“Then get on with it.”
“You won’t rescind your request?”
“No,” I said.
“Even if it will cost the lives of beings older than your civilization?”
“No. You are free to refuse me, however. It’s a free universe.”
Freyr sat very still and just stared at me for what felt like a long time. Then, without a word, he got up and shuffled out the door.
I followed him, doing my own early-morning shuffle. Meuhlnir and Mothi were leaning against the trunk of the tree that contained the house we had slept in. Meuhlnir’s face was impassive as he nodded to Freyr. As soon as Freyr was out of ear shot, Mothi turned to me and asked, “Good talk?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “More of the same, I’m afraid. My chances of convincing that Alf of anything are slim and none.”
Mothi smiled. “Good thing it isn’t really up to him, then.”
Yowtgayrr approached us, giving us enough time to conclude any private conversations. “Gentle Isir,” he said by way of a greeting. “The Priesthood of Tiwaz has made its decision.”
“Without Freyr’s input?” I asked.
“All things have been considered,” he said. “If you will follow me?”
Yowtgayrr led us back to the tree with the staircase inside of it, and back down to the ground. His back was held stiffly straight, shoulders back and elbows slightly cocked out to the sides.
“Tell me, Yowtgayrr,” I asked, “are you one of the Priests of Tiwaz?”
“Of course,” he said without looking back. “Every male Alf is a priest.”
It was then that I realized I hadn’t seen a single female Alf for the entire time we’d been in Alfhaym. “What of your women?”
Meuhlnir coughed and touched my elbow with his hand.
“We don’t speak of our females with outsiders,” said Yowtgayrr with a touch of frost in his voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I meant no disrespect.”
Yowtgayrr only nodded and kept walking. He led us to the small bowl-shaped depression in the floor of the forest. It was again packed with adult males, and ringed with male adolescents and male children. The Conclave of Elders was obvious in its absence.
The Alf led us to the center of the depression. “The Isir have come,” he said in a formal, ritualistic tone.
An Alf stepped forward from the rest. His skin was cream-colored with light green striations running through it. He stood taller than Yowtgayrr and broader in the shoulder. “I am Roorik,” he said simply. “I am the Voice of Tiwaz.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.
He clasped it briefly and then let go. “You have requested the help of the Priesthood of Tiwaz. Do you still seek our aid?”
“Yes, I do,” I said, nodding my head.
“We have considered your request and the advice of the Conclave of Elders,” said Roorik. “We find merit in your motives and value in your arguments. We will help you.”
Relief coursed through me and a smile creased my face. “Thank you. Thank you very much!”
“You should know that the Conclave of Elders was undecided when we last asked for their advice.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Five priests will travel back to Osgarthr with your party to act in your stead and try to misdirect the Dark Queen and her followers,” said Roorik.
“Excellent,” I said. “I appreciate your help. You’ve no idea how much this means to me.”
Roorik held up his hand. “There is more, Hank Jensen of the Isir. The Priesthood of Tiwaz is sworn to act as guardians and protectors to those in need. Tiwaz himself gave us this mandate, and we strive to be worthy of his grace. The Priesthood has decided to exceed your request.”
“Exceed my request? What does that mean?”
“We will provide you with a personal guard.”
I looked at Meuhlnir and Mothi, unsure what was being offered, or if I could refuse. “I’m not sure what to say—”
“There is nothing to say, Hank Jensen of the Isir. It has been decided. Three Alfar will accompany you and will be your personal guard.” Roorik motioned to Yowtgayrr and two other Alf standing in the front row. All three of them stepped forward. “These three have sworn to die before allowing you to fall into mortal peril.”
“Uh,” I said, looking back and forth between the three Alf. “I…I don’t know what to say, except that I don’t want anyone injured in my place. It’s hard enough knowing Meuhlnir and his family feel that they must protect me at all costs. I am honored by your offer, truly I am, but I don’t want—”
“Hank,” said Yowtgayrr. “It doesn’t matter what you want at this point. Your arguments touched many of us. You’ve awoken a sense of duty in our ranks that we did not know still existed. I will follow you back to Osgarthr, as will my brother priests, and we will strive to keep you from all harm.”
“Yowtgayrr, I am honored by this, but I can’t—”
“There is nothing for you to allow or forbid,” said Yowtgayrr. “We will come even if you forbid us. If you will not have us in your party, we will follow your party and protect you as best we can from a distance.”
I looked at Meuhlnir, who shrugged at me.
“Part of the reason the priesthood decides these things in seclusion is to remove any doubt as to who bears responsibility for what may happen,” said Roorik. “In this case, we have decided, and no responsibility falls on your shoulders. We took this path because we know you are an honorable man, and because Yowtgayrr foresaw the quandary this would open before you. I only wish I was not the Voice, so that I, too, could accompany you.”
That icy lump was back in my throat. I nodded my acceptance.
Yowtgayrr put his large hand on my shoulder and waved at the other two priests who were to act as my bodyguard. “This is Skowvithr,” he said pointing at another white-skinned Alf. “And this is Urlikr.” Urlikr’s coloring was pale gray with light blue striations. Both looked capable of standing firm in a fight, and both met my eye without hesitation.
“I won’t have any of you die in my place,” I said.
“Then don’t let it come to that,” said Urlikr with a smile.
Yowtgayrr led the three of us followed by two of my bodyguards and our five decoys back through the forest to where the proo was anchored. Freyr waited in the clearing, his face a blank mask.
“So, you have what you wanted,” he hurled at me as soon as I stepped into the circle.
“More,” I said truthfully. “It is an honor and a responsibility I won’t shirk.”
“That’s what everyone says,” he spat.
“Father,” said Skowvithr with a hint of reproach in his voice. “The priesthood has decided this matter. I am honored to take my place beside my brother priests and between this man and danger. Can’t you respect that?”
“Ask your elder brother,” said Freyr in a small, sad voice. “He never came back from helping this one.” He sneered and waved his hand at Meuhlnir. “Now you, too, go to waste your years.”
Skowvithr stepped forward and laid a hand on each of his father’s shoulders. “No, Father,” he said. “I go to fulfill whatever Tiwaz has woven in the tapestry of my life. I go to earn a place in the sky kingdom next to my brother Fyuhlnir.”
The old Alf clung to his son with white-knuckled desperation. “Don’t do this, Skowvithr,” he pleaded. “Stay, help manage the Skowkur Kuthadna. Take your place in the Conclave of Elders when it is your time.”
“Father, you know all of those things would be empty for me if I did not take my proper place beside Hank Jensen of the Isir.”
Freyr sniffed and then spat on the ground. His shoulders slumped, and he wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. “Go, then,” he said in a defeated voice.
“If Tiwaz wills it, I will return, Father. If I don’t, take solace that it is as Tiwaz wills and that I passed from this life with love for you in my heart.”
Freyr nodded and half-turned away
. “As your brother also said to me,” he said, his voice as bitter as acid.
“Freyr,” I said. “If I have anything to say about it, Skowvithr will return to you.”
The old Alf didn’t turn, and he didn’t speak as the others used the proo back to Osgarthr. At last, it was just Freyr, Meuhlnir, and myself in the clearing. Meuhlnir gestured toward the proo with his head.
“Go on, Hank,” he said. “I will have words with Freyr, and then I will follow.”
I looked at him and then back at Freyr. I knew what it felt like to have a son ripped away from me by someone from another realm and my heart went out to him. “I’d tell him to stay if it would do any good, Freyr.”
Again, the old Alf didn’t respond.
I turned and walked to the proo.
Thirty-six
When we returned to Osgarthr, it was midday. Pollen swam through the bright sunlight like tadpoles in a pond. If I didn’t know that the village that supported the estate had been attacked two days earlier, I would have thought everything was copasetic.
The Vault of Preer, with its glowing runes set in the supporting stones of the walls and arched ceiling, had been empty as had the great hall above it. We went outside looking for the three Isir women and found a hive of bustling activity. Horses were being shifted from one corral to another or being put into the pastures that stood closest to the walls. The Alfar looked around with small smiles on their faces.
Meuhlnir stopped the karl that Mothi had pointed out to me the day we arrived. “What has happened?” he asked.
“Nothing, sir,” said the karl. “The mistress has foretold that Master Veethar will return today with a large herd of new breeders. We are making ready.”
“And where are my wives today?”
“They left for the village at first light with Mistress Frikka.” The karl saw a thrall who was losing control of a large stallion and took a step in that direction, but then halted and looked at Meuhlnir.
“Go on,” Meuhlnir said, clapping the man on the back. “I don’t stand on ceremony.”
With an apologetic smile, the man tugged the hair over his forehead and then strode away yelling at the thrall and sweeping his arms about in wild gestures.
“I had hoped for a hot meal, or at least a greeting, before we traveled to Nitavetlir,” muttered Mothi.
“Life’s rough,” said Meuhlnir with a smile. “At any rate, I think you should stay and wait for Veethar. You know, since you always get a crick in your neck.”
Mothi grinned and bowed his head. “As you wish it, Master of Thunderous Farts.”
“Mothi, Mothi, Mothi,” sighed Meuhlnir. “You are so grounded until you are four hundred.”
“You already grounded me until I was five hundred, remember?”
Meuhlnir shook his head with pretended exasperation. “Shall we just say six hundred, then?”
It sounded so much like the bantering between Sig and I that I found that damn lump in my throat yet again.
Meuhlnir, my three new Alfar protectors, and I filed back into the longhouse and down the stairs to the Vault of Preer. The Alfar who had volunteered to serve as our decoys elected to stay in Osgarthr and see the new breeding stock as Veethar brought them in. It was surprising how much the Alfar seemed to like horses.
Meuhlnir activated the rune for Nitavetlir, and we watched as the proo to Alfhaym shrank and then faded into one of the runed stones. The new proo shimmered into being the size of a small dinner plate and then expanded like a balloon.
Meuhlnir put his hand on my arm. “Before we cross, I need to tell you a few things about the Tverkar.”
“Okay,” I said with a shrug.
He looked at the proo for a moment, choosing his words. “You’ve seen the Svartalfar.”
“Yes.”
Urlikr hawked up some phlegm and spit it into the corner.
Meuhlnir held up his hands, palms out. “I know, gentle Alfar. It is distasteful to you to hear of your so-called cousins, but Hank doesn’t know our history. He needs to be prepared.”
Urlikr looked disgusted but nodded.
“You could wait outside,” suggest Meuhlnir.
“No,” said Yowtgayrr. “As you say, Hank needs to know all of this. We will lend our knowledge where it is needed.” He turned to Urlikr and Skowvithr and put a long-fingered hand on each Alf’s shoulder. “We may have to do worse than hear stories of the Svartalfar before this is finished. We must be prepared as well.”
“Very well,” sighed Skowvithr. “Speak on, Master of Thunder.”
Meuhlnir nodded once. “It is said that, once, long ago, the Alfar, the Svartalfar, and the Tverkar shared a single realm and a single set of ancestors. It is also said that the Tverkar were once part of the race of Svartalfar, but a schism arose between clans and the schism developed into a war.”
“The war was much like Ragnaruechkr here on Osgarthr, the war between the Svartalfar and the Tverkar unleashed great devastation on the realm,” said Yowtgayrr. “The initial power used twisted the bits of the Plauinn that defined them as a people.”
“The Plauinn were your ancestors?” I asked.
Yowtgayrr nodded.
“As well as the Svartalfar and the Tverkar?”
“Yes,” he said. “The Plauinn are the race from which we all descend, Isir included.”
“They were the Geumlu?” I asked.
“No,” said Skowvithr. “The so-called Old Ones of Osgarthr were also descended from the Plauinn.”
“This was many, many millennia in the past,” said Yowtgayrr. “We believe that the Plauinn were the First People of the universe, and that at the time, all the realms were contained in a single domain, governed by one set of laws.”
“I was not aware of this,” said Meuhlnir.
“We don’t often speak of it to utanathkomanti—to outsiders—if you will pardon the expression,” said Urlikr.
“Fascinating,” muttered Meuhlnir.
“Yes, well, this war you spoke of, we call it the First War. As I said, it twisted the bits that defined the Plauinn as a people, which only widened the schism between the warring factions over time. As the First People became the many, more and more powerful weapons were created and spent on the enemy factions. In the Sundering, weapons were developed that were so powerful that, when they were eventually fired all at once, split the fabric of the universe multifariously, creating the various realms that exist today, and ending the First War—each new race thought that it had obliterated the other ‘impure’ races. We learned this was a falsehood when Haymtatlr blew his mighty invention, the Kyatlarhodn.
“Many of the realms created by the First War had been further devastated by the Sundering, and the dominant races forgot the history of the Plauinn and the First War. Since the preer were opened by Haymtatlr, we’ve met only one other race which has preserved this knowledge.”
“The Svartalfar?” I asked.
Urlikr scoffed. “Hardly. They are savages. It was the Tverkar.”
“Ah,” I said. “And this is what you wanted me to know?”
Meuhlnir shook his head. “I didn’t know most of that story either. What I wanted to tell you was that the Tverkar are ugly—much like the Svartalfar are physically ugly—but that in temperament, you will find them to be much more like the Alfar, though they take great pains to appear otherwise. They are a wise and honorable people. Great craft- and tradesmen.”
Yowtgayrr nodded. “We believe that either the Tverkar or the Alfar are the most closely related to the Plauinn.”
Meuhlnir looked a little irritated at that, but he shrugged and said, “That may well be, but none of us are likely to ever know.”
The Alf bowed his head—not agreeing with Meuhlnir, necessarily, but willing to allow him his own beliefs.
“Nitavetlir is a rocky, barren world,” said Meuhlnir. “The Tverkar tunneled underground to survive. Their cities are elaborate, hand-carved caves, the grandeur of which most surface cities can’t match. They have gro
wn to fit their environment.”
“As all races have,” said Skowvithr.
“The Svartalfar and the Alfar seem a bit similar—did they evolve on similar worlds?” I asked without thinking.
Meuhlnir looked to the three Alfar and then glared at me.
Too late, I realized what I’d said. “My apologies,” I blurted. “No offense meant, I spoke without thinking. I only meant the general similarity in musculature and skeleton—I didn’t mean to compare you to Svartalfar on any other level.”
The atmosphere in the room was chilly, and no one said anything for a long time. Finally, Yowtgayrr sighed. “It is true that we bear a distant resemblance on a purely anatomical level, but I believe that is simply a joke of fate, rather than an indication of any similar past history. Other than the relation to the Plauinn, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. I looked at each of them in turn. “I really do apologize. To each of you.”
Skowvithr forced a smile on his face. “We are perhaps too sensitive to comparisons to our sworn enemies,” he said. “And you are new to this.”
“Still, it is better that you make such a mistake in the company of friends than in either Alfhaym or Nitavetlir,” said Yowtgayrr.
“Or in any public place,” snapped Meuhlnir.
I felt the heat in my cheeks as I nodded.
“Enthusiasm for learning should never be criticized,” said Urlikr in soft tones. “It is one of the core beliefs of the Priesthood of Tiwaz, and yet we are eager to take offense when such eagerness challenges our belief in our own moral high-ground.”
Skowvithr’s forehead bunched and Yowtgayrr pursed his lips, looking at the ground.
“No, this was a mistake on my part,” I said.
“Indeed,” grumbled Meuhlnir.
“Yet it does bring to light a degree of hubris that is uncomfortable,” said Yowtgayrr.
“Perhaps we should forget it happened,” said Meuhlnir.
Yowtgayrr nodded but kept his gaze on the ground at his feet.
Meuhlnir grunted and pushed me through the proo. I arrived in Nitavetlir and hit my head on the ceiling. Meuhlnir came through next, already stooping and ducking his head.
Yowtgayrr came through next, also ducking his head, followed by Skowvithr and then Urlikr.
Blood of the Isir Omnibus Page 37