Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  “Indeed,” said Mothi.

  Behind us, two sets of boots started crunching into the snow. “Oh, look, Sif, there’s Kutltohper!” said Yowrnsaxa, pointing at the palomino mare standing next to Slaypnir. Kutltohper’s mane was mostly white, but a bright blonde tuft hung forward on her forehead. “She is so pretty.”

  “Prettier than both of you,” grumped Meuhlnir.

  “Of course, Mother Yowrnsaxa. I brought Falhoefnir, as well,” said Mothi.

  “Now, wait just a minute!” said Meuhlnir standing in the doorway. His voice was hard and angry. “I’ve not given you two permission to join us. I don’t think we could carry enough food to keep you two fat and happy.”

  I looked at Slaypnir and put my hand out to be sniffed, suddenly feeling like I had as a child the first time my parents argued in front of me.

  “Did you know, Hank, that in our culture, a woman may divorce her husband just by telling him so?” said Sif, coming over to pat Slaypnir’s flank.

  “Indeed,” said Yowrnsaxa from behind me. “Maybe we’d be better married to a man from your klith.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, but I felt a blush creeping up my face.

  Mothi saved me. “Now, Mothers, we all know—except for Hank, maybe—that you are flyting with father and that, indeed, you have won, though he doesn’t seem to know that. All this talk of divorce is about as real as a two-headed bear. You three are as bad as you claim Father and I are, Mother Yowrnsaxa.”

  “That reminds me of a story—” started Meuhlnir.

  “Now, Father,” he said, talking over him, “you know, I know, and they certainly know, that both of my mothers will be coming along. The only question is how uncomfortable the first day’s ride will be—how long my mothers will insist on telling me things to pass on to you when you are standing right there. That, and how long it will take you to realize they’ve beaten you again.”

  “Mothi, tell your father to get his things,” said Sif, as if they’d planned the timing.

  Mothi rolled his eyes but grinned at me. “You see?”

  “What is flyting?” I asked.

  “A traditional exchange of insults—most of the time, all in fun, though it can be serious,” said Sif.

  “Deadly,” said Yowrnsaxa with a nod.

  “Should a man ever marry and have children? Might as well ask if trees can walk,” muttered Meuhlnir as he turned back inside the cabin and grabbed his pack.

  “Mothi, tell your father not to mutter. We have company,” said Yowrnsaxa.

  Meuhlnir laughed, and like the key log in a log jam, his laugh let all the tension out of the argument. The atmosphere seemed to be about two hundred pounds lighter. “I can never beat these two at flyting,” said Meuhlnir with a wink in my direction.

  “Now, that you’ve given Slaypnir to Hank, what horse is left for my old rump?” asked Meuhlnir, looking at the pack of horses with a critical eye.

  “I can ride another,” I said.

  “Don’t be silly, Hank,” said Sif. “Meuhlnir is just feeling cranky and difficult this morning.”

  “Mothi, tell Mother Sif that I am still her husband, and I have a back to both hands.” Though his voice seemed hard, Meuhlnir had a huge grin on his face.

  Mothi just rolled his eyes. “As if you could take her,” he said.

  “If Yowrnsaxa didn’t help, I could,” said Meuhlnir.

  “No, you couldn’t,” said Yowrnsaxa. “Everyone knows this except you. And anyway, what makes you think I wouldn’t join in and give your old rump a proper kicking?”

  It all had the feeling of well-rehearsed burlesque.

  “Sif could do that on her own,” said Meuhlnir, “but two are better than one, I think.”

  “Anyway,” said Mothi, a trifle too loud. “You can have your pick from these four horses here, Father.” He pointed to four horses that where standing in a small knot. “Lyettfeti, Keesl, Klader, or Sinir.”

  “I suppose your Mother Yowrnsaxa is insisting she ride Falhoefnir?” asked Meuhlnir, looking at a pretty black and white mare with shaggy white hair covering her hooves, like Slaypnir’s.

  “As if you would ever ride a mare,” muttered Yowrnsaxa. She walked over to Falhoefnir and patted her withers. “She likes me better anyway.”

  Meuhlnir scoffed. “I see I will not have any choices on this trip,” he grumped. “I suppose I will ride Sinir here.” He put his pack behind the saddle of a black stallion. “I see that you again left Ploetughoefi, denying me the pleasure of riding a horse with a little vim.”

  Mothi rolled his eyes. “Are you losing your mind, old man? You told me to loan old Bloody-hoof to Veethar over a year ago.”

  “And? You couldn’t bring him anyway?”

  Mothi grinned and shook his head. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Might as well ask what makes music good.”

  “Oh, so everything?” grunted Sif and they all laughed.

  “Don’t take any of this seriously, Hank,” said Yowrnsaxa when she saw I wasn’t laughing.

  “I’m not,” I said past the lump in my throat. “This reminds me of my family.” The two women looked at me with sympathy, while father and son looked anywhere else but at me. If you can be sure of any one talent I am gifted with, it is the talent for killing the mood.

  “Well,” said Meuhlnir. “Time waits for no man.” He lashed his pack on behind Sinir’s saddle and swung himself up.

  “Watching you mount a horse is like…” said Mothi.

  “Watching a dancer?”

  “A dancer falling down,” laughed Sif.

  “More like watching a Tverkr walk on ice,” said Yowrnsaxa.

  “Ah! You think I’m graceful under pressure then. Why not just say so?” asked Meuhlnir with a wink in my direction.

  The others mounted, and I climbed on to Slaypnir’s back. He tossed his head and snorted as if to remind me who was in charge out of the two of us.

  “This is a picture to remember,” said Meuhlnir. “The intrepid adventurers sit their horses in preparation to set out. It’s—”

  “Husband, do you ever shut that noise maker?” asked Sif.

  Meuhlnir scoffed. “Might as well ask if The Dragon’s Spine Mountains are made of wood.” He gave Sinir a few gentle kicks with his heel and started off down the trail, whistling an aimless little tune.

  “Might as well ask the sun not to rise,” said Yowrnsaxa.

  The rest of us followed Meuhlnir, trying not to laugh too loud. Conversation was hard on the trail through the woods—the horses didn’t seem to want to walk too close to the snow laden branches of the trees overhanging the trail—so we rode in silence for most of the morning. The clop-clop of the horse’s hooves was soothing somehow, but my curse and sitting in a saddle for extended periods of time were not exactly compatible.

  The farther we got from the house, the more intense the pain in my hips, back, and shoulders got, and when we stopped for a bite to eat and a bit of warmth by a small fire, I had difficulty dismounting.

  Sif took one look at me and clucked her tongue like a mother hen. “Mothi, get my bag,” she said.

  “Sif, it’s a curse the Dark Bitch—” said Meuhlnir.

  “I’ve told you not to call her that in my presence,” Sif said with acid in her voice. “You forget Yowrnsaxa and I were Trohtninkar Tumuhr.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “You are right, my dear, and I apologize, though she is no longer worthy of the respect you pay her.”

  She gave him quite a look—one that promised there would be some fierce conversation on the subject later—and flapped her hand at Mothi. “My bag?”

  “Sif, dear one,” said Meuhlnir, “this man has been cursed by the Dark Queen. I’m not sure if the contents of your bag, or your gift, no matter how potent it is, will be of use.”

  “I will try, and then we will know, won’t we,” she snapped.

  “Of course, dear one.”

  Mothi handed his mother a tanned leather bag that looked
like a bucket bag Jane had owned on our klith. Sif rummaged around inside for a moment, muttering under her breath. “There it is,” she said. She pulled a small wooden container out of the bag and pulled its lid off. A noxious odor filled the small clearing.

  “Uff,” said Mothi.

  “Quiet, you,” said Sif. She looked at me with a critical eye. “Where is the worst spot?”

  “Hips and back, I guess,” I said. “What is that?”

  “Don’t worry about what this is. Pull up your shirt and drop your britches.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “Uh…”

  “For goodness sake, man. I’m married to that lout over there and have been surrounded by male children my entire life. Do you think you have parts I’ve never seen before? I haven’t been Trohtninkar Tumuhr for centuries. Now, off with the clothes or I’ll have Yowrnsaxa to help.”

  I looked at Meuhlnir, and he shrugged and turned his back to me.

  I loosened my belt and let my trousers and underwear fall to my ankles. Sif was rubbing her hands over the fire, warming them. I pulled off my shirt, and the cold enveloped me. “What is Troutingins Tumer, anyway?”

  “Trohtninkar Tumuhr,” she said, turning to face me. She smeared some of the noxious-smelling gel on her hands and started to rub it into my hips, starting right next to my groin and moving outwards. “It means Queen’s Ladies. Trohtninkar Tumuhr were companions to Queen Suel. Companions and skyuldur vidnukonur—shield maidens. We were the last line of defense if those great louts in the Vuthuhr Trohtninkar failed to do their jobs.”

  “On my side, a queen or princess would be surrounded by women who were kept chaste as companions to the royal woman.”

  “Ah, maids of honor,” said Yowrnsaxa. “Some cultures here had that.”

  “Waste of a woman,” grunted Sif.

  My skin was beginning to burn where she had applied the cream, but it was a good kind of burn. Warmth seemed to be seeping into my hips, and the pain seemed much diminished. “What is that stuff? You could make a fortune selling that as a patent medicine on my klith.”

  Sif cocked an eyebrow at me. “Anyone who would sell medicine for money is contemptible. A healer is called to heal, not to make money.” She had switched to the small of my back and was rubbing in the cream like my skin was her mortal enemy.

  “Well, it works, whatever it is.”

  Sif grunted. “There are two coincidental pathways in the body related to pain. One is for real pain, and one is for things that irritate—like burns of the sun or a rash that itches. This works by overloading that second channel. The channels share a common path to the brain, the pain is partially blocked due to the overload.”

  “Genius,” I said.

  “Sif really is talented,” said Meuhlnir.

  “Shut your mouth, lout,” said Sif. “I’m not done being irritated with you yet.”

  “Yes, dear,” said Meuhlnir with a modesty no one in the clearing believed.

  “And that won’t work, either,” snapped Sif.

  Yowrnsaxa chuckled and punched Meuhlnir in the shoulder. “Oh, you’ve done it now, you great idiot.”

  “Clothe yourself, Hank, I’m done. We can repeat this again after we stop for the night.”

  Yowrnsaxa handed out small wooden bowls filled with a thick stew that I hadn’t even smelled her cooking—which, given the odor of the gel smeared all over me, wasn’t really a surprise. The stew was incredible, and to this day, I have no idea how she made such great stew in such a short amount of time over a campfire.

  After we ate, I stood and stretched and was amazed at how much better the pain and stiffness was. I swung up into Slaypnir’s saddle as if I’d been doing it for years, easy peasy.

  Sif smiled at me and patted her bag.

  “Again, my mother is right, and my father is wrong. Shall I pretend to be surprised?” asked Mothi with a big grin plastered on his face.

  Meuhlnir didn’t even grumble as he sat Sinir. “This time, I’m glad to be wrong,” he said.

  “Shut it,” grunted Sif. “You are still in trouble.”

  Yowrnsaxa giggled. “You’ve really stepped in it, O’ God of Thunder.”

  “Indeed,” said Meuhlnir. “It’s one of my gifts.”

  “Indeed, it is,” said Yowrnsaxa.

  Mothi grunted. “This is why I don’t marry,” he said to me with a wink.

  “Don’t start with me,” said Sif. “You aren’t so big I can’t clout you between the eyes.”

  Mothi laughed and spurred his horse into a brisk trot. “You’d have to catch me first.”

  We rode until the sun dipped below the tops of the trees, and then Meuhlnir called a halt. The gel had made most the ride enjoyable, despite the cold and being cramped in one position most of the time, but it had started to fade about an hour before we stopped. I got down from Slaypnir and patted him on the neck, every joint stiff and sore. He whinnied and nuzzled me. He stood looking at me with his big eyes, ears cocked forward as if he understood that the pain was back and was concerned for me.

  I caught Sif looking at me from the saddle of Kutltohper. She patted her medicine bag and raised an eyebrow.

  “Not yet,” I said. I didn’t know if her gel would be like everything else, but seven years of disappointment as medicines lost efficacy after a few short months had made me cautious about using things up. It may sound silly, but I thought that I had to conserve what worked and only use it when I could no longer stand the pain. I sometimes went six months before refilling a pain prescription—in part, because I hated the way pain meds made me feel, but mostly because I was always doing what Jane called the ‘Calculous of When.’ The Calculous of When amounted to deciding when I felt bad enough to warrant a pain pill.

  I stood there rubbing at the small of my back, watching night fall over the tops of the trees that surrounded us. Mothi gathered a stack of firewood and worked at getting a fire going. Yowrnsaxa walked back and forth between a large cook pot and one of the pack animals, ferrying ingredients for whatever culinary magic she had in store for us that evening. Yowrnsaxa was an excellent cook from what I could see, but the last thing I wanted at that point was to eat a hot meal. Meuhlnir worked with the horses, whispering to each one as he rubbed them down.

  “He makes a big fuss and plays at being hard as iron, but all anyone has to do is watch him with his animals to know what is in his heart,” said Sif from beside me.

  “I hardly know him, but I believe he is a good man.”

  “He is,” she said.

  “It’s hard to reconcile the fact that he and Luka are from the same stock.”

  Sif cocked her head and looked at me from under arched eyebrows. “Have you never met two brothers as different as they?”

  I shrugged and looked away. “Of course, I have met criminals whose siblings were anything but criminal, but Luka…”

  She nodded her head. “Luka goes beyond what you’ve seen.”

  I nodded.

  “The great lout tell you we live longer than most?”

  “Yeah, but he avoids telling me how old he is.”

  Sif chuckled. “He has gotten a bit vain over the years. Would it surprise you to know that I gave birth to Mothi over three centuries ago?”

  I looked at her askance to see if she was joking, but she looked back at me with no hint of humor in her expression. “He wasn’t my first child, either.”

  “But…Mothi looks younger than I do. I’m only forty-seven.”

  She shook her head. “A mere child,” she mused. “You have a book on your side, don’t you, that tells a mythical story of the creation of the universe?”

  “Several,” I said with a grin.

  “This one talks about there being one god, though it confusingly describes that one god as made up of three distinct gods.”

  I nodded. “The Bible says something like that.”

  “And in this Bible, aren’t there people who live a thousand years?”

  “Well, there is mention of peo
ple living that long, but scholars seem to think it is either figurative, mistranslated or a different method of time keeping.”

  She waved her hand as if to dismiss those ideas. “Would it surprise you to know that the people in that book—at least those long-lived people—were visitors from my klith?”

  I shook my head, trying to keep the anger I felt at the repetitive interference in the development of my world from splashing across my face.

  She shrugged. “It was a different time. The ability to move the preer was new, and like any novel thing, everyone wanted a chance to play with them. At any rate, the Geumlu put little machines into the air that put other little machines into our blood that kill disease and abate the impact of aging on our bodies.”

  “Telling secrets, wife?” asked Meuhlnir from where he was brushing down one of the horses.

  “He deserves the truth,” she said with a shrug.

  Meuhlnir grunted but didn’t turn from his task.

  “So, you can see that if brothers on your own side can change drastically from one another in such a short time, that brothers on this klith, brothers who live so much longer, can drift even farther apart?”

  I nodded, looking at Meuhlnir’s back. “The real question is if they can draw close again after drifting so far.”

  “Indeed,” said Sif. “What’s he told you about the Dark Queen?”

  “Not much, really,” I said. “He told me the story of her being attacked in the queen’s gardens and how he saved her from the two assassins. He told me she didn’t start life as she is now.”

  “Indeed not,” said Sif. “She was an excellent ruler in the beginning. A good woman, who cared more for others than she did for herself. I knew that back then, even as she hit me. She cared so much for Meuhlnir that she couldn’t stand seeing him brought to the brink of death.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You were the healer she struck?”

  Sif smiled. “He doesn’t like to tell people that part for some reason. But yes, I was the healer who came to the gardens that night. I ministered to Meuhlnir after the queen’s vefnathur strenki.”

  “Wow,” I said, not really knowing how to respond.

  She chuckled and nodded. “Wow, indeed.” She sobered. “Things were… I don’t know, different somehow after that night. She was different after that.”