Tangled Threads Publishing

Category: Ravens

  • 5.11 – Bubbles

    5.11 – Bubbles

    The sound of stone grinding on stone signalled the puzzle door closing behind them, although they were already far enough up the steep stair that the reduction in light was hardly noticeable. Where in the caves of the svartalfr cult the passages had been lit by a strange blue flame, here the stairwell seemed to have globes filled with glowbugs where one would otherwise expect torches.

    Runa smiled with delight. “Well this seems downright friendly.”

    “So far,” Jorir grumbled. “Remember who lives here.”

    “Compared to where I just was? I might quite enjoy taking a meal with a pair of ravens.”

    “Before or after you robbed their loft?” Irding’s voice came from behind them all. He sounded nervous.

    “Oh, before of course.” Runa took his flat jibe and ran with it. “If all went well, I might be able to convince them to just give it to me, and then we’re all better off, aren’t we?”

    Einarr couldn’t quite suppress a chuckle. “Oh, aye. Except for them, when Wotan finds out what happened to his wife’s bauble.”

    “Oh, but what a game that would be, to match wits with Huginn and Muninn.”

    “Is that the real reason you came along?”

    “That’s the reason I wanted to come along, yes. My points in favor were all valid, though.”

    From a few stairs farther up, Jorir hushed them. “Another door ahead.”

    Einarr nodded sharply, although he thought none but Runa would see. “Let’s have a look, then.”

    He hurried up the five steps to the door Jorir spotted and pressed his ear against the wood. On the other side, all was silence. The dwarf joined him, and when his liege man looked up Einarr raised an eyebrow at him. Jorir shrugged, and Einarr pulled open the door.

    The room on the other side appeared to be filled with floating globes of the same glowbugs used to light the hall, but otherwise empty. Einarr drew his brows down in confusion for a moment. Whatever they faced, it was obviously magical. “Runa, what do you make of this?”

    “Hmm?” It took her a little longer to reach this second landing and see the strangely lovely sight. Then it took her a moment longer, as she could not quite manage not to admire the effect.

    “Runa?”

    “‘Thought’ and ‘Memory’ live here: I’ll warrant this is a test of some kind, and that it relates to the residents’ natures.”

    “A trial based on our memories?” He shuddered.“Still think these things look friendly?”

    “Compared to that weird blue fire they used in the cave? Absolutely. We won’t be able to get to the door without contacting at least a few of the bubbles, I don’t think. Be careful, keep your wits about you, and we should all make it across.”

    Einarr snorted. “Great. It’s the Oracle all over again. Well, nothing for it.”

    With a shrug he slipped into the room. Almost immediately one brushed against his arm and he held his breath, waiting for the vision that never came. Two steps farther in he crept, the others coming cautiously behind. Einarr made it another pair of steps before his attempt to duck under one bubble brought his head straight up into the middle of another. A thin film clung to his face, cold and almost slippery feeling. Then he was no longer in the room of glowing bubbles.

    ***

    A familiar, familial-looking longhouse surrounded Einarr where he sat, his feet kicking the air, at the table. A well-polished wooden bowl filled with his grandmother’s porridge with berries and nuts sat in front of him. And if there were nuts in the bowl, that meant grandfather would be taking him hunting. Grandmother sat by the light of the door working with a rabbit skin. Outside, the sky was blue and the sun bright… but Einarr thought he knew what day this was.

    “You’d best hurry. Your afi is waiting.”

    “Yes, Amma.” Einarr scooped up another mouthful of porridge. He paused with the bite in his mouth to roll the long-missed flavor around on his tongue before giving in, shoveling the rest of his breakfast into his mouth with the same enthusiasm he had felt when he was ten. Not a morsel was left behind when he raced out the door, grabbing his bow and his knife on the way.

    Mother’s – Grimhildr’s – parents had a freehold in a chain of islands some ways southwest of cursed Breidelstein, and that was where Einarr stayed for most of the raiding season – and would, until Father thought him old enough to act as a deckhand. Which meant that summer saw him roaming the forested mountain behind their freehold, hunting deer and gathering herbs and berries until the Vidofnir returned with stories in the fall or Afi had to take their fishing boat out to Mikilltorp.

    As soon as Einarr stepped outside he saw his grandfather waiting by the gate dividing the field, where the two thralls tended matters, to the wood behind. Einarr ran, knowing both that Afi would not wait now that he was out of the hall and that he’d kept the man waiting too long already.

    He caught up when the white-haired man was crossing the threshold into the evergreen wood that dominated the rest of the island. “Are we going after bear today, Afi?”

    His grandfather’s thick white beard split to reveal a warm smile. “Deer again, my young wolf. We’ll want something a mite bit tougher than these sticks for bear.”

    “What about boar?” Einarr bounced on his toes as he hurried alongside his grandfather.

    Now the man laughed. “Maybe I’ll teach you how to hunt boar when your father comes back. But tonight calls for venison!”

    “So… more tracking practice?” Tracking was, to Einarr’s mind, the least interesting and most difficult part of hunting.

    “More tracking practice. You’re getting better, you know.”

    “Better than bad is still not good.” He complained, but only half-heartedly, and turned his attention to the path ahead of them and the brilliant green of the forest around. His grandfather let the complaint pass without comment as they continued deeper into the wood.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.10 – Into the Tower

    5.10 – Into the Tower

    Tendrils of mist extended inward toward the tower that rose from the water like some giant’s spear, curling about the Gestrisni and obscuring what rocks might yet hide beneath the surface. Even now that their target was in sight it was slow going.

    They wound their way through the reef in silence save for the dip of the oars and the lapping of water on their hull, each and every one of them worrying over what lay ahead. Just as in the thick of the fog, here too Einarr found it impossible to judge the passage of time. First the cave, now the fog: it would be nice, he thought, to be under a properly sunny sky for a time once they were finished here.

    After what felt like an eternity of tense floating, the shadow of the tower covered their boat, the thing itself looming from its rocky perch to split the heavens. Carefully they rowed toward a set of man-sized steps carved into the rock flanked by much smaller jagged spires, perfect for mooring their boat. Either the gods were mocking them and this apparent entrance was illusory, or people were occasionally required to venture here legitimately.

    The Gestrisni carefully moored from bow and stern across the stairs, Einarr hopped over the railing and onto the bottom of the stair. Turning, he offered his hand to Runa. “My lady.”

    She smiled coquettishly, a small blush kissing her cheeks, as she stepped up on the rail and accepted the hand. “Many thanks, milord.”

    Erik chuckled and Irding had the poor grace to roll his eyes. Jorir, at least, saw nothing strange about the exchange. Runa ignored them as she joined her betrothed on the step.

    “What, jealous, men? I can help you across too – if you think you need it.”

    Now Erik roared, the sound of his laughter echoing off of water and stone alike. “Fat chance o’ that. Stand aside, boy, let me show you how it’s done.”

    Irding moved hurriedly toward the bow while Einarr tugged Runa up the steps a goodly distance as Erik sauntered across the deck. Then the big man turned, dropped into a momentary lunge, and with two long strides launched himself from the deck. He landed hard on a step not far below Einarr, still several up from the water’s surface, as the Gestrisni rocked violently behind him.

    Jorir swore as only a dwarf can swear, and Irding looked pale: now it was Einarr’s turn to laugh, although he did so somewhat more reservedly than Erik had.

    “Well come on, you two. The sooner we’re back in East Port, the sooner we can actually unwind for a bit.”

    Irding grunted as he, too, landed on the stairs after a somewhat less exuberant jump than his father’s. “Are all raiding seasons this… eventful with the Captain?”

    “Not hardly.” Einarr pressed his lips together. Irding had been eager for this adventure: how much more overwhelmed must Svarek feel, after ghosts and monsters and corrupted blood? The men needed rest, maybe even more than they needed more men, but Stigander was surely aware of that even more keenly than Einarr.

    Jorir landed almost as heavily as Erik had, although once again not trying to best the man’s long jump. “Shall we?”

    With a nod, Einarr and Runa started up the stairway. The others fell in behind.

    The path marked by the cut-in stairs spiralled around and up the rock. It could have been no more than eight feet vertically from the water to the tower’s foundation, but it was a steep spiral and by the top of it even the men’s legs burned a little with exertion. Runa, who was not used to such labors, was breathing heavily before the top.

    The path finally ended before a smooth round stone set into the rock at eye height. Runes were carved in a ring around the outside, and the stone itself showed a labyrinthine pattern of concentric circles. There was no apparent handle, or even a sign of which way the stone would move to open the passage.

    None of this appeared to deter Runa, who stood studying the design while she caught her breath. After a few minutes she began tracing a path through the labyrinth pattern on the portal stone with her finger.

    “What is it?”

    “Be very glad,” she muttered. “That you brought me along. Reki and Aema are more experienced Singers than I am, but they have spent their lives out raiding whereas I have had little to do with my time other than study. …There it is.”

    As she spoke, her finger reached the center of the labyrinth and she pressed down. That first press was followed by several more in diverse locations around the stone. A grinding sound emanated from behind the wall, and the stone began to roll away into the rock.

    “So what was that?”

    “A puzzle lock, of course. And a fairly straightforward one once you understand the clue.”

    “Clue? You mean the runes?”

    “What else would I mean? We’d best be going through before it decides to close on our heads.”

    Einarr looked up into the passage and frowned. Though it had been carved as steps, it was, at least here, nearly as steep as a ladder. “Jorir. You first. Then I’ll give Runa a hand up, then the rest of us will follow.”

    Jorir puffed up his chest, pleased to be given the point position. “Very well, milord.”

    The dwarf checked to be sure his shield and his axe were secure before stepping up to the door. He threw a challenging glare at Einarr and Erik both before measuring the distance. With a nod, he rubbed his hands together and crouched down.

    His leap for the ledge of the first stair was more impressive than Erik’s long jump off the boat by far, although Einarr had seen its equal once: when they fought beneath Fraëner’s hall on Svartlauf. Jorir caught the ledge with his fingertips easily before pulling himself fully up on the stair.

    Irding let out a low whistle, but wisely declined to comment.

    “Your turn, milady.” Jorir turned and offered his hand to assist his Lord’s betrothed.

    Einarr took a knee to allow Runa to step up on it. Steadying herself on his proffered hand, she accepted Jorir’s hand and made the step with a minimum of stretching.

    “My thanks, noble svartdvergr. You are a credit to your tribe.”

    “Lady, I am so long removed from my clan that the ill now spoken of us may well be true. For now, though, I believe we have more important matters to hand.” Without another word, Jorir turned and began making his way up the steep stair, one long step at a time. Einarr and the others soon followed.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.9 – Undersea Assailant

    5.9 – Undersea Assailant

    Einarr cut his shout of surprise short as frigid water closed over his head. The thing that had hold of his leg yanked again, pulling him farther down. Then the downward pull stopped, although the creature did not let go. In that moment, the rope about his waist grew taut and he felt the water begin to move the other direction. His friends were pulling him up, the creature still attached to his leg.

    The pause in downward pressure was a brief one, however. What felt like a hundred needles dug into his calf, and then the tug-of-war began between the men aboard the Gestrisni and the creature of the deep. More air escaped his mouth as he screamed involuntarily and he looked at his captured leg.

    Staring back at him were the murderous eyes of a great eel, its jaw clamped around his calf. Already his lungs began to burn and the rope cut into his waist, but he hardly noticed between the teeth digging in to the muscle and the primal fear engendered by those eyes. Sinmora was at his belt, but he could think of nothing save getting to the surface, out of the water. Einarr reared his head up and lent his energy to those pulling on the rope even as the eel’s teeth tore into his leg. Better that than to let the creature drown him and feast on his entrails.

    Abruptly the creature changed direction, surging up towards the surface – still without letting go. Einarr was able to grab a gulp of fresh air as the rope slackened with the sudden shift before the eel dashed off at an angle to the boat. In desperation he took hold of the rope about his waist in both hands and kicked at the jaws that dragged him along.

    “Kill it!” He cried as the rope grew taut again, bringing his head once again above the water. “Kill it now!”

    An arrow sailed through the air to land in the water near where the eel gripped Einarr’s leg. He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on the rope.

    Another arrow flew and the eel convulsed, but did not stop. Jorir’s arrow – at least, he thought it belonged to the dwarf – now marked the path of the eel through the water. Einarr kicked at the creature again, but his boot just slid over its back. The eel paid him no more mind than any other struggling prey, which galled Einarr to no end. Still he did not dare draw his sword, as much out of worry to lose it in the deep as reluctance to let go of the rope.

    Another pair of arrows flew, landing near the one that marked their target, and Einarr was glad of the torch he had placed. Without it, they almost certainly would have been unable to see the eel at all.

    The rope was more than tight now: the eel was still fighting its way forward, but it seemed to be tiring, and they were not moving nearly so fast as they had been. The Gestrisni had not put down a sea anchor: it must be pulling them along, as well! A laugh tried to escape his throat, but it transformed midway into a groan. His leg was mostly numb, but not numb enough to dull the pain of those teeth.

    A fourth arrow embedded itself in the eel’s back, farther forward this time, and it stopped its struggle. Even in death, however, it did not release its grip on his calf. When the men on the boat reeled Einarr in, they also brought in the giant eel that had thought to make a meal out of him.

    When the eel had been hauled aboard in the net left for them and Einarr sat against the railing in a puddle of seawater Runa and Jorir set to work mending the wound on his leg while Erik and Irding began to butcher their catch.

    Einarr laughed, his quiet chuckle growing into a full-throated guffaw. Everyone else aboard looked at him as though he’d snapped. He shook his head at the deck before throwing it back to look up into the foggy dimness. “Next time, someone else gets to be the bait.”

    Erik was the first to laugh, and laughed the hardest. Runa didn’t seem to think it was funny in the slightest, but he at least got a chuckle out of Irding and Jorir.

    “How far did it pull us?”

    “Far enough that I can’t see your torch,” Irding answered. “Although I think if we just row backwards a ways we’ll find it again.”

    Einarr frowned, contemplating his options. Finally, he decided: “Do it. Once the light comes back into view, let’s place another one before we move forward again.”

    ***

    For hours the Gestrisni’s crew plied its way down the path opened by the unfortunate eel, placing torches where they could, with a little luck, mark their way home. How they would find their markers again after they went out, everyone tried not to think too hard about. Even an extinguished torch, they hoped, would be better than nothing.

    After a time which was not identifiable to anyone on board the mist began to lighten around their boat again. Einarr still stood at the tiller, his leg bandaged but not yet fully whole. Perhaps it was something to do with their proximity to the tower, perhaps it was some unknown property of the eel, but even with Jorir’s medicines Runa’s song had not been able to fully heal the wound. He barely noticed it, in truth, except when he shifted his weight too suddenly. Everyone aboard held their breath, this time.

    The fog around them began to thin, and soon his friends resolved from shadows to ghosts to flesh and blood once more, wherever they stood on deck.

    The cry of gulls, muffled but somehow still nearby, reached their ears. Once more the oars dipped into the water, and as the Gestrisni glided forward a spire seemed to jut up out of the water, as though it aimed to pierce the white sky above. Einarr’s eyes followed the upward movement of the tower until it was lost in the mist, to where birds flocked about its upper reaches.

    They had arrived.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.8 – Lost in Fog

    5.8 – Lost in Fog

    For five days they sailed east, by oar as often as by wind, before they caught so much as a glimpse of a reef in the water. Even then, it was little more than a damp spot, big enough for the skua nest it held and nothing else. It was too late in the year for eggs, but Irding checked anyway. Fresh eggs were a rare treat on the water, after all.

    Over the next two days they saw more small rocks, much like the bird’s nest. Once in a while they would spot a seal slipping back into the water: that, too, would have provided some nice variety in their diet of gravlax and hard tack had they only had a javelin to catch one with. For all that Runa was the one least accustomed to eating like a sailor, however, she only complained once, and that was when the pack of hard tack she was bringing up from below got drenched by a rogue wave.

    After just over a week out of port, Einarr realized that the haze on the horizon was not just haze, and not so far away as the horizon: they were sailing into a bank of fog in the middle of an otherwise sunny and warm day.

    “Well that’s not natural,” Erik grumbled.

    Jorir raised an eyebrow. “Think we’re getting close?”

    “Hm. More than likely. Runa?”

    “Probably, yes. You wish me to sharpen your eyes?”

    “Please.”

    Einarr peered forward as the song began to pour forth from Runa’s mouth, but as they grew nearer the fog became if anything more impenetrable. Finally, as their boat slipped into the mist and the air grew dim around them, he told her to stop. “It’s not working. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

    “Be careful…”

    “Through this? As careful as I can. Watch for rocks, everyone.”

    Runa shook her head, but did not explain.

    “If you know something, now would be a really good time to tell us.” Einarr tried not to growl at her.

    She shook her head again. “I don’t, really. It’s just that for the song not to pierce the fog, that probably means its magical. And there’s no telling what might be hiding in a magical fog.”

    “So long as the Tower of Ravens is, we’ll deal with whatever it throws at us.”

    “As you say.” She sounded dubious, but as she was the one experienced in magic he let it pass.

    “Steady as she goes! We run aground here and paying Sor for his boat will be the least of our worries.”

    A chorus of ‘aye’s echoed from out of the mist, and only then did Einarr realize he could see no-one but Runa. Jorir, the next closest, looked like nothing more than a shadow. Here goes nothing…

    The mist began to swirl about his feet, the only sign they were still moving save the creak of the oars and the occasional thump against a rock. He had to resist the urge to hold his breath in the muffled field of the mist.

    After a while – none aboard could have said how long – the air began to grow brighter. As they continued, the forms of his companions resolved into flesh and blood once more. Einarr raised his head hopefully, eager to catch a first glimpse of the tower. The sight that greeted him instead was the open ocean. The position of the sun said they were now facing West – back the way they had come. “What devilry is this?”

    “Perhaps the best circumstance we could hope for.” Runa’s voice now sounded weary, as though she had expected no more. “The fog exists to keep people away from the sanctum of the bird-spies. I had feared much worse than a maze.”

    Einarr swore. That she was almost certainly right made no difference: they were ill-equipped for such a challenge, and would have been even in the Vidofnir. But ill-equipped or no, there was no way around what they had to do. “Turn her around, boys. Let’s try this again.”

    Not all of the groaning came from the old wood of the boat as Erik and Irding hauled on the oars and Einarr pulled at the tiller. “Since we’re dealing with a maze, I guess we need to be a bit more methodical about this.”

    Once more they edged into the fog, Einarr wracking his mind, trying to figure out a way to track their progress in this situation. When the fog grew dim again and he heard the characteristic thump of an oar pushing off a rock, he thought he might have a method. “Stop!”

    There was a hurried splash and a scraping sound from the oars as one of them came into contact with another rock.

    “Those rocks we just found – light a torch, I want to have a look.”

    A glowing ball of light appeared aft of the tiller and shortly resolved into Runa. At this proximity, in the glow of the torch, her hair shone like gold.

    “Thank you, my dear,” he murmured.

    “How far away do you actually think you’ll be able to see these torches?”

    “I don’t know, but I aim to find out.” He took the proffered torch and strode forward to where Erik and Irding held their oars out of the water. He held the torch out over the water, leaning over the railing himself in search of a crack to wedge the light into.

    “Ah! Let’s try there. Erik, a rope.”

    “What are you even thinking of?” The big man’s voice rumbled out of the darkness.

    “A way to mark our path, I hope. Come on, tie it around my waist. I think I can just reach.”

    With the rope secured about him and Erik bracing the other end, Einarr climbed over the railing. He hooked his top foot around a slat and braced the other against the hull as he leaned out over the water. The crack he had spotted in the rather damp rock was just barely within reach of the base of the torch, which he jammed forward.

    “Okay, Erik. Pull me in!”

    Something cold wrapped itself around the leg braced against the hull and pulled. Einarr let out a surprised yell as the cold water closed over him.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.7 – A Borrowed Boat

    5.7 – A Borrowed Boat

    When Einarr and his team ventured forth the next morning most of East Port was still asleep, such that even on the busier docks the sound of the ocean lapping the shore and the call of sea birds dominated the air as they approached the shed where Sor kept his fishing boats. He and his men were up and about, of course, and this little section of the sleepy little town had the bustle of a much larger settlement.

    Looking about, Einarr spotted a man of Trabbi’s approximate stature and age coiling a rope about his forearm. “Excuse me! Are you the owner?”

    “Depends. Who’s asking?”

    “Name’s Einarr, of the Vidofnir. The head of the Conclave of Singers told me you’d have a boat I could use.”

    The man swore as though this were an old annoyance. “She did, did she? Wish she’d ask me if I’ve got one available first. What sort of terrible water does she want to send one of my boats into this time?”

    “East. I’m guessing there’s some sort of reef, because she said a longship would have trouble.”

    Sor grumbled. “Well at least that’s better than the last group she sent out on a quest. I won’t have to worry about kalalintu destroying my boat this time, or an unexpected bit of whitewater. Fine. I’ll have one ready for you at the evening tide.”

    “My thanks. We will be ready.”

    Sor harrumphed and went back to his work, grumbling about demanding women being a tax on their sons. Einarr’s mouth twisted in a half-smile as they made their way back to the public hall. Now if only he had a better idea what to prepare for.

    ***

    True to his word, Sor had one of his fishing boats set aside and waiting for the five of them as the sun was brushing the horizon behind them. Einarr thought it might well have been the worst of his fleet: the fabric of the sail hung soddenly, although the deck was dry, and the railing made it look as though the ship had seen battle. His disappointment must have shown: Sor snorted.

    “She’ll get you where you need to go, and back, if you take proper care of her. If you don’t take proper care of her, I’ll have to ask that you replace my boat – unless you can convince my dearest mother at the Conclave to do so.”

    Einarr raised an eyebrow. Not terribly hospitable of him, but it began to sound as though the crone took advantage of him regularly. Anyone’s patience might wear thin after a few years of that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

    The other man grunted. “Good. I’ve left you a net, since it sounds as though you don’t know how far east you need to sail. And, good luck, whatever this is they’ve sent you haring off to find.”

    “My thanks, again. I suspect we will need it.”

    Only now did Sor turn his eye to the rest of his party. When his eyes landed on Runa, they narrowed. “A Singer? You did bring a cask or three of mead, then, for the throat?”

    Runa stepped forward, her shoulders square and her hands folded in front of her. “I assure you I am prepared for whatever harm might befall my voice.”

    The man grunted. “Well, she’s all yours, then. And remember: I want her back in one piece!”

    “Of course.” Einarr repressed his own sigh of annoyance until after Sor had moved off to deal with his actual work for the evening. “All aboard. Let’s not miss the tide.”

    Painted on the side of the boat in the Imperial script was the name Gestrisni: when Einarr noticed it, he chuckled. The man’s hospitality was, indeed, just about worn out to judge by the state of the boat.

    The sky had begun to darken, although the sun had not yet disappeared from the sky, when the Gestrisni plied out of the harbor with Erik and Irding at the oars and Einarr on the tiller.

    It was not until they were safely out of harbor and the wind had caught the heavy sail that Erik leaned on his oar and looked expectantly at Einarr. “So. Last time we stole a magic necklace from a jotün, you made a friend and I almost lost my leg. What are we after this time?”

    Einarr combed fingers through his hair, glad of the darkness to obscure his face. It still sounded strange to him. “Frigg’s distaff.”

    Father and son both chuckled to hear that.

    “Laugh now. According to the Conclave, it will cleanse us of the cult’s corruption… and it sounds like it can break the curse on Breidelstein, too.”

    “Well, if that ain’t something.” Erik smoothed his hand over his beard. “Still seems like a mighty strange thing to ask for.”

    “You’re not wrong. To make matters more interesting, remember that the tower we’re headed for is the nest of Huginn and Muninn.”

    Runa moved a half-step closer to her betrothed and twined her fingers in his. The others cursed.

    “We’re stealing from Wotan?” Irding jumped to his feet as it finally clicked.

    “Afraid so.”

    “The item we need belongs to Frigg, however, and our cause is worthy. My hope is that she will stay his hand for us.” Runa answered, her voice low.

    “We might also wish to hope she does so quickly enough. He knows seithir and he’s a berserker. One wrong move and we’re screwed.” Jorir’s head was tilted back, looking at the moon.

    “Rather.” Erik drew the word out dryly.

    “My thoughts exactly, I’m afraid.” Einarr stepped in before this could become a fight. “But according to the Conclave, the distaff is necessary to prevent us from turning into abominations like we were fighting before. The black blood is corrupting, they said. I will risk calling down the wrath of Wotan on my head to save our crew and the Brunnings any day.”

    Jorir hummed. “Never said I disagreed. Just if we’d known we might have had a better idea what to prepare for.”

    “We’re looking at a tower likely to be filled with magical traps, riddles, and other trickery. What is there to prepare other than ensuring we have a Singer of our own?” Einarr shook his head. “But if the quest were easy, it wouldn’t be any fun. Right?”

    Erik laughed. Soon, the others joined him, and the Gestrisni sailed off into the night.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.6 – At the Blue Hall

    5.6 – At the Blue Hall

    The public hall where Einarr found the Vidofnings and Brunnings was surprisingly large for a town no bigger than East Port. If Einarr had to take a guess, most of their custom came from ships such as their own, here to call on the Conclave.

    A cheer went up as the door swung open under Reki’s hand. Inside the hall was as warm and cheery as one might expect at the end of a good season of raiding. With a grin, Einarr moved to join his crewmates with a drink while Reki went to report to Stigander. All eight of their party were able to breathe a sigh of relief when they saw that there had, in fact, been no transformations as of yet – only the complaints they had grown used to of nausea and headaches as though their crews had both contracted a lingering flu.

    Even Reki’s news did not dampen their enthusiasm: if anything, the fact that they had found their “cure” before the corruption had claimed anyone was another victory over the madmen of the cult. Then it was Einarr’s turn.

    “I’ve been given another impossible quest, I’m afraid, Father.”

    “Feh. Do skalds give any other kind?”

    “Not likely.”

    “Well, what is it now?”

    “I’m to travel to the Tower of Ravens and steal Frigg’s distaff out from under the noses of Huginn and Muninn.”

    Stigander looked just as confused as Einarr had. “What in the depths of all the seas do you need that for?”

    “Untangling fate, they say, and ridding us of the cult’s corruption for good.”

    His father shook his head and wiped his hand down his moustaches, his expression changing from amusement to consternation and back again. “Well, if there’s anyone in this lot who can manage it, I’d lay my odds on you.”

    Sivid could do it, if it weren’t for his accursed luck. “Thank you, Father. The Matrons said the tower required a smaller boat to reach: I’m to pay a call on a fisherman in the morning regarding the use of a boat. I’d like to take some of the crew along.”

    “Long as they’re up for it, same as before. …This distaff, you said it untangles fate?”

    Einarr nodded, and his father harrumphed. There was no need to say it: such a thing could easily break the Weaver’s curse on their homeland. He turned back to the hall full of his fellow Vidofnings.

    “All right, everyone! Just like this spring, I need a few of you to venture out in a little fishing boat with me. This time we’re braving the wrath of a god!”

    His pronouncement was followed by a peal of laughter, even by those who had heard the Matrons’ pronouncement at the Conclave.

    Jorir, to no-one’s surprise, was the first to step forward. “Come hel or high water, I’m with ye.”

    Einarr inclined his head at his man-at-arms. “Thank you, Jorir. Who else?”

    The next man to step forward was gangly Irding, neither as tall nor as muscle-bound as his father but with the same brown hair and reckless grin. “Sounds like fun. I’ll give it a go.”

    Erik’s head snapped around to look at his son. “You sure about that? We got into a heap o’ trouble going after the Isinntog.”

    “I know. That’s why it sounds like fun.” Irding grinned at his father, and Erik laughed loudly.

    “Who’m I kidding? Of course it does. Count me in, too.”

    Einarr’s mouth curled in a half-smile. Irding looked a little less happy at the prospect now that Erik was also along, but it would be good for them. “Great. Anyone else? I expect we’ll have to work our way past traps, and if anyone knows how to read runes it would be a help.”

    “I already told you, I’m coming,” Runa said, standing at the table.

    “No, you’re not. There’s no telling what sort of violence we might come across.”

    “You’re invading the tower of Huginn and Muninn. You need someone familiar with magic, who can read runes. I’m coming.”

    Aema, the Brunning’s battle-chanter, stepped forward. “You’re hardly the only one here with those qualifications.”

    “No, but I’m the only one here with those qualifications who isn’t needed here. You and Reki both have crews to tend, full of men doused with corrupted blood, and I do not. I may be a Jarl’s daughter, but that doesn’t make me useless.”

    “Maybe not,” Trabbi rumbled, “but if anything should happen to you your Father will have my head. He may even if you go along and nothing happens.”

    Runa met her erstwhile suitor’s eyes. “On my word of honor, I will not allow that to happen.”

    Trabbi scowled back. “You have no more place on that boat than I do, my Lady.”

    “That is where you’re wrong.” She turned her attention back to Einarr, and he felt the old familiar thrill. “What was it that the alfr gave you in the wood?”

    “Some bauble he thought would help us through the tower, though at the moment I can’t see how.” That had been the way of Runa’s gifts, too, given as they left to seek the Jotünhall.

    “Give it here.”

    Einarr shrugged and removed the bird-shaped brooch from the pouch at his belt. “Doesn’t the use typically become plain when you need it?”

    All three Singers rolled their eyes at him even as Runa took hold of the brooch and blanched.

    Einarr couldn’t help the question. “What is it?”

    “Let us hope the use becomes plain, because while I can read the runes, they look like so much nonsense.”

    Reki threaded her way through the room to take a closer look. She raised pale eyebrows and let loose a low whistle. “Well, at the very least your elf-gift should actually be of use. How did he get this, though?”

    “See, Runa? I’m sure we’ll be able to muddle through-”

    “So long as you have someone who can read the runes. You need me, and one way or another I’m coming.” Runa’s jaw was set. Einarr turned to Bollinn.

    The new Captain of the Skudbrun sighed. “I don’t think there’s any stopping her at this point. Over my own better judgement, I’ll allow it.”

    Runa smiled in triumph. Einarr hoped she wouldn’t regret her insistence.

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    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.5 – Whispering Woods

    5.5 – Whispering Woods

    Einarr set his jaw. Cursing himself for a fool, and glad he hadn’t moved his feet just there, he turned himself exactly around. He was a decent tracker, even if he’d never been able to do a lot of hunting: with a little luck he’d be able to retrace his own steps.

    Behind him, though, the path soon disappeared into an impenetrable bramble of thorns into which his boot prints disappeared. He attempted to follow around the outside of the thicket, but there, too, the thorns grew – so quickly they seemed to sprout and curl before his eyes. Whatever else this trickster spirit is, it certainly is persistent. Frowning harder now, he turned back around and marched further in.

    “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I will have you return me to my friends,” he announced to the forest around him. No answer came, save the trilling of bird song. At least it’s not cawing. Of the many hazards of stealing the Őrlögnir, one that he had not until this moment contemplated was that he would be going against Wotan’s personal spies. He cursed aloud.

    “Oh, there’s no cause for that now.” The voice was light and airy, although still masculine, and seemed to come out of thin air.

    Einarr stopped, his hand traveling to Sinmora’s hilt. “Who are you?”

    The slender, almost effeminate form of a male alfr separated itself from a tree just ahead of him on the path. “Does it matter?”

    Einarr would swear the elf had not been there before: his clothes were the color of tree bark, true, but his hair was as golden as the Oracle’s, and his skin fairer than Runa’s. Einarr stared openly at the creature, waiting for an answer.

    “You may call me Ystävä.”

    Well, that name couldn’t be more obviously fake. “I shall choose my own friends, thank you. What do you want?”

    “Let us say that I, too, have an interest in your success on this quest. I have something which may aid you…”

    “I see. And what would the price of this aid be?” Everyone knew that alfr “gifts” came at a heavy price.

    The elf smirked. “Are you, perhaps, not so stupid as you first appear?”

    Einarr bristled, but was not given a chance to retort.

    “But I am not here to play games with you. As pleasant as that can be, I must mind your mortal time if this is to work. There is a small task I will ask you to perform with Frigg’s distaff once you acquire it – nothing major, and you will alleviate a great deal of suffering by doing so.”

    “And if I refuse?”

    “Refuse?” The alfr laughed, the notes as musical as any Singer’s. “Perhaps you are entirely stupid. You allowed yourself to be drawn into my domain, and in my domain you will stay until I decide otherwise. You have my word, on the font of Art itself and by the hand of Tyr, that my request will not violate your conscience or your father’s.”

    Einarr glared at the elf. “I mistrust this mysterious task of yours, but you make it plain I have no choice. Very well; give it here and I will be on my way.”

    “Wonderful!” The alfr smiled, and a chill ran down Einarr’s spine when it did not touch his eyes.

    “Why all this subterfuge, if what you want is so harmless?”

    “Well, you see, I am known to the Circle of Singers…”

    “And they don’t trust you either?”

    “You wound me! What possible reason have I given you to distrust me?”

    Einarr did not dignify that with a response even as the elf pouted at him.

    “Very well. Spoil my fun. Here. Once you get to the tower, you’ll know what to do with it.” The elf shoved a wooden brooch into Einarr’s hand. When he opened his palm to look, it was in the shape of a raven and covered in runes.

    “What -” But when he looked up from the brooch, the elf was already gone. A low growl escaped his throat.

    The lush greenery almost seemed to grow back into the earth, it faded so quickly back into the oak wood he had been walking through just this morning.

    A thread of song filtered through the trees from off to his right: Runa. How long had they been searching for him? Einarr set off at a jog in search of the voice.

    It was not long before he could see his companions stopped on the road: they looked tired, and Reki in particular looked very annoyed by the way she held her shoulders under her cloak.

    “Sorry,” he said as he approached the road, before any of them could begin to scold him. “Some ass of an alfr decided he was going to help us whether we wanted it or no.”

    Reki scowled at him from under her hood. “Tell me what happened. In detail.”

    Einarr sighed. And, as expected, she was even less happy with this turn of events than Einarr had been after hearing the tale.

    “I take it this ‘Ystävä’ is known to you?”

    “Unfortunately. And while I’m glad he returned you to us with only minimal delay…”

    “You also mistrust the ‘task’ he wishes to ask of me. How long since I disappeared?”

    “Half a day,” Trabbi grumbled.

    Einarr bit off a curse. “Then let us discuss this further once we’re out of his little playground… whoever he actually is.”

    Now Reki was not the only one setting a brisk pace: if they wanted to reach East Port before dark, speed was of the essence. Even so it was late afternoon before they emerged from the shadow of the forest, and deep into twilight before they arrived at the outskirts of the town. Einarr flared his nostrils: from here everything appeared normal, at least. There were no screams of tentacled horrors that came to his ears – or any screams at all – which had to be a good sign. He shared a glance with Reki. “Let’s go.”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.4 – Hasty Departure

    5.4 – Hasty Departure

    Reki came to dinner the evening after their fragrant baths looking satisfied with herself, and Runa came looking chastened. Einarr felt a little sorry for her: if she had spent the entirety of his quest to the Jotünhall in seclusion, as he believed she had, surely this was unnecessary? Moments later, he remembered what he had been told about “tuning,” and felt a little less sorry. Shaking his head, he swung a leg over the bench to take a seat next to his betrothed anyway. The smell of lavender tickled his nose, but on her it brought a smile to his eye.

    He set to on the night’s stew, but this was not to be a night for eating and conversing amongst themselves – or with the other apprentices, as he had learned the young women universally were. The oaken crone, the leader of their Circle of Elders, stood at the head of the table as they were eating.

    “It is good, from time to time, to have visitors from the Clans. It ensures that we do not grow so wrapped up in our own matters that we forget the wider world. However, brief though it was, on the morrow it will be time for our guests to depart. A matter of no small urgency has been brought to our attention, and while they seek the tools they need to fix it, so have we preparations to make. Do not fail in your quest, and return to us when you have completed it.”

    Reki stood. “Honored Amma, you have our thanks. Even were it not for the quest, I should beg our leave of you in the morning. There are many more men who were exposed to the corruption you discovered in us back in port.”

    The old woman inclined her head. “Then go forth. Speak with Sor down on the docks: tell him we sent you, and that you require one of his fishing boats. A longship is too large to gain entrance to the Tower.”

    Einarr swallowed and wiped his moustache before answering. “My thanks, honored Amma.”

    Quiet fell again around the hall as everyone returned to eating. As the low buzz of conversation started back up, Runa elbowed Einarr to get his attention.

    “I’m coming with you,” she muttered into her bowl.

    He, too, kept his voice low and his face forward as he replied. “Is this something the Matrons have decreed?”

    “Something I have decided myself.”

    “I’m against it. Who knows what we’ll run into there.”

    “I have an idea. You’ll need me.”

    “No.” It was far too dangerous. She did not push him farther, but he would have to watch her.

    ***

    The next morning, when the sky was still the pale blue of early morning, the nine set out for East Port and their waiting companions. As early as it was, though, Reki and Runa both rushed about as though they wanted to be gone an hour before.

    “Easy, now,” Trabbi was saying. “It’s not like a few extra minutes is going to kill anyone.”

    “Are you sure about that?” Reki snapped.

    “Enough.” Einarr stepped in. “We do need to hurry, but racing about like this isn’t helping anyone. Who are we still waiting on, anyway?”

    “One of your porters,” Barri drawled.

    “Then we’re not waiting on anyone.” Sivid sounded reluctant. “Saetild wanted to keep him behind, said he was worse off than the rest of us. Not that it makes much sense to me.”

    “Amma Saetild is one of the best among us with medicine and the healing songs. If she wishes to keep the man behind, there’s a reason. Thus, let’s be off. The sooner we’re back in port, the sooner I can treat everyone else.” Reki scooped up her pack and strode down the path toward the forest, not waiting to see if anyone else followed.

    One by one, led by Einarr, they did, and soon were walking beneath the canopy of oak leaves once more. The morning light filtered through the leaves above, turning subtly green. The atmosphere in the forest this morning did much to lift Einarr’s spirits. After the cleansing he’d had at the hands of the Matrons the lingering unease from the battle against the cult had finally faded – reason enough for cheer, he thought. And if evading Wotan’s spies to steal his wife’s distaff was perhaps one of the more foolish things he had ever tried, it felt more like a game than like a matter of life or death.

    A rustling from out in the woods caught his attention, and Runa’s voice called out from its direction. “Einarr, come see!”

    He blinked, and looked behind him down the path. Einarr did not see Runa there, nor ahead when he double-checked. With a shrug, he turned off in the direction of her voice. May as well see what she wants.

    The path opened before him, lusher and more full of life than the road had been, and he wondered why the road did not pass through this way, instead.

    “Oh, Einarr, it’s wonderful!”

    What could she possibly have found in a forest like this? She couldn’t have been off the path for more than a few minutes. …And why couldn’t he see her yet? “Runa? Where are you hiding?”

    “I’m just over here, in a clearing.”

    This was beginning to seem strange, but Runa did have a fondness for pranks. This was exactly the sort of thing he could see her doing back in her father’s holdings.

    …Only they weren’t on Kjell island. And both Singers had warned them against leaving the road in the Whispering Wood. Einarr stopped in his tracks. In every direction, all he could see was lush greenery, very little of which he recognized. I am an idiot.

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    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

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    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.3 – Medicinal Bath

    5.3 – Medicinal Bath

    Three paces outside the door of the hall his tune trailed off and he stopped, now seeing what was in store for them.

    Set up in the Hall yard were two large wooden tubs on a platform over a bonfire. Steam rose up into the midsummer morning, and the air smelled strongly of peppermint and lavender. It was true that Einarr had wanted a bath for weeks now. For all that these were washing tubs, however, this looked more like a scalding pot.

    The plump Matron looked up from her nalbinding and hailed him with a smile. “Good morning!”

    “I think that my companions and I should make a poor meal, honored Amma.”

    To her credit, and Einarr’s relief, she laughed. “You’ll not be cooked unless you stay in too long. ‘Tis a bath, but for the herbs to work it must be hot.”

    “More purification?”

    “As much as we can do. The corruption has had long to work on your men: we must drive it back as hard and as fast as we can if you are to succeed in your quest.”

    Einarr raised an eyebrow. This was the first any such quest had been mentioned to him, although that there would be one did not surprise him.

    “Well, up you go. There are baskets above for your things.”

    When he stepped over the side of the tub, it was as though someone had brewed medicinal tea in a hot spring. The fragrance filled his nose and threatened to make him cough, it was so strong. Still, he thought he would prefer not to grow tentacles, and so he breathed shallowly until he could grow used to the odor. His feet turned pink almost immediately, but too hot or not he intended to take full advantage.

    Barri and Sivid emerged from the hall as he was scrubbing his arms. By the thunderstruck look on both their faces, he knew exactly what they were thinking. “Good morrow! Come on in, the water’s fine.”

    “Are you sure we’re not being softened up for a pudding?” Sivid asked as he climbed the platform.

    Einarr belly laughed. “Would you eat something that smelled like this?”

    Barri coughed. As eloquent a response as Einarr could hope for, he laughed again.

    ***

    All nine of their party had been steeped and scrubbed before the sun had crested the forest canopy, and with Runa returned to them they fell to the morning’s porridge with berries and cream. That was when the oaken crone took her seat at the head of the table – although Einarr noted that she was not eating. For a time, she merely sat in silence.

    Impatient, Einarr broke her reverie between bites. “I understand there’s some sort of quest you require of us?”

    She pressed her lips into a thin line and looked flatly at Einarr. “Yes. I suppose Saetild said something this morning?”

    “Is that her name? The cheerful, plump one? We haven’t actually been introduced to any of you.”

    The oaken crone sighed, the sound like rustling leaves. “Quite.”

    “So? What sort of horrific danger do I have to face in order to save us all from the corrupted blood of the cult that kidnapped Runa?”

    Now it was the crone’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Rather cynical for one so young.”

    “Honored Amma. My year began with the issuance of a purportedly impossible quest by Jarl Hroaldr after our ill-conceived attempt to elope, during which I had to not only avoid the giant’s notice, but also fight his dog and his dwarf. We both know I’m going to have to take the quest, so let’s not mince words about what I’m getting myself into.”

    She lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “There is an order to these things, but since it has already been breached…”

    She took a deep breath before continuing. “Some ways to the east of here, a tower sits upon a solitary rock jutting up out of the sea. From the water, you cannot see the top of this tower, but birds constantly flock about it, for it is the Tower of Ravens. It is said that Huginn and Muninn make their homes there when their master does not have need of them.”

    Einarr looked at her as he continued to eat. So far, this didn’t sound too terrible.

    “At the top of the tower, under the protection of Huginn, Muninn, and their guards, is a distaff made of hazel wood and inlaid with ivory: the Őrlögnir.”

    Einarr nearly choked on his porridge while the other Vidofnings failed to suppress a laugh. “I need a magical what now?”

    “A distaff – you know, like your Mamma used to keep fibre untangled while she spun?”

    “Yes, I know what a distaff is. How is that supposed to help us here, with the cult or the corruption or anything?”

    The oaken crone had the pained look of someone forced to explain matters to a particularly dull child. “What did I say it was made of?”

    “Hazel and ivory.”

    “Very good. And what are the properties of hazel and ivory?”

    “I’m supposed to know that, how?”

    “Gah!” She threw a hand up above her head. “Do they teach our warriors nothing? Hazel for wisdom and purification, ivory for purity. Applied correctly, the Őrlögnir can break any curse or purify any corruption. Now do you see?”

    “…I think I’m beginning to.”

    “Good. I recommend you prepare yourself. The sooner you leave to seek the Tower, the more of your crewmen you can save.”

    More questions rushed to Einarr’s lips, but the oaken crone was already striding stiffly out of the room. He turned to Reki, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

    “Ask me this afternoon. I must go before the Conclave with Sivid now, to haggle.”

    Einarr suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course. Good luck.”

    Reki nodded, her mind already on what she might say to persuade the crones, as Einarr tried to get an answer out of Runa – only to discover that she, too, had left the room at some point over breakfast. Einarr sighed in exasperation and shoved another spoonful of porridge in his mouth.

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    Hi, everyone! Thanks for stopping by!

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have  other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Smashwords, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available. I just reworked my reward tiers, so I hope you’ll give it another look.

  • 5.2 – Wise Women’s Table

    5.2 – Wise Women’s Table

    “Please, be seated. There’ll be no leaving until morning at the earliest anyway.” The old matron moved deftly to the side of the door and began shooing their party in, towards the long table with its pot of stew – rabbit, if Einarr’s nose didn’t lie. He allowed himself to be swept into the Hall and to a place at the table.

    There were nine of them, and eight empty bowls set along the table. Given that Runa had been sent to stand at the back with the servants, that accounted for all of them. Einarr had never known Singers to be able to divine: perhaps there was something to the rumors about the wood? Einarr shrugged and settled on the rough wooden bench.

    “Now. I know why our wayward apprentice has come, although she shall be expected to explain her tardiness.” The crone spoke as she settled herself back into the seat at the head of the table. “I was surprised to hear that the daughter of Fjori was returning to the Hall. Is the sun troubling you again?”

    “Not at all, Amma.” Reki was near breathless, as though she actually were a child addressing her grandmother. “During a recent raid, we found a chest filled with instruments. I convinced my Captain that the Conclave might wish to buy them.”

    The old crone snorted. “Buy them. Feh. We shall have a look in the morning.”

    “Thank you, Amma.” In the worst case scenario, they would be demanded as hospitality gifts. For all that the Vidofnir needed the coin, Einarr would be hard pressed to see that as a loss if the Matrons were able to answer his questions.

    One of the other old women at the table – more like a willow in stature than like the oak of her superior’s mein – was staring at them as they settled. Einarr stared a challenge back at the woman’s face, but she appeared not to notice. Once everyone was seated, she waved imperiously towards the back of the room.

    A young woman in plain white wool stepped hurriedly forward.

    “Add some extra nutmeg to tonight’s mulling, and a good amount of angelica.”

    The girl curtsied and hurried out the back of the hall.

    Reki’s brows drew down in concern. Evidently that combination meant something to her. “Is something amiss?”

    “Yes, child,” said the willowy crone, her voice somewhat less desiccated than her oaken superior. “There is corruption at work among you… on all of you save the apprentice and him.” She pointed at Trabbi.

    “Corruption?” Barri stood, shock warring with offense on his face.

    “Sit down, Barri.” Einarr could share neither emotion with the man, and even he heard weariness in his voice. “Think. Did any of us feel entirely well after that last battle?”

    “The Heir of Raen knows of what I speak?” The willowy crone’s surprise sounded genuine.

    “Unfortunately. Of those of us here, the Lady Runa and Trabbi are the only two who did not come into direct contact with the black blood of those monsters. I know I, for one, felt ill following that battle, and it had nothing to do with fatigue.”

    Sivid was nodding along. “I, too, felt strangely ill, although I put it down to my own imagination.”

    “But tell me,” Einarr sat forward, leaning over his bowl and absently reaching for the stew ladle. “How could you tell?”

    All six of the crones at the head of the table burst into laughter at the question, the sound of rustling leaves and water burbling over stone. “We are called the Matrons of Song, are we not?” Asked the oaken leader of the crones.

    When Einarr nodded, she continued. “The world sings to us, and in this way we can see your plight… Cursebreaker.”

    Einarr wanted to swear. On top of everything else, she could see that?

    The willowy crone cackled. “And why wouldn’t we? These herbs I’ve ordered, they will hold the corruption at bay – for a time.”

    The headmistress cleared her throat. “Such matters are better discussed in the bright light of day. For now, there is stew and bread aplenty, and berries besides. Eat and be welcome.”

    A third Matron, this one plump and warm like the grandmother Einarr remembered, clapped her hands and three of the young women in the back of the hall stepped off to the side and began to play.

    It was a quiet, contemplative tune, and before Einarr had finished half his stew he felt the tension of the summer’s journey begin to melt away. By the time they had finished their meal, as they all sat around sipping at the spiced mead, every last one of them was fighting an exhausted sleep.

    “Rest, children.” Through half-lidded eyes, Einarr saw the oaken crone standing over them. “Rest now, for on the morrow there is work to be done.”

    ***

    Einarr awoke with a start to the clear light of early morning filtering in through the door of an unfamiliar hall. He patted his chest to find that he had been stripped down to just a tunic and breeches. Horror rising in his gullet, he blinked to clear his vision and cast his eyes around.

    There, at the foot of the mat he’d been lain in, the rest of his clothes were folded neatly with Sinmora laid across the top. So why did they put us all to sleep, then?

    He snatched up his clean-smelling clothes and began to dress. Somehow there was no longer even a hint of darkening from the blood that had nearly covered him in the battle against the cultists.

    …Purification of the corruption. Of course. He exhaled loudly and finished dressing, a smile now tugging at the corners of his mouth. They were not some Jarl’s hall full of warriors, whose only recourse against monsters such as those was bloodshed: they were wise women, and the Conclave of Singers could be counted on to act for the benefit of the Clans. When he snugged Sinmora’s belt about his waist and strode out into the daylight, a jaunty tune popped into his head and he began to whistle.

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