Seidrmadr - I.I.I

a fantasy

Ruka lay in a place where Heaven would not be denied. Ancient trees, hundreds of feet tall like sentries in the dark, aspired tirelessly to meet the hosts in the air yet fell hopelessly short, far off of the sky’s boundary. Nonetheless, they shone with care, painting the frostbitten ground with foreign brilliant hues—colors he had no name for but which stirred in him a familiar longing. The ice itself might have danced in response.

Wood from the fire crackled and popped as a stream of ash and sparks shot upwards leaving a faint trail of gray in its wake. He breathed in cedar and smoke, warmth curling through him as he rolled over to his side and clutched the thick fur of his hood more snugly around his neck. _One more day_, he thought to himself. Willow neighed softly as if in response.

When morning had come, sunlight peeked through the naked boughs, falling on Ruka’s closed eyes and tangled dark hair. Willow was picking at small tufts of grass poking from the snow. Her chestnut coat was a flare of warmth in a world which seemed to have forgotten the sun.

Still groggy, he staggered over to her. The ice crunched beneath his feet. He rummaged through the saddlebag and took out a thick piece of dried venison which he bought from the next village south — it was the last of his provisions.

Willow snorted softly as he pet her mane. He grabbed her by the reins and pulled softly to escort her out of the forest, through the deep piles of snow, and onto the road. A thin crack stretched along the leather strap, ice which had crept up through the night. A single teardrop remained, frozen mid-fall.

The locals called the valley Jötindale — Giant’s Valley — though no one could agree whether the name honored the trees or the bones said to be buried beneath them.

A slender crystalline river flowed down from the mountain peaks, through the city, and curved its way beyond the hills and forests until it rested in the sea to the West. It was frozen now, but beneath the translucent barrier could be seen Pike, Perch, and Salmon feasting on the riverbed.

By late morning, Ruka cantered north atop Willow along the frozen river’s edge. If he were not so numb to the saddle’s sting, he would have felt it grinding his bones. Willow’s hooves clicked like hammers on stone as they passed by fishermen’s cottages and homesteads. Wrinkled men in sealskin suits wore away at the ice with pickaxes as they waded half-submerged in the shallows yet unmoved by the cold.

Tall walls of pale stone rose in the distance. Archers were posted above, and a thick gate of iron barred entry. One of them hailed below when he saw Ruka come into view. The gate creaked as it slowly rolled upward and into the recess in the stone. Ruka cantered across the wooden bridge and over the river before stopping short of the precipice.

Two men who could have been mistaken for bears from a distance came out to greet him. They both wore a light-blue gambeson, held a spear in hand, and sheathed a seax at their waist. “Name?” asked the taller of the two while he took hold of Willow’s reins. A pale scar ran from his ear to the corner of his crooked jaw.

“Ruka.”

“What’s your business?”

“University business,” Ruka answered. The man glowered at him. Rather than try and win a battle of intimidation, Ruka averted his gaze to search through the satchel he wore around his shoulder. After a few seconds with the two curiously watching him as he rummaged through loose sheafs of parchment and charcoal, he emerged victorious with a canister of treated leather, inside of which was a bundle of documents. Sealed with gold, wax, the University’s insignia — a swooping eagle with a scroll in its claws. “Inside here you’ll find my papers which authorize my travel.”

The guard let go of Willow and snatched the roll of papers from Ruka’s hand. His eyes became wide once he read the third sheet. Ruka’s shoulders tensed. He forced himself not to look away, but the shivering in his spine betrayed him. Quiet pressure built in his chest, making him aware of his breath like he couldn’t trust the air.

“Seidrmadr,” the guard muttered, glancing up.

Ruka heard it — the snow cracking beneath the companion now walking over, and the soft clack of a hand reflexively finding its way to a pommel. “We didn’t know the University hired your sort,” the guard finally said.

“They hire all sorts, but I am just a researcher.” The guards were clearly not convinced. “It’s important I carry those papers with me if I’m ever to need them, but they are not relevant to why I’m here.”

“Regardless, we now need you to prove you are what you say you are.”

“The University’s seal isn’t trustworthy enough?” Ruka asked, the annoyance not hidden from his tone.

“These papers claim you’re a seidrmadr, a spell-sword. This gives us reason to be wary of you, regardless of what ‘papers’ you might have,” he annunciated like he was eating something sour. He then continued, “If you are lying to gain entry, we must know. If you are truthful, we must know. Many have died at the hands of you spell-swords, and not even from malice but incompetence. We need to know you can control yourself before we allow you in.”

What he said wasn’t strictly true, Ruka thought to himself. Spell-swords have surely killed from incompetence, but not seidrmadr. He resigned himself, “Very well, what would you have me do?”

The guard took a step back and surveyed the surroundings. “Ah, here,” he said. He walked over to an exposed patch of dirt near the wall and then knelt to the ground. A dead flower missing most of its petals was half-buried. He pulled it up and brought it over to Ruka. “Turn this to ice.”

“That’s not how it works,” Ruka said.

The guard’s eyes narrowed, “I’ve seen your kind do it.”

“And I’ve seen a spear used to cut cheese. That doesn’t mean you know how to fight with it.”

The grip around his pommel seemed to get just the slightest bit tighter. “Very well then. How would _you_ like to prove yourself?”

Ruka thought for a moment, not only about the test but about his options. What would happen if he chose not to participate? Or simply to leave and try again later, hopefully with a different watch? What would happen if he was branded a threat, so far from the Mora? His eyes found their resting spot on the guards shuffling hands. “Give me the flower.”

Ruka hopped down and outstretched his open hand. The guard raised an eyebrow but handed it over without issue. Ruka walked back to the bare patch of dirt beside. He placed the flower on top of the newly overturned dirt and then knelt on one knee before closing his eyes. He listened.

At first, he heard nothing but the guards beside him as they shuffled from foot to foot. Then he heard the noises of the city, the clang of a ladle on a pot, a merchant hawking salted fish in the square, and the braziers roaring as they were fueled with pine resin. He heard the river stream burble beneath the ice, and he heard the fisherman chop away at it further downstream. He heard the myriad songs of the birds in the forest, and the critters crawling the floor beneath them.

Deeper and deeper he went as the noises filled his bones like water in an empty vessel. Eventually, when he felt so warm he was sure he must have been glowing, he heard the music — that eternal music to which all were deaf — all except for the seidrmadr, that is. Like a heartbeat within the earth, within all things, calling you further up and deeper in. Ruka then opened his eyes and softly uttered a word. The stem of the flower grew green again, and it stretched out while its new roots burrowed into the earth. Its missing petals returned to it with a wonderful azure hue and the color of the rising sun in the center. It straightened toward the sky in the natural way of living things. Ruka exhaled.

The guards stared, mouths parted in silent awe. “My… that is a trick I have not seen before. You can make things alive again?”

“It depends,” Ruka answered slowly, not quite ready for the familiar sounds of voices yet. He stumbled slightly as he rose up from his knees, his ears still ringing. “How easily can you believe that what is dead is meant to live?” A long moment passed between them. ”I can do small plants, but no more than that. And I can do more than most.”

“It’s more than I’ve ever seen.” The attempt to hide shock had clearly been abandoned. “I’m Ulf. Allow me to greet you to Jötinborg.”

Ruka gave a shallow nod, unsure if he had gained the man’s trust or simply confused him into politeness. Still, Ulf’s stance had softened. He no longer walked as a guard, but as a man escorting someone he didn’t quite know how to categorize.

Thank you SO MUCH for your attention to my story: Seidrmadr, a fantasy. My plan is to post a scene each week, until the conclusion of the first of what I hope to be many adventures of Ruka within the world I am building. If you enjoyed the story, I humbly ask that you would leave a like, and tell me what you enjoyed! If you disliked it, please give me your criticisms. I have a FAR WAY to go as a writer, but to write is an itch I have had for the near entirety of my life, so if I’m laying on my deathbed one day having produced nothing then that will be to my shame. So please help me in this. My gratitude would be eternal.
Yours,

Kyle Metz