Seidrmadr - I.I.II

a fantasy

The breeze whistled through the cramped alleys of Jötinborg. Raised wooden thoroughfares crisscrossed the city, smoke curling from cedar fires that burned in the scattered iron braziers. Men gathered around them, roasting fish over the flames. The curious gazes — enflamed by the firelight — found their rest on the seidrmadr.

The crystalline river of the Fjallgarðr, the mountain pass, flowed through the city before it snaked its way south. Men sat atop barrels with fishing lines cast and pipes in the mouths while their lures danced in the stream.

He passed some tables where women were shaping blocks of ice. When they looked satisfied, they placed them in barrels of water to test their balance. If they wobbled, the women shaped more.

Ruka and Ulf walked through the city, guided by the river, until fatigue tugged at his knees still sore from the journey north. He thought of his horse while he dragged himself onward, eyes searching anxiously for the Jarl’s longhouse.

As they went further, the alleyways grew wider and were paved with cobblestone. The streets were more deliberate and geometric. Even the pale stonework was carved with intricate decorations — though the light only caught them faintly underneath the frost.

Almost as if hearing his thoughts, Ulf spoke. “This part of the city is ancient. Much older than its outskirts nearer by the walls.”

“Built by the Jötun?” Ruka asked.

“That’s my guess.”

At last they stepped off the thoroughfare and walked along a wide road with market stalls neatly placed on each side. An indecipherable rumble of a crowd grew, and as they turned a corner into a smaller square, they found a large crowd gathered in a circle. A red-haired woman was cast on the ground with her head in her hands while a man loomed over her. Her voice cracked, too soft to be heard. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a collective breath held in trepidation.

“You absolute dimwit!” the man yelled. “You could have lost all your sense. You’d become a babbler, would you?”

“No,” the woman answered, her eyes cast at her feet. Her red hair was loose and tangled, with half-frozen strands clinging to her cheeks.

“A babbler?” Ruka asked Ulf standing next to him.

“Yes.” Ulf chuckled. “It happens sometimes to people who stray too close to the old city—outside the walls. Some say it’s a curse of the land. But me? I say it’s the mushrooms.”

“I see…” Ruka trailed off, “babbler” still hanging like a breath in cold air.

The crowd began to disperse, seemingly losing interest. Ulf walked onward, expecting Ruka to follow, but Ruka’s gaze remained fixed on the woman.

“Yrsa,” she began to speak again. “Thenn, I need to find Yrsa.”

Thenn knelt down and took her hands into his. Ruka couldn’t see what it was, but Thenn took something from her and clenched it in his palm. “Yrsa is gone, Astrid.” His voice became gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier shouting.

“No… I don’t believe it. Mimir will know. Mimir will tell me where Yrsa is.”

A tense silence hung between them. They’d had this conversation before. “Astrid, the cold will kill you. Or the wolves. Or something else. And even if nothing does, and Mimir is real, and you find him, you will lose your sense.”

“If I lose my sense, will I see my daughter again?”

The question clung like ice to stone. Snowflakes drifted like petals in the wind.

She finally met his eyes. Thenn could not answer. He tried to speak, but his voice rebelled. He rose like a storm and left Astrid there, still cast where she lay in the snow.

Mimir. In the old city. Babblers. Something was trying to rise up in Ruka’s mind but couldn’t, like a breath not taken, tiring his lungs.

“Yrsa?” Ruka asked Ulf, hurrying to catch up with him.

“A young girl. She went missing about a month ago, either to the wolves, slavers, or to Rolúfr. That woman, Astrid, is one of his wives. But she’s run off and come here to live with her brother there, Thenn.” Ulf turned around and saw Ruka was not keeping pace. “Come on. Time to meet the Jarl. You can wander later.”

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