hair, is rather timid and avoids making eye contact. His eyes are red and puffy. From the way he stands and how he walked, I can assume he too may have been seeded. Most men don’t care whether a slave is a man or woman, they just need a hole to sow their seed in.

Even now, in my anger and grief, I still can’t force myself on another. I don’t care if they are slaves. Besides, my heart and my cock belong to Arni and no other. And I know how she would see such an act. It’s cowardice to me, but I can’t refuse the crew their fill as much as I’d like to. “Unless you lot have any problems, keep these slaves for my mother. She and Sigvor are in need of more hands. Especially these monks. They might have some use in healing.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Rognvald says.

“Good, put em down in the bottom deck but keep them separate from the elves,” I say. I watch the men take the slaves as they accept their fate without struggling. I take the key to their collars from Rognvald.

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Lura Syllana

He molests my bare breasts as he pins me against the bed. My skin crawls at his touch as fear, anger, shame, and disgust well up inside of me once again. I can’t go through this again. I can’t be his victim. Not like this.

I must do something. Anything.

Phraan reaches underneath my skirts, and panic arises underneath me. The night I suffered through with that red-haired monster returns like a nightmare taking over a dream, pushing all my primal fear to the surface. His fingers crawl up my thighs and I can’t even scream with his hand squeezing my jaw shut. For the first time since I was broken by that man, I cry. There’s nothing I can do to stop him. I’m going to have to endure it all over again. Worse, because it has to be Phraan this time. How can this happen again?

No! I won’t be helpless. I won’t give in. I will not let him win. Anger boils inside me and I feel a surge of energy. That sweet euphoric and addictive energy I haven’t felt in ages. It warms over me and fills me with power, and unlike before, I’m overrun by it with the help of the invisible ring on my finger. The one I have kept all this time and nearly forgotten about.

I feel like a burning star with all the energy inside me, and then I release it. I release every drop into the man I hate more than anyone else, watching as every last bit of him is burned away. I take joy from the fear in his eyes as he realizes what is happening. But it is too late as cracks of fire-blue light sear across his flesh, burning away his skin as he’s engulfed in the flames and an explosion of the blue light fills the room.

It’s so intense that I can even see it through my eyelids. When it finally flashes out, there’s nothing left of Phraan. Not even a shred of the clothes he wore. I have no idea what I just did. I look at my hand to the ring that still sits on my finger invisible to the eye, and I’m taken with true amazement. I feel nothing for Phraan’s death. Nothing but satisfaction and that sweet, addictive energy as it slowly dwindles to a burning simmer.

I truly had no idea what I was capable of. This power is absolutely amazing. It felt so high and unstoppable. I want to feel more of it. It was far different from the feeling Orym gave me with his healing white light. It felt more powerful. More euphoric in a way. Far more intense than I have ever felt before.

A sudden crash goes off downstairs and I hear the clatter of footsteps marching upstairs before the door to the room is broken in by guards led by a dark-haired man in a robe with a sharp, hooked nose. He stares down at me with contempt. “You have been found guilty of using magic without a permit. I hereby place you under arrest. Seize her, and place the collar around her neck so she can’t channel. Let’s take no risks with her. I’ve never felt such power.”

The guards swarm me as a collar is wrapped around my neck, and suddenly I feel so weak and feeble. It’s as if I’m cut off from that hot, burning fire inside me. Cuffs bind my wrists and ankles. The guards drag me out behind the arrogant man in robes. Madame and the others stare with gaping mouths and wide-eyed expressions as I’m paraded through the brothel in chains. Even the patrons are speechless and horrified.

Am I going to face the same fate as my family, or worse?

End of The Damaged Soul and Bound Soul Prequel

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