A Mighty Dawn

by Theodore Brun

  ‘I’m old enough to draw a sword and give you a taste of it.’

  The seidman only laughed harder.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ Kai’s voice was drowsy, his sword still sheathed, almost forgotten.

  ‘I laugh because you’re much bolder than you are able. In a moment, you will draw your sword, but you’ll be unable to lift it any better than your beloved baby sister. Is that all you are, friend? A big baby?’

  ‘You dog!’ cried Kai, seizing his hilt at last. But it was all he could do to unsheathe it. The point hit the ground like lead. Puffing and straining, Kai heaved it up, then took a swing. The blade arced lazily over his shoulder and hit the snow with a thud. The seidman skipped aside, laughing. ‘A brave effort, lad! And again!’ Kai tried a second time, boiling with frustration, but with the same result.

  Erlan watched the two of them as through a dream. He wanted to move, but somehow his will felt as leaden as Kai’s sword. Eventually, he managed to force his hand onto Wrathling’s hilt.

  ‘No, no, friend,’ said the seidman, seeing his move. ‘Before that, first heed my warning.’

  ‘What warning?’ His tongue felt thick and slow.

  ‘Beware my friends.’

  ‘What friends?’

  ‘Why – the spirits of the dead! They are all around us!’

  ‘Your talk won’t fool me, seidman.’

  ‘No fooling,’ cried the other, dodging another cumbersome blow from Kai. ‘The dead are here. And far stronger than you, I promise.’

  ‘Lies.’ Erlan’s fingers tightened. ‘Just lies.’

  ‘You don’t believe me!’ The seidman laughed wildly. ‘Then I’ll prove it. When you go to draw your sword, you’ll find it stuck fast. The dead will stay your hand.’

  Goaded by his taunts, Erlan tried to draw his blade. But however hard he tugged, the thing wouldn’t shift.

  ‘Heeheehee!’ giggled the seidman, prancing about with glee. ‘See – the dead are my friends! They always protect me!’

  ‘What witchcraft is this, fiend?’

  ‘Now, now – no need for such names.’ Kai lunged again, while Erlan wrestled on, but to no avail. The seidman hopped aside, unharmed.

  ‘A baby like you shouldn’t be fighting at all,’ he crowed.

  ‘I’ll show you baby!’

  ‘You’re a game little fellow, I’ll give you that. All the same, I could knock you out with barely a touch.’

  ‘I’m tougher than you think, old dog!’

  ‘That so?’ The seidman fell back a step. ‘I warn you – soon as I touch you, you’ll drop senseless.’

  Kai bellowed his defiance, mustering the last of his strength for a killing blow. His sword wheeled, sluggish as ever, but before he could swing it any further, the seidman darted forward and struck him on his back. It was the lightest of touches, but Kai toppled like a felled tree into the snow, out cold.

  ‘Wretch!’ cried Erlan. ‘I’ll snap your neck with my bare hands.’

  ‘My dull-witted friend – I don’t want to fight you. And I won’t. All I need do is tap this drum and your feet will be stuck fast as your sword. Heeheeee! My friends will bind you tighter than Fenrir’s leash!’

  Erlan squared up, ready to grapple the strange little man, who stood completely still, the nose of his dog mask sniffing the air. But the moment Erlan moved, the seidman struck his drum. When he went for another step, his feet stuck fast. He pulled and wrenched in a frenzy of frustration, but he couldn’t budge an inch.

  ‘Didn’t I warn you?’ jeered the dog-face, hopping around, poking him with his stick. ‘Some warrior you are! Outwitted and outfought by an old man! I told you,’ he squawked gleefully. ‘The spirits of the hanged always help me.’

  ‘This is damned sorcery!’ shouted Erlan, furious at his helplessness.

  ‘’Tis the play of children! No more.’

  ‘I swear we’ll make you sorry.’

  ‘Will you?’ The voice darkened. ‘And how will you do that? I have power over you of which you know nothing at all.’

  Erlan lunged for him, but immediately fell over, feet stuck fast.

  ‘A man should know when he’s beaten.’ The seidman gave him another jab in the ribs, this time hard enough to hurt.

  ‘Ow!’ exclaimed Erlan.

  ‘See, your friend.’ The seidman poked his staff at the prostrate figure of Kai, still lying unconscious. ‘You do see him, don’t you?’

  ‘’Course I fucking see him.’

  ‘What if I could send him to the blackest caverns of Helheim, simply with the tap of a drum?’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ said Erlan, scornfully.

  ‘Maybe. . . And maybe I’m telling the truth. Even so, when I hit this drum, you won’t see your friend any more.’

  Without delay, the seidman struck his drum, and Erlan nearly fell over a second time. Kai had vanished.

  ‘Where’s he gone?’ he yelled. ‘What have you done with him?’

  ‘I told you. The boy is languishing in the halls of the dead. I don’t imagine he much likes it there.’

  ‘Bring him back, wretch.’

  ‘I can,’ snapped the seidman. ‘But I won’t. Not till I have your word you won’t try to harm me again.’ He chuckled. ‘Believe it or not, I’ve no interest in killing you or your fierce young friend.’

  ‘Swear you’ll bring him back first.’

  ‘You have my word. . . now give me yours.’

  ‘Very well. You have it. Bring him back, and we’ll leave you in peace. I swear it.’

  The dog mask twitched side to side. Erlan could see the bright eyes within, weighing him up. ‘All right – I believe you. It’s a simple thing. Another tap of the drum and you’ll see him again.’

  He did it. And there was Kai, just as he had been. Erlan tried to go to him, but he was still stuck. ‘Aha!’ laughed the seidman. ‘Time for the spirits to be on their way.’ He snapped his fingers and hissed, ‘Release!’

  Erlan fell to his knees, his feet finally free. His mind felt lighter too. Suddenly clear. He hurried to Kai.

  ‘Don’t fret yourself. He’s only asleep.’

  And so he was. Erlan roused him. The boy awoke with a confused look. ‘What just happened?’

  ‘I. . . I have no idea.’

  ‘A small encounter with the other worlds,’ declared the seidman. ‘Unless I miss my guess, you were seeking some excitement – weren’t you, youngling? For you,’ he added, handing Erlan the torch. With a quick movement, he removed his mask.

  He was old. Old as the forest, it seemed, though his features were sharp as a hawk’s. The skin of his cheeks was taut and cracked like old leather and his eyes were ringed with hard living.

  Kai eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘My name is Grimnar.’ He fixed Kai with a warm smile. ‘I’m sorry about your sister. Truly. . . It was not I who was responsible for her death. Now you must be hungry, youngling. I have food and shelter not far from here. I’m not well-practised at hosting, but you’re welcome for the night. Do you accept?’

  The companions exchanged glances. Kai gave the slightest shake of his head.

  ‘A watchful fellow, aren’t you? But you’ve nothing to fear.’

  ‘We accept then,’ said Erlan. Kai scowled.

  ‘Excellent,’ croaked Grimnar. ‘Then follow me.’

  It was long past midnight when they sat in darkness in Grimnar’s hovel, listening to the click-click of flint striking steel. Outside, the horses waited in the shelter of a vast slab of granite spewed out of the earth, under which Grimnar had built his dwelling.

  Sparks burst like tiny stars onto a char-cloth, and the tinder caught. In moments, fire illumined the hut. The first wreath of smoke curled up through the turf-roof.

  Erlan looked about. The earthen floor was empty, apart from a few pots and a pile of furs in the corner. But what drew his eye were the masks on the wall, each a different animal. Wolf, deer, eagle, raven. Besides these, two crooked switches of ash. The place smelled o
f earth and sweat and smoke.

  ‘Not always a dog?’ Erlan gestured at the masks.

  ‘Depends where I wish to go.’ Grimnar gave him a crafty look and threw off his bearskin onto the pile of furs.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘There are more ways a man may fare through this world than by walking on his legs.’

  ‘Shape-shifting?’ murmured Kai.

  Grimnar gave a ringing laugh. ‘You have much to learn, both of you! Now, let’s see what we have.’

  He ducked out for a few moments, only to reappear shortly with a wood pigeon in each hand, plucked from the dead menagerie he had hanging from the branches of a withered old oak tree outside.

  ‘These should keep you happy.’

  Grimnar went to the corner to prepare them. Kai leaned over and whispered, ‘Guess a pigeon’s better than one of them rotten old stoats.’

  ‘So what do they call you?’

  ‘I am Erlan. This here is Kai Askarsson.’

  ‘Just Erlan?’ A ghost of a smile. ‘Don’t you have a father?’

  ‘Every man has a father. Not every man chooses to bear his name.’

  Grimnar stopped his cutting and shot Erlan a curious look. ‘Where are you from?’

  When Erlan didn’t answer, Kai spoke up. ‘Not far from here, from—’

  ‘Oh, I know where you’re from.’ The corner of the old seidman’s mouth gave a complacent flicker. ‘Tyrstorp, on the shore of the Lake of Two Forests.’

  ‘How . . . ?’ Kai shook his head. ‘But how can you know?’

  ‘More witchcraft?’ suggested Erlan.

  Grimnar snorted. ‘It’s simple enough. Your blond hair and speech mark you for a Gotar. You have the wide mouth of many folk who dwell around the shores of that lake – kinsfolk, no doubt. You still carry the stench of fish on you – though here we are in the middle of a forest – so your home must be a fishing community not far from here. The sword you wield so expertly has an unusually shallow point – a style crafted only by a pair of brother smiths who dwell on the lake. The older makes his hilts of ash. The younger, of oak. The younger dwells at Tyrstorp. . . Your hilt is of oak.’

  ‘His name is Ketil,’ said Kai, eyes wide with admiration. ‘Do I really stink that bad?’

  Erlan laughed and gave Kai a friendly kick. ‘No worse than the rest of us.’ He nodded at Grimnar. ‘For a man who lives alone in the forest, you’re uncommon well-informed.’

  Grimnar shrugged. ‘One has only to listen. And to look.’

  ‘And me?’

  Grimnar looked long at the stranger. ‘You. . . You do not want to be read. So I will not.’

  ‘Huh!’ shrugged Erlan. ‘Indeed, nor will I tell. To do so would break a vow.’

  ‘An intriguing guest then, as I thought.’ The seidman smiled to himself. He had finished preparing the birds and came to the fire where a pot of water was already boiling. He tossed in the meat and began to drop in different herbs.

  ‘Well, stranger, speak of what you can. Where are you headed?’

  ‘We ride to the court of King Sviggar.’

  ‘Sviggar,’ he repeated. ‘And what do you know of this king?’ Erlan thought there was a trace of mockery in his voice.

  ‘Not much, I grant you. In truth, Kai knows a sight more than I.’

  Kai nodded, but said nothing, his eyes intent on what was going in the pot.

  ‘So tell me.’

  Erlan sniffed. ‘He’s a great king. The greatest in all of the northern lands, the way this one tells it. He commands unrivalled power in men and gold.’

  ‘Indeed, he has been a great king,’ Grimnar agreed. ‘Is a great king.’ He chuckled. ‘But will he be a great king in time to come? Who can tell?’

  ‘It sounds like his luck is good enough. And if his hall is half as grand as its renown, he must need men who can wield a sword.’

  Suddenly, Kai snatched Grimnar’s wrist. ‘What’s that, old man?’

  ‘This?’ Grimnar held up the sprig of herbs he’d been about to toss into the stew. ‘Why, it’s good. Better when fresh, but still good enough if you dry it out. I call it Frey’s Fern.’

  ‘I’ve never seen it. I’ll bet it’s poisonous.’

  ‘Ha! You are a good watchdog, aren’t you? Still don’t trust me?’

  ‘For all I know you plan to murder us, slit our bellies, and read our entrails, or some such devilry.’

  ‘What an imagination you have!’ the seidman laughed. ‘No – this is quite safe. And rare. It only grows after a warm spring in the sunny parts of the forest where the soil is dry. Try some.’ He held out the sprig.

  ‘Not likely.’ Kai folded his arms.

  Grimnar shook his head. ‘Very well, I shall eat it.’

  So he did, popping the sprig in his mouth and chewing with the few teeth he had left. ‘Delicious.’ He held out another. After a time, Kai conceded, took it, and very doubtfully put it in his mouth. He chewed a few times, eyes fixed on Grimnar, then swallowed.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Not bad. . .’ nodded the boy. ‘Not bad at all.’

  Grimnar suddenly burst out laughing and slapped him on the back. ‘Come, young wanderer, what do you think of me? We’re all friends! Even if some of us must keep their secrets.’ He tipped his head at Erlan.

  His laughter faded and for a while the only sound was the bubbling of the pot.

  ‘What do you know of this king then?’ asked Erlan.

  ‘What do I know? That is the question. . .’ He took a long spoon and stirred the pot. ‘What I know I haven’t learned from the mouths of men,’ he began. ‘The forest is alive with talk. Wood spirits, lake spirits. . . They carry long memories of the past, of things that even those with the far-sight have never known. And the chatter of the birds and beasts of the forest seldom ceases.’

  ‘What do they speak of?’

  ‘They call to one another of what they’ve seen – of tidings from afar – beyond the forest into the realm of this great king, and further still.’

  ‘What do they tell of Sveäland?’

  Grimnar sighed. ‘For many moons, I’ve heard rumours of an enemy that troubles the old king. They say it cannot be seen nor heard. Folk disappear. Murders abound. His kingdom is awash with bodies slaughtered. And none knows why. Fear feeds on the hearts of his people. But what can he do?’ There was a mischievous twinkle in the old man’s eye. ‘A man cannot fight an enemy no one has seen.’

  ‘It’s not a rival lord? Or raiding parties come by stealth?’

  ‘Neither,’ replied the old mystic. ‘In truth, far worse. This much I’ve learned from the forest voices: it is an ancient enemy of mankind, which chooses to make itself known once more. They have many names. Earth-dwellers. . . the shadowfolk. . .’

  ‘Where are they from?’

  ‘From?’ Grimnar grimaced. ‘They dwell in the dark places now, but it was not always so. They worshipped savage gods who knew nothing of honour. Nothing of simple blessings like the good sun or a woman’s kiss. Their gods were the great spirits of death and greed and deceit and all kinds of wickedness. But most men would not follow them. Only those who wanted this power for themselves, or those enthralled by it.’ He stirred his spoon in the pot, as if stirring his own thoughts. ‘Those who did changed. They began to become what they worshipped, feeding off the weak. Creating nothing, devouring everything. Wanting only to absorb whatever was weaker into themselves. Where they saw beauty, they wanted to despoil it. Courage and honesty they mocked. Mirth and kinship were the vilest of things to them. They were bound to one another only by chains of power: master to slave. They learned how to enthral the cruellest of nature, and became so disfigured in their corruption that they took to hiding from the light.’

  ‘But then. . . are they men?’ asked Erlan.

  ‘Of a kind – aye. Yet not like any you’ve known. But they are remembered all the same – in old stories of old times.’

  ‘I’ve heard no tale like that,’ said Kai. ‘Nor any songs of thes
e. . . what did you call them? Earth-dwellers?’

  ‘Oh, but you have,’ smiled Grimnar. ‘I’ll stake my head you heard of them on your mother’s knee. Though she would have called them the darklings.’

  Erlan burst out laughing. ‘Darklings! You are joking!’

  ‘Why would I joke?’

  ‘But those are just stories to scare little bairns who know no better,’ joined Kai. ‘Even they don’t believe ’em long.’

  ‘Aye – old yarns about dripping teeth and snatching claws,’ agreed Erlan. ‘Monsters that’ll eat you up if you don’t do what your nurse says. No one’s ever seen one.’

  Grimnar’s impish eyes hardened. ‘And you two have such wide knowledge of the world, I suppose?’

  ‘Enough to know a tall tale.’

  ‘Ha! You may as well be fresh from your mothers’ bellies, the pair of you! So answer me this, my world-wise friends: where is the lightning born? What sorrows do the ancient rocks lament? What seed raised Yggdrasil to life? How old is the moon? How many are the stars? What dwells in the deepest caverns, or soars above the highest peak?’ The mystic’s questions fired like a volley of arrows. ‘Who birthed the gods, or built the black halls of death? Tell me – I’m listening!’

  But Erlan and his friend sat dumb as oxen.

  ‘Come, friends – what is your answer?’ demanded Grimnar, snappishly.

  Erlan sniffed. ‘Of course, we have none.’

  ‘Of course. Then who are you to say what is, and what is not?’ The seidman grinned sourly. ‘No one has seen a darkling, you say. Perhaps not – in living memory. But a man would be wise to fear them, all the same. Men are no strangers to evil, to be sure. But a man’s evil is his weakness – aye, even if it serves him well. The evil of the darklings. . . it is what they are, and nothing else.’

  ‘What you say may be true, but it is a hard thing to believe.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  Silence lingered between them.

  ‘You tell a good tale, old man,’ said Kai, at length. ‘True or not, we’ve learned one thing: King Sviggar wouldn’t turn away a willing sword or two.’

  ‘Likely he’d welcome you. If he trusts you.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he?’ asked Erlan.