Seidrmadr - I.I.III

a fantasy

The longhouse loomed at the heart of the city, its shadow pale against the slow-moving river beside it. The square was hushed, broken only by the popping of pine resin in the iron braziers on the thoroughfares.

Two guards flanked the doorways with spears in hand, mirroring the postures of the guards stationed at the gate. Their eyes were unreadable. Ulf received only a glance. Ruka received none. He swallowed, anxious for the coming meeting.

The carved eaves below the roofline bore faded paint. Reds and blues had smudged where icicles clung to their surface, poised like teeth.

The stream murmured and the cold bit at his fingertips.

“Come,” Ulf said as he walked ahead.

The precipice was marked by a carving of a serpent with its head crushed underfoot that traced the frame of the door. A long fire-pit stretched through the room, flanked by bare tables meant for feasting. The coals burned low but smelled of cedar, an eerie warmth in the hush.

At the back in raised seats was the Jarl, a thick and burled man with a blonde braid that ran down the length of his back and a large counsel of people, all eager for their voices to be heard, leaning closely. One of them wore a wolf’s pelt over his shoulder, and he seemed more interested in Ulf’s arrival than Ruka’s.

A pale and wrinkled man in a dark cloak, his face hooded and hidden from view, leaned into the Jarl’s ear to whisper something. The others quieted and shifted uncomfortably when he moved. One visibly flinched.

Thick silence overtook the room, the embers whispering. Ulf stopped mid-step, Ruka tripping forward after noticing.

The Jarl stood up with a wooden goblet in his hand. He twirled it in his fingers, looking at the wine, then looked up. He caught Ruka’s gray eyes and took a long sip before speaking.

“Welcome, seidrmadr.”

Ulf straightened and knelt at once, the motion practiced. Ruka remained where he stood, looking ahead. Who was the cloaked man? Ulf caught the corner of his eye with a visible plea before Ruka was pulled out of his trance and knelt likewise.

The wine stirred softly in his goblet. He spoke again, “You’ve come at a strange time. Warlords to the east are gathering their strength, and long-dead whispers are emerging from the earth. What brings you here?”

“Your grace, I am here to research those ‘long-dead whispers.’”

The Jarl raised an eyebrow and the cloaked man whispered more words into his ear. “What is dead should stay dead,” the Jarl said.

“That is often not our decision.” Ruka rifled through his satchel, a flash of anxiety growing as his fingers failed to find the familiar parchment before they brushed against the broken wax seal. “If you’ll look here,” he gestured with a proffered arm, “you’ll find my objective granted by the University, with the Imperium’s guarantee that I will not disturb the affairs of the city.”

The Jarl considered this for a long breath. He summoned Ulf forward with a casual wave of his hand and Ulf rose with care before taking the papers from Ruka’s outstretched hand.

The seer was trying to peer into Ulf’s eyes, his gaze like needles in the back of his neck, but Ulf kept them cast at the ground before raising them only to pay respect to the Jarl, and to the man in the wolf’s pelt beside him.

“What has the Empire heard?” He asked.

“We’ve heard of shadows. Sleeping things disturbed.”

“Sleeping things…” Murmurs stirred within the room. “So the omens lead beyond Jötinborg? Even to the south?”

“And the west.” Ruka nodded solemnly.

“What does the Empire, or the University, intend to do?”

“We intend to research. To learn what we can.” He felt the humming beneath his feet, steadying him, lending him strength and surety. “Then, we will better know what to do.”

A cracked and gnarled voice split the air. A tremor interfered with the song of the earth, dry and weightless like the ghost of a feather. “He smells of old bones and speaks of taboos. Let the sleeping city lie. This is what the runes have told us.”

“The city is no longer sleeping. That is the problem here. Or, would you like more ‘babblers’ within your gates?”

The seer did not respond, but the Jarl looked long at the fire, sighed, and nodded. “Very well. You may remain. It would be… without tact of me to deny the request of the Imperium anyway, especially with their promise that you are only here to research. But know this, there will be no grace. If you bring misfortune, you’ll leave scarred.”