by J. A. Day
Contents
Copyright Ebook
Dedication
Part One - New Pieces The Best Way To Change Things Is To Get The King Drunk And Fed. Then You Tell Him What You Need
After You Die Your Soul Gets Transported Into The Sky, And Resides In Sol’s Resting Place
The Weight Of The World On Your Shoulders, The Knowledge That Every Decision You Make Could Kill Or Harm People, Why Would Anyone Want That Kind Of Power?
For Sol To Come Back The World Needs To Be Free From Shadow
Always Connect Back To Your Past, It’ll Be Your Light In The Darkness, The Thing That Can Show You The Path Ahead
In Reality The Scrolls Are Written In Stories, Teachings, And Myth. Every Keeper Has To Interpret It In Their Own Way, And Teach Their Interpretations To The Masses
Information Is Crucial To Have As A King, That’s Why Many Try To Hoard It, Or Only Give It To You For A Price
Some People Love Change So Much They’ll Adore You For It, Some Hate It So Much They’ll Kill You To Stop It From Happening
Two Lovers Meet On The River Of Life
Part Two - Build Up Of Light Cast The Torch Within To Banish Your Own Shadow
It’s Easy To Get People On Your Side: Just Throw A Lot Of Parties, Tell Them How Great You’ll Make Their Lives, And Give Them A Purpose
One Of The Most Important Roles For A Keeper Is To Keep The Faith Unified. You Must Keep All Of The Faithful On One Path
You Look Back At Every Shadow Expecting The Glint Of A Knife
Queen Vera’s Violent Disposal Was Due To The Unpopularity Of Her Meat Tax
Getting Votes Through The Council Is All About Wining, Dining, And Making Trades
One Lover Says That’s A Fine River Boat
Do No Fret If You Lose Your Way. There Is Always A Part Of You That Knows Your True Self. Listen To It And You’ll Rediscover The Right Path
The Break Up Of A Friendship Is Always Worse Than Breaking Up With A Lover. Your Ripping Up A Deeper Bond, Feeling Hurt And Lost In The Process
If You Visit Eik, Make Sure It’s Around Spring. The Cities Spring Festival Is A Colourful Delight, Filled With Drink, Dance, And A Community Coming Together
Part Three - Sharp Enough To Stab There Was One Time I Had To Hide In A Whole Cart Of Fish To Avoid The Guards
There Is True Satisfaction With Getting Your Law Passed Into Statute, Especially Because You Know How Much Work It Took To Do So
See This Dagger, See How Many Enemies I Have Stabbed With Thee
You’re Always In The Shadow Of Heroes, Always Trying To Match An Old Ideal That You Never Truly Can
To See The Monsters That Haunted You At Night In The Cold Light Of Day Is Always Comical. A Ferocious Beast Stalking Your Door Becomes Nothing But An Old Coat
The Other Lover Said Step On Board. But There Was A Large River Between Them
We Pray To Lead Your Soul Into The Sky, And So You May Find The Hidden Resting Place Of Sol
It Was In The Middle Of Spring When Hannes Attacked
Only The Raiders Have Survived The Cold Outside A Sol Shard For A Long Time, But They Force The Lesson From A Young Age
The Act Of Union Wasn’t Just For Me And Sigrun, It Was For The Whole Of The Wagon Train
Free Book
Thank You
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Remnants Of The Sun by J.A. Day
jadaybooks.com
Copyright © 2021 J.A. Day
Cover Art by Meli Kovacs.
Cover Art Copyright © 2021 Meli Kovacs
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by copyright law. For permissions contact [email protected]
In Memory of Emily Perugia
I'm Sure You're Having Fun In Paradise
Part One
New Pieces
THE BEST WAY TO CHANGE THINGS IS TO GET THE KING DRUNK AND FED. THEN YOU TELL HIM WHAT YOU NEED
‘Diary of the King’s Skald’ by Alf Beumers
Sigrun hadn't been invited to the feast but she attended anyway. This was the exclusive get together where all the important family members of the wagon train met. She had to be here to finally make a difference to her life.
A lowly cattle rancher like her was not meant to find this kind of party. The prominent son’s, daughters, nieces, and nephews, and grand-children of the three family Elders did not discuss important decisions with the lowly workers. They had tried to hide the feast well, but Sigrun had spent all evening checking the sides of wagons for any tell-tale runes, or searching in the darkening sky for any sign of a fire. Eventually she found the feast in a small square, made by a dozen or so wagons.
The guard, a tall man with long wavy hair and gaunt cheekbones, gave her a suspicious look. He clearly knew she wasn’t meant to be there because of her faded tunic with many holes in the fabric, and trousers with mud at the cuffs. Undeterred, Sigrun kept herself straight and strode up to the guard. “Sven Baldur said I was invited.”
“Oh yeah, he let any random woman with dirt on her trousers in?” the guard said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you just here to serve drinks, or are you the after-feast entertainment?”
Sigrun had been to enough parties to know what kind of entertainment the guard was talking about. She rolled her eyes, and acted annoyed – not hard with the way this man was behaving.
“You might want to watch what you say to me. If I tell Sven you have been rude you will be cleaning up horse shit for a week.”
“You’re clearly not meant to be here, lady. Run along,” the guard said, shooing her with his hand.
She stepped up to him, nose nearly touching his face. Her heart pounded, but she wasn’t afraid to be in a fight. In her teenage years Sigrun had taught herself how to brawl, and how to use a sword. Besides, the best way to prove that you were meant to be at this feast was to be annoyed at anyone blocking your way and to not back down if they did.
“Go get Sven, or we’ll see whose the lady,” she growled.
The guard stared at her for a moment, probably weighing up if a fight was worth it. He harrumphed, turned around, and disappeared behind the wagons. Sigrun smiled.
Now she had to hope that Sven Baldur recognized her, and agree to let her in.
Sven Baldur was the son of Gregor, who ran the farmers in the wagon train. Sven was tipped to lead everything when Gregor died, but he didn’t act like he was important. He liked to dance and drink with the common people. That was how Sigrun met him. A few weeks ago he was at a party, sat at a table. Sigrun sat opposite and introduced herself. It didn't take long for them to hit it off, and that night the conversation and drink flowed. Her memory of what exactly they talked about was fuzzy, but she did remember Sven told her to come see him sometime. She was going to use that promise right here and now to gain an invite to this feast.
The guard came back with Sven in tow. He had the black hair and thick arms that were common among the Baldur’s. His face was round and small. Sven always had a smile, but his eyes had a steely seriousness to them. He examined Sigrun.
She wanted to say something, try to plead why she should be let in. She might be a lowly cattle rancher that didn’t matter too much to the wagon train overall, but she was here to change that and prove to them that she could do more with her life. If they gave her a chance to lead or make decisions, they would find that the people under her would be more passionate about their jobs or the decisions would be better thought through. But she couldn't say any of that because it would reveal that she wasn’t really meant to be here. This would make it highly likely they would grab her and drag her back to the edges of the wagon train.
So inst
ead she gave the guard and Sven a hard and annoyed stare with her fierce eyes. She raised her strong jawline up, trying to appear like she was above them. “You told me I was invited.”
Sven tittered as he examined her, which didn’t seem good. Sigrun tensed up, ready to stand her ground if they tried to grab her. But to her surprise he said, “She’s invited,” and waved her through.
The guard was just as surprised, and he bowed an apology. But when Sigrun walked past he gave her one last narrow eyed stare, which she reciprocated.
The guard went completely out of her mind when she stepped into the square.
Smoke from the various bonfires filled Sigrun’s lungs. When she got past the haze she found the wagon train’s distinguished leaders sat at one long table. The men wore smart tunics, while the women wore flowing dresses. They both wore navy or green cloaks, fastened with silver brooches, family runes glittering in the firelight.
She strode towards the table. But the more she saw the fine clothes and noble manners and compared them to her faded tunic and drunken past the more unsure she became. Why did she think she could sit amongst these well dressed people and charm them enough to be granted a more important job? What could she say to them that they would be interested in or laugh at? All her knowledge was in herding cows and getting drunk. She was sure those subjects would go down well with people who have read books from different cultures, and knew things about the world or politics.
For a second she wanted to abandon her plan, turn around, and drink whiskey back at her wagon. But she chided that instinct. She was here to do something important with her life, to stop wasting it away by getting blind drunk every week.
To calm her nerves of having to meet and talk to her betters, she grabbed the long braid at the back of her blond hair and felt the contours of its knots. She had been taught how to tie the knots by her mother, and every time she touched them she was transported back to the lesson and her mother’s soothing voice. She had told Sigrun that she could do anything, if she worked at it.
A few young women carried plates with tankards of beer around the table. When Sigrun walked past she took two, wanting to feel confident when she talked to the important family members. She gulped half the bitter liquid down.
Sigrun sat at the middle of the table with Sven. The Baldurs around him gave her a curious glance. She drank some more, and dismissed the self conscious thoughts that told her she was not dressed properly for the occasion. She couldn’t do anything about how she was dressed – literally these were the best clothes she had in the wardrobe – but she could do something about the way she acted. And she was going to act as charming and as funny as she could.
“Sorry about the way I’m clothed, I slipped in the mud several times when coming here.”
There were a few titters from the Baldurs, and when Sven chuckled there seemed to be an air of relief and acceptance amongst the group.
Sigrun looked around the table to see who she could start a conversation with. Sven leant into his buddy's ear, whispering something. He wasn't the best way to start a conversation. The men next to her were shouting boisterously about whose farmers would harvest the most produce in the season. It wasn’t exactly a competition she could claim any participation in. She eyed a woman opposite in a gray dress who was talking with a young man.
The woman had black brushed back hair and hawk eyes. She was quite attractive in an austere and stern way. For a second Sigrun grinned at the thought of having sex with the daughter or niece of a Baldur, but she reminded herself that this wasn’t a normal party. Wasn’t she supposed to be done with meaningless sex?
She drank some more, and made sure to listen to what the gray dressed woman and the young man were talking about.
“Do you think the Mattsons will punish us by refusing us meat like they did Gregor and Yael?” the woman asked.
The young man, who had blond hair and a sharp nose, glanced down the table. “I don’t get why we still invite them. It’s not like Rita is going to appear.”
Sigrun followed the blond man’s gaze and sure enough at the end of the table sat a few Mattsons. She could tell by their distinctive red hair and freckles. The seats between their group and the Baldurs were empty, like either family wanted as much space between the other as possible.
So the rumors about a split between the Mattsons and Baldurs were true. She had heard people in previous parties talking about it, but details about what had happened and why were scant. This feast was the perfect place to get the real story, but outright asking would show Sigrun to be the outsider she was. The guests would know that she was not meant to be there and would probably ignore her for the rest of the evening. She had to try to get the answer more subtly.
“I’ve had many butchers convincing me to give them more of my cows,” she said loudly to the two sat opposite. “Are they trying to hoard all the meat or something?”
The woman in the gray dress glanced at her. “It’s for the weekly parties which Jarl Hannes is throwing. You have to have a feast every weekend, apparently.”
Ah so that was she had gone to more parties in the last few months than she had in her lifetime. The dances and feasts were usually an every month or season kind of thing, but ever since Hannes was named Jarl they had become a weekly occurrence.
The young blond man took a swig of his drink. “Gregor was furious when he found out how much food was being used. That was why he and Yael voted him out.”
Sigrun nodded, sipping her beer. She felt like she was only getting a bare summary of the politics in the wagon train. What the blond man said didn’t explain why the relationship between the Mattsons and the Baldurs was so frosty. But before she could ask for more details, the gray dressed woman turned back to her companion.
“So how are you going to be different from Hannes then?”
“By not pissing off your uncle for one,” the blond man said.
Clearly they were trying to ignore her, so Sigrun sat back and drank more of her beer.
She looked around the table for any more conversations to join. Every Baldur talked with their neighbor, and there didn’t appear to be any gaps she could fit her way in. At the Mattson end it looked quiet, but if she sat with them she would be making a political statement that would not be liked by most who attended this feast, including Sven. And she couldn’t jeopardize even the casual relationship she had with Sven, it had got her into this feast after all. At the other end of the table were men and women with the distinct chubby look of the Hoademakers, who ran the weavers and the handymen. Everyone sat prim and proper, and sipped their drinks. Their conversations weren’t as intense or unbreakable as the Baldurs, so Sigrun decided that she would walk over and see if she could get any more information about Hannes and the Elders, or even just a drinking buddy.
But as soon as Sigrun stood up, everyone at the table stood up as well. She was a little confused, but then saw two figures appear through the bonfire smoke. They were two of the most important Elders in the wagon train, progenitors of most of the people who sat around this table: Yael Hoademaker and Gregor Baldur.
Yael was thin and trim for someone in his family, though his face had the familiar Hoademaker chubbiness. He wore a black cloak that went down to his legs, and underneath the thinnest and finest tunic Sigrun had ever seen. He hobbled instead of walked, resting his hand on a long black cane, which had a silver spinning wheel on the top. Gregor was short, wide, and had thick muscular arms. He had a bushy black beard, which he twisted and knotted into braids. On his neck was a silver necklace with a pendant depicting a shining Sol.
The two Elders motioned for them to sit. As Sigrun did she drank several gulps of her beer. Her heart pounded like mad, and she felt a little sick. She had been prepared to meet important family members within the wagon train and talk to them, she hadn’t been prepared to meet two family Elders. One wrong word or a casual insult could be disastrous. She had heard rumors that if you were really disliked by the Elders you would be
exiled.
She felt another urge to run out of the square. Her brain buzzed, and the stars in the sky brightened and blurred across the sky. She had drunk too much already, which would increase the chances of making a fool of herself.
But how many times would she get an opportunity to meet and talk with the Elders? If anyone was going to give her a job where she could make decisions or make a difference it would definitely be them. If she could impress them her plan for tonight would have succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. She had to stay.
Yael hobbled towards the Mattson end of the table, while Gregor sat with the Hoademakers. The talk around Sigrun sounded louder and more excited. It appeared that the important family members had expected this visit to happen, talking about what they were going to say to impress the two Elders. From what Sigrun could gather, Yael and Gregor were going to decide on a very important matter, but the details of what eluded her.
At the Mattson end of the table, the talk with Yael didn’t go well. She couldn’t hear anything but the faces of the Mattsons had a look of disbelief or rage. Yael put up his hands to try to calm the situation down, but one Mattson shook his head and pushed himself up. Soon the others followed suit.
“You should be making amends with Hannes, not choosing someone else,” said the Mattson who had stood up.
Yael said something that Sigrun couldn’t hear. The Mattson didn’t find it persuasive. He shook his head again and stormed off. The others followed. Yael gave one last grimace their way, before pushing up from his cane and hobbling down the table.
The Hoademakers were usually known for trying to keep the peace within the wagon train. There was a big divide between the faithful side and the workers' side. The Mattsons hated the faith with a passion, but the Baldurs had always been close with the faith. They had been the first outside faith family to join the wagon train, but a lot of their members married or joined the faith down the years. However nowadays the farmers that the Baldurs led were starting to break away from that. The faith had become very preachy when it came to what they considered shadow, targeting the parties the people liked going to and shouting about the dangers of drinking, overeating, and having casual sex. No one seemed to like this more purity based direction. The Mattsons convinced the farmers to join them in protesting against the faith, but Gregor and his family still wouldn’t go against their old allies. So it was a surprise to see Elder Hoademaker, Yael, on the same side as Gregor in terms of going against the Mattsons. He usually liked to go with the direction that would cause the least resistance. What was he gaining from going against that instinct?