Maroboodus interrupted him. 'I did not say you would ask the gods,' he said, savagely. 'I said we will. Why would you be the one to do this? A simpering dog to Bero.'
Wulf swallowed in surprise, and shook his old head as he regarded Maroboodus. He cleared his throat as Maroboodus walked close, Father's caligae like a wolf's paws, dangerous and silent.
'You must not kill him!' said Euric, worried, but Father just nodded.
'If not I, who? Who shall speak with the gods?' Wulf insisted.
'I will,' said a familiar voice from the dark.
We saw Tear, followed by the scrawny, half-naked Odo, and it was like an evil vaettir was slithering after her. Ishild stiffened next to me, and I squeezed her cold hand. She smiled gratefully.
Tear had painted her face a frightening blue and black, and wore a hairy, wide cloak. She was hobbling closer to Wulf, who was bone white. Ishild slid closer to me, and I noticed Odo was glowering at me, his eyes strangely wet, his mouth a thin, cruel line on his bony face.
Maroboodus bowed to Tear, and the villagers were quiet. The Quadi were looking down. She was a völva, a woman who could seduce unwary men, move them with subtle words, twist their innocent hearts if she was an evil woman, and they feared this völva. It was a fact my father knew very well.
Tear glided closer, but Father stopped her with an upraised, steady hand.
'Come no closer, woman. I summoned you here, for you alone have the power to tell us what to do,' he bellowed fiercely, and Tear, her sibilant eyes rolling in her head, did stop.
Men backed off, terrified and impressed by Maroboodus.
Wulf gathered his faltering courage. 'It is a trick! I know—'
'Tricks. That is all you know,' Tear said hollowly, and smiled wickedly at Wulf.
'I have some power, witch!' Wulf said, rather more bravely than before, but his hands were shaking.
Tear's head swiveled towards him. 'Some, perhaps. Even lies have power. Let us see then. Face me and deny me. I am old, older than you, stronger than you, and hardened by trials, pain and gods. I know wicked spirits and the dead. I have worked for the good of this land for a long time. Never thanked, ever shunned. Yet I am here.'
Wulf trembled, but spoke, 'For the good of you, perhaps. No thanks come from that! You are naught but an old bitch who hates Bero. You know what happened. He failed, and you survived. You are a witch the evil gods use to further their own dangerous aims, and those of your strange son, a mad dog. I have watched you. You have ensnared the boy—'
She raised a finger, and he shut up, his tongue swelling in his mouth. 'Bero and I do have history. Your kind have hunted us cruelly for decades only for our beliefs, and I am done with you now.'
'Snared me, Ishild?' I asked the girl next to me, arching my eyebrow. 'Did she tell the Romans where Maroboodus would be?'
Ishild sighed gently. 'She did not, for she needs you. She would not risk your life. They knew already. You know this,' she said in a small voice. 'Mother made another agreement with the fat Roman.'
I spat. 'What deal, I wonder. I know what she wants, but what will she give?'
Ishild wrinkled her face at me. 'She will not hurt you, no matter what she will do for the Romans. And perhaps she breaks that agreement, for now she is allied to your family.'
I nodded. 'I will get it all out of the fat Roman one day, and if I find out she…'
Ishild hissed impatiently for me to be silent.
Wulf was staring fixedly at the völva, and she was staring right back across the fire, looking like a hunting beast, and all could sense there was a savage, invisible fight going on between the two. It was neither a fight of wise words nor mighty strength of arms. It was a matter of keen minds and deep knowledge, and there was no real competition. We could all see Wulf was sweating like a pig at a butcher's corral, scared to the bone marrow, and we looked at him in silent surprise and disgust.
Finally, Tear smiled a crooked smile at the old man, a yellowed snake slithering around her scrawny neck, down her chest to her hand. She caressed its flat head.
Wulf stared at the weird spectacle. He fidgeted with the bright bracelet of the law speaker, one taken from dead Hulderic, and ever so slowly, he slipped off his bony wrist and dropped it forlornly in front of him to the dust.
Tear laughed shrilly in derision.
Odo pointed a finger at the old man. 'There, your vitka. I smell his fear, he shakes. No man like that can advise you.'
Wulf said nothing to Odo, but his scared, animal-like eyes darted around.
'So, the völva bewitched me, and forced me to her will! Seidr magic, women's magic! You will follow her and her filthy puppet then! I am done here, die with them, if you will!' he screamed at the scared villagers.
Tear was smiling thinly at the warriors, who looked at her in suspicion. She laughed. 'Ah, seidr. Yes, I know this magic. However, if I would like to bewitch a fine man as I occasionally do, it would not be a bony and ugly rat-faced creature. No, cowards ever have plenty of excuses,' she said languidly as an old cat.
Men were laughing softly, and Wulf jerked at the sound as if physically hit.
'Does any man trust the witch? Is she to be trusted?' Wulf was saying, putting in one final effort and looking around.
I opened my mouth. She had offered help to Rome, to a treacherous Vangione, and I did not trust her. She glanced at me, as if reminding me I had chosen to stay, and she had warned me. I gathered courage to speak anyway. Wulf dropped the sticks and stones, the runes he had been holding, backing off from us, looking like a feral dog. I closed my mouth.
She had said she would help me. But would she? Would I want her to? I was indecisive, the waters were murky. I was confused, and Ishild squeezed my arm possessively. I let her though I felt like a puppet, and I often wondered if they did indeed possess some form of magic to sway fools.
Tear looked around, smiled, and stared at the heap of the fallen runes and sticks. She kneeled stiffly before them. Soon, the snake in her hand tasted each dropped rune, and when she was done, she then straightened and her eyes, showing whites only, shone unholy light. People looked at her in wonder. Her arm rose, the pale palm turned to the heavens, and the scrawny elbow bent with a loud crack. It looked broken, a familiar sight from the day I met her.
People's faces were white; they were afraid beyond understanding.
'She is spirit-taken, eh?' Wandal said, wondering at the sight.
Ishild shuddered. 'It all begins now.'
I saw Tear open her mouth. No voice came out at first, but then she emitted a shriek of unholy intensity as she pointed at Wulf.
Her voice was manly, deep, and reverberating. 'The gods speak; indeed they speak. The vitka is false, wrong as a song from the lips of a corpse. See this man, and his true masters, reunited here today. Those masters are to blame for the pyre still burning! See him meet the feathers of a crow!'
'Lies, she sees nothing,' Wulf shrieked.
Then Maroboodus's scouts rode wildly from the deep woods, and after them, a hundred men on horses.
There was a standard looming from the dark, one of crow wings under a skull, and a fat-lipped man held it. A large warrior with a huge, dark shield came next, his bald head shimmering with sweat, his brutal face squinting at us hungrily.
Maroboodus and his men shuffled to a shield wall, and faced the strong bodyguard of Bero and Balderich, the best and largest men of the Marcomanni, all killers, for the standard was Bero’s.
The Quadi reluctantly formed with Maroboodus, our shield wall was strong, but not as strong as the force facing us.
The riders came carefully closer, and Maroboodus grunted, strode to Wulf, grabbed him by his thin neck and pushed him savagely forward.
'Go to your master, dog. Leuthard!' Father yelled.
'Lord?' the bald-headed man answered, as if awakened from a dream. Leuthard was a famous warlord, a man who had once broken two thick shield walls on the same day. He was Bero's champion and commander of his bodyguards. There
were rumors of him, and some said he was not a man.
'Take this dog, and give him to your simpering master,' Maroboodus growled as Wulf went forward, uncertainly.
The standard bearer cleared his throat, as if the upset Maroboodus had assumed Leuthard to be in command. 'I am Catualda, Bero's son.'
'Whelp,' Maroboodus said casually, men laughed. 'Where are the men of Hulderic, my father's oathsmen from the surrounding villages?'
Catualda grinned jubilantly. 'Gone. Joined Bero, died in the woods. Vangiones, you know.'
Maroboodus laughed. 'Catualda, tell your father I will come to Hard Hill for the great Thing of Drimilchi. Know this, boy, I do not come to pay a bloody wergild for any imagined crime. I will come to get deserved justice for many wrongs done. And I won't take a wergild either. Insults on me and the innocent blood that was shed here for your father's treason.'
Catualda looked Father in the eye and slowly nodded, glancing at Wulf who was shuffling for a horse, his eyes sweeping the stirring Quadi army on the other bank and the standard of Tudrus. Catualda's riders were uncomfortable and whispering to each other urgently, and so had Father sown the seed that would spread amidst the Marcomanni.
The villagers watched Tear. Wulf had indeed met Bero's men here, not a moment after she made the augury.
Bero's wary son finally nodded. 'I will. We will prepare your grave-mound, Lord. What would you have the men attending your fine funeral feast eat?'
'Those men have not even been born yet, boy,' Maroboodus said.
Bero's men retreated, slowly, angrily. I saw Leuthard arguing, for they were many, their men careless and strong. But they dared not challenge the Quadi and risk war with the tribe.
Catualda shook his head stubbornly, a leader of men nearly at my age. I envied him greatly.
'Come then, Maroboodus. We will prepare for you,' he yelled, but waited as some of the villagers left after them, observing Maroboodus uncertainly.
Father nodded at them, apparently not holding a grudge, and I knew these people would go and tell the story of Maroboodus, of his mighty heroics and bitter tears, and of the great seer who supported him.
Maroboodus turned, and went to his knee before Tear. 'You were right, old one, as you should be. I will serve the good of the Marcomanni, and serve all the loyal Germani as well, if you help me get vengeance for my lost, beautiful and honorable wife, and slain father.'
Tear looked down at him, shuddering as she took the bracelet of the law speaker from the ground. 'Will you, Maroboodus, purge the Marcomanni from the filth of the false men who have made putrid this great tribe? The gods will aid you, if you so swear!'
'I so swear,' Maroboodus rumbled, and people cheered.
Tear touched his shoulder approvingly, and gave him the silver bracelet.
They shouted, made oaths, and then prepared to go to help the Quadi in their wars. Catualda, Bero's son, and his mighty men looked on at the mighty ritual of a stricken lord kneeling before a mighty völva. Such a sight would spawn poems and songs, and we all knew Father's fame would start to grow.
In one month, Maroboodus and his men would be back, if they lived, and Maroboodus would be a lord or a corpse.
'Hraban! Get ready. Nihta will tell you what to do,' Maroboodus yelled at me as he got up.
Wandal turned on me, surprised. 'Ready for what? Eh?'
Ishild held my hand, and my friends frowned at her.
I swallowed. 'I will go to Hard Hill. Gernot and you go to war.'
Tudrus the Younger appeared and clapped my shoulder. 'Take care then, Bear Ass. My brothers and I hope you cast aside your gloom, so you won't die for nothing.'
I shook my head. 'I swear by Woden and Tiw I shall have vengeance on Vago, his family, and any man who killed Hagano. I have nothing else.' Even the loss of Hulderic's gear was still heavy on me as I looked at the river and the burning pyre, and I did indeed feel gloomy and morose.
Tudrus the Younger spat but placed a hand on my shoulder. 'Fine oath. Yet, it is best to concoct a plan that gives you a chance to swill fine mead and laugh in mockery at your dead foe after taking such vengeance. You are ill-fated. Dangerous to you, and your friends.'
'I plan,' I said, 'as best I can. I am bound to my father even if he is a piece of shit.'
The Quadi shook his head. 'He seems a great lord, but he uses you like he would a dog.'
'Perhaps he has plans, and I should trust them,' I said, with little conviction, squeezing his hand, at peace with our old foe, and we smiled.
Wandal kneeled before me. 'For Hulderic, Ansbor's father and Hagano, and your gentle mother, I swear, Hraban, to help you and serve you, if you will have me, eh?'
I stared at him. Ansbor, taciturn, grunted accordance and kneeled.
Ishild smiled benevolently at them. They were my best friends, but now, they were making promises beyond friendship. I nodded, and we hugged. I noticed Ansigar eyeing us, uncertainty playing on his face, but he did not step forward. I regretted the words I said to him, but I could not remedy them then.
Tudrus looked at us, moved by our oaths. 'I swear on my side, Hraban, to help you, though not to serve you as long as we have a home. I am a Quadi, after all. But make sure you plan well, fool, and do not die a fool to the causes that are unworthy.'
I nodded at his words as Nihta came and grabbed my shoulder. 'Come, boy. We cross the damned river, and take a short roundabout to your grandfather. Say your farewells.'
Ishild turned me and stepped close. She gazed at me, and I gazed down at her uncertainly, but what she intended became clear as she kissed me painfully hard before the disbelieving eyes of my friends.
I hesitated, terrified at the immorality of the act, but finally enjoyed their looks and envy. I saw Ansigar in the dark, his face disappointed and dark. When I parted from her, there were bright tears in her eyes. I did not understand that. Perhaps I did not understand her, or even women, which was the most likely truth. Gods curse, but I had a hunch I did not love her, no matter her fine looks, a willing lover or not. She was utterly strange, unlike the sensible woman I always thought I would marry. She was too desperate, too intense, and I thought laughing with her would be rare, sharing stories of mutual interest an unlikely dream. I wanted a woman I could laugh with.
Nihta pulled me away towards a horse. I grinned at my friends, and after they were gone, I felt regret. I had not wished them luck on their terrible, upcoming war.
Before we left, Nihta led me to the riverbank, where Maroboodus stood in his war-glory.
He inspected me. 'Hraban. You were upset with the gear I let go of. Even you must understand a lord must seem generous, especially towards the gods. You spat and wanted to attack me, your oath lord. I wonder if it is safe to let you go to Hard Hill, after all.'
'It is not safe. I'd rather go to war instead, where I might replace the heritance promised to me, by war and loot. Those items were mine.' I was sour, and felt like spitting at him, but turned my head aside to spit on the ground.
Nihta shivered, and I should have been afraid, but I was too disappointed.
He sat on the horse, apparently mulling over his plans, and my part in them. Finally, he roused himself. 'It seems there are many things you are upset over, too many for your own good. You do not understand these are things Hulderic was in no place to promise you, for they are mine by right. Yet, I doubt you will see the wisdom in these words. Therefore, I shall make a private sacrifice for my own success, one that none else see but you. I would have done so in any case, to beg success for my delicate plans, and such plans need great gift for the gods.'
I was afraid for a moment, cold wind whipping my hair around, and I gave Nihta a quick glance, but he was sitting calmly on his horse, never moving.
Maroboodus smiled at that. 'I will give them something precious, boy, not you.' He pulled Head Taker out of his belt and raised it above his head. I stared at him, incredulous. 'Gods! See this, not a show to please the fools. It is a blade my enemy Bero fears, one he is terrif
ied of. It is Maino's bane, and my father's blade, a blade with a history of corpse-making through the ages. Now, it is yours in the corpse halls. Give it back to Father, so he might properly battle our enemies.' With that, he flung the blade away to the river.
By the time Nihta let go of me, Father was long gone. I do not exactly remember the names I called him, but apparently they were not extraordinarily terrible, for I still lived. I might have just been screaming in rage, like an angry vaettir in the nightly woods.
Nihta took me forward, where Odo's eyes greeted me with vehemence. His snakelike face swiveled towards Ishild and then me, and so, he became my enemy.
It had not been a good evening.
PART II: THE BEAR ON THE BURNING HILL
'However, tell me, Hraban, if he does not believe himself your true father, is not such an oath void? Why serve a father who does not wish to be one?'
(Bero to Hraban.)
CHAPTER VII
B y morning, we were raiding free to west along the clear Moenus River, in the disputed lands Matticati and Chatti claimed, as did the stubborn Quadi. We were very careful. Nihta was busy scouting around us, though my thoughts dwelled on the things I had lost. My family, the fine, ancient items worth many lives of men. Yet, Nihta's service was skillful as he made sure to guide us ways that were clear and safe in a well-populated bank of the river. Few noticed us, not even the people we called allies.
The sun had been out in the morning, but now, heavy, gray banks of aggressive clouds brought seemingly incessant rain, and soaked our poor skins with cold misery. Our horses were packed with some simple food, now wet clothes, and our few weapons. Curiously, I turned to Odo every now and then, but he was ignoring me.
I pulled at the nag they had given me and rode next to him. 'Father told me I would have to obey you.'
He was quiet for a long time, so long I thought he might be mad or his spirit some place far away, but then he spoke raspingly, 'Indeed. As far as I know, you will have one thing to do. Only one. We shall see, one way or the other.' His gaunt face was stretched as he grimaced my way unpleasantly. 'The scroll or a great sacrifice will give us the truth.'
The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1) Page 16