by Troy Osgood
“What are runes?”
“Now that is a question that I kin answer,” Culann said with a smile.
He reached down and drew out his two hand axes. He held them out so that Sheren and Davey could see them in the flickering light of the fire, blades pointing towards each other. Davey could clearly see the symbols carved into the dark metal of the weapons. There were four symbols on each head. Culann flipped the weapons so they could see the same four symbols were on both sides. The first, third and fourth were the same on both weapons. Only the second was different.
“The top is a rune for sharpness,” Culann said. “It makes the weapons stronger and tougher so they do more damage. The third is a rune o’ force. That one makes the axes go from a cutting weapon ta a bashing weapon, like a hammer or a mace.”
He paused, watching Davey’s eyes trace the shapes of each rune.
“It takes decades ta learn ta be a runesmith,” Culann said. “I know some of the art and what I know is naething compared ta the one that made these,” he finished proudly indicating the runed weapons.
“What do the other runes do?,” Davey asked curious to learn more. The runes grabbed his attention and held it.
It was fascinating, he thought tracing the lines with his eyes, that simple carvings could have such power.
“That bottom one, the fourth, is a rune o’ hardness. It makes the axes more durable and gives them the ability ta repair nicks and scratches over time and remain sharp. The second rune on each weapon is different. This one,” he said holding up the left axe higher. “is a rune o’ ice and the other,” he added indicating the right axe. “is a rune o’ fire. Ye’ve seen what those kin do.”
Davey nodded, remembering the earlier fight with the skeletons on the plateau.
Culann replaced the axes in the special leather sheathes and pulled a necklace out from his tunic, holding it by the chain. He showed the symbol to Davey.
“Runesmithing can be intricate work,” he said. “Some runes are constant, needing nae recharging. But some, like the fire and ice on the axes and this one here,” he said shaking the necklace. “They need time ta recharge, ta get the magic back. Some even need a mage ta fill them with magic again.”
“You used yours all up fighting the skeletons at the mine the other day,” Davey remarked.
“Aye lad,” Culann said smiling. “That I did. The axes will have recharged themselves but the necklace will need a wizard.”
“How do the runes work?,” Davey asked.
“Runes are symbols,” Culann said tracing the line of necklace with his finger. “They lock in magical power which kin be summoned by a word or phrase. They are a note waiting ta be sung.”
“A note?,” Davey asked confused.
“Music is magic and magic is music,” Culann said, leaning back and poking at the fire as if that explained it all.
Davey looked at the man, expecting more. Culann just looked into the fire, watching the flames dance. He caught Davey’s questioning look and smiled.
“Need more explanation, huh lad,” Culann said with a smile. “Have ye ever seen a mage cast a spell?”
Davey shook his head. All this was new to the boy. He knew magic existed, but living up in the mountains they had never really encountered it.
“What about a priest casting a healing over someone,” Culann asked after some thought.
The boy nodded thinking of the priests of Dagda or Frigg that would come to the village a couple of times a year to perform healings and blessings. Minoda was too small for a temple of its own, each villager being more private in their prayers, so the larger temples to the south would send priests to the smaller villages.
“Well ye’ve seen how they cast the spell, right? They chant some words and the magic happens. A chant is just a song wit’out music behind it. Mages do the same thing; they recite words or lyrics ta a spell and achieve a result.”
“So a bard does the same thing with an instrument,” Davey stated. He thought he understood the concept. The basic idea made sense but there was a depth, a level to it that he wasn’t able to fully grasp. Not yet. But he wanted to. The ideas had started to take hold in his mind.
“Aye, that they do,” Culann replied. “And their singing. Ye should hear a Far Rider friend o’ mine, name o’ Kathwen. That lass kin sing. The magic she kin make wit’ her voice,” he said trailing off, smiling.
“But you don’t have an instrument,” Davey pointed out.
“Kin nae play a single one,” Culann admitted with a shrug. “Never been able ta figure out. These just were nae made for playing,” he added wriggling the fingers of both hands. “And nae anyone wants ta hear me sing.”
“Then how,” Davey started, not wanting to finish the thought for fear of insulting Culann.
“There are many other ways ta make music,” the other man said, still smiling.
He leaned forward, poking at the fire, moving some of the logs around and laid another one across the top. Davey stared into the depths of the flames, thoughts swirling as he tried to process it all. Culann moved more logs, revealing the hot stones he had placed underneath. He tapped the stick against the stones.
“More than one way ta make magic,” he said quietly, the fire reflected in his eyes, barely audible but Davey caught how he had repeated the statement but changed the one word.
Culann continued to stare at the stones, lost in thought, the stick tapping a rhythm against the stone, the end starting to blacken.
“Lad,” Culann said finally, not moving from the spot or stopping the tapping of the stick. “I think I know how this is happening.”
“I know part o’ the how,” Culann said the next morning. “But nae all,” he clarified.
He sat on the steps up to the stage, a mug of tea in his hand. Sheren and the other councilors, along with some of the villagers, including Davey, stood in a ring around him. All the men, except Hesh, were armed with whatever they could find and most of it had been marked with Culann’s rune.
“Ye there,” he said calling out to Donald Jaccob, who stood on the outskirts of the group. “Ye fought a necromancer wit’ the King’s Guard, aye?”
“I did,” Donald said limping forward.
“Why did the mage do what he did?,” Culann asked.
“Power,” Donald said with a shrug. “He wanted to carve out his own little kingdom.”
“Aye,” Culann said taking a sip of his tea. “That is what feels off about this,” he added waving his hand to indicate the village and the skeleton attacks. “Where is the wizard? This could be testing some new spell but doesnae feel like it.”
“Then what?,” Sheren asked.
“I think ye all did something when ye mined inta the ol’ Dvorkan ruin.”
The mumbling started, the villagers looking at each other. Culann heard one mutter about blame.
“Calm yerselves,” he said waving his hands up and down. “Was an accident if’n it did happen.”
“You’re saying we unleashed a spell,” Sheren asked.
“That is what I think” Culann said setting the mug down and standing up. “The ruins been abandoned fer centuries and just yer bad luck ta open it up now. Ye activated something, some kind o’ trap or protection. The skeletons movements seem ta support that.”
“How so?,” It was Hesh that spoke but without the customary snarkiness or sneer, showing genuine interest.
“This is just a theory mind ye,” Culann started to explain. “They donae seem to stray far from where I assume they start. And after awhile they return ta where they started and go inta some kind o’ resting.”
“Which is why we found them back in the crypts,” Sheren asked.
“Aye,” Culann replied. “The bones are acting like some magical guardians I’ve heard about.”
“But never seen for yourself,” Hesh pointed out returning to form.
Culann just shrugged. Did it matter as long as the theory was right?
“The Dvorkan donae have a natur
al affinity fer magic,” Culann explained. “But they are the best runesmiths the world has and ever will see. Everything we know about runes came from the dwarfs. Because they couldnae cast spells, they became experts at creating and storing magic in stones covered in runes. A single rune, like on me necklace, has one effect. Multiple runes on the same thing,” he held up one of the axes again showing the four runes on the head. “kin have multiple effects but there are costs. One at a time, nae as strong. That kind o’ thing. The Dvorkan found ways around that wit’ runestones.”
“That’s what is causing the skeletons,” Sheren asked. “Some kind of magical trap?”
“Aye, I think so,” Culann replied. “When ye mined inta that chamber, I think ye tripped the trap which activated a stone.”
“That helps us how,” Hesh asked. Because of all this he had lost some of his standing in the village and knew it. He was angry and desperate. As the link to the merchants that bought the village’s ore, he was bleeding money.
“It helps me,” Culann said emphasizing the word as he stared down Hesh. “in that now I know how ta find it.”
“And shut it off,” Sheren asked.
“One step at a time Master Tobiason,” Culann replied. “I need ta find the stone first.”
“How will you do that,” Hesh asked with not quite a sneer.
“That will be the tricky part,” Culann said with a smile.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Culann walked out of the Smithy carrying a long black rod. It was about three feet in length and an inch in diameter. Sheren noticed that the end had been flattened for about six inches. Culann held it out so he could see it. The flat end had some symbols carved into it, so small that Sheren could barely make them out. The etchings appeared clean but the rest of the work was very rough and hammer marks could be seen along the flattened portion.
He glanced up a Culann, questioning.
“This is what I originally went ta the smith fer,” Culann explained. “When I first arrived and ye asked what I wanted.”
“What is it?,” the miner asked. He had forgotten about that, lost in the battle with the four skeletons. But now he remembered. He had asked Culann what the man needed and he had said the smithy. Thinking it safe enough, Sheren had sent his son to lead the man here. That had almost ended with Davey dead. Culann Hawkfall had saved his sons life.
Together, the two men had left the meeting that morning at the village square and returned to the Smithy. Culann had immediately set to work, stoking the forge fires and laying out the tools he would need. Sheren checked in with watchers at the mines as the sound of hammer on metal rang out in the mid-morning air.
He had paused in front of the third mine entrance. The torches were still lit down its length and he could just make out the shadows that marked the entrance to the Dvorkan room. Nothing seemed different about it. It was a mine shaft, like the ones he had been mining for almost his entire life. But it was different, strange. He could feel it.
Sheren had stepped back, surveying the entire mountain. Knowing what could be in there, could they continue mining this peak? Would they? The other two shafts seemed safe enough; maybe they could just close this one off for good and start a new one further away?
Shaking his head he had turned away from the mines. Those were thoughts for another day. At this moment, they didn’t even know when they would be able to reopen the mines. It would have to be soon, he knew. The town depended on those mines. No ore, no gold.
The sound of the hammer had stopped, followed by a tapping noise. He had heard that noise enough to know it meant Culann was etching a rune onto something. Curious, he had walked back to the forge.
“The work is bad,” Culann acknowledged as he ran his free hand down the length of the flat part, feeling the runes. “Runes o’ this size are difficult and I donae have the skill to work the iron correctly but it was the best I could do wit’out ta smith.”
“What is that metal?,” Sheren asked reaching out and touching his hand to the smooth rounded part of the rod. The metal was dark, like obsidian, but it felt like iron. The appearance, dark black but dull, was similar to what Culann’s chainmail shirt was made from.
“Dark iron,” the other answered stepping back and taking a couple practice swings with the rod. “I had this length but needed part o’ it flat ta etch the runes.”
“I’ve heard of dark iron,” Sheren replied. “It’s extremely rare.”
“Aye, that it is.” Culann held the rod at the end, holding it as far out as he could, studying the length and weight. “Ye donnae even want ta know what I had ta do ta get this.”
“But what is it for?,” Sheren asked.
“Follow me and find out,” Culann replied with a smile.
He started walking back towards the village, Sheren following.
The walk back and through the village was silent. They didn’t pause or stop, coming down from the mining road and continuing on to the road towards the cemetery. They passed the guard post at the end of the road, with the wagon blocking the pass. Sheren just shrugged at the questioning glances of the villagers posted there.
They continued up the road, Culann carrying the dark iron rod, and only came to a stop at the bend where there were two villagers stationed. The men were standing at the mountain side, where they could look up the road towards the cemetery and the stand of trees in the distance, but still able to hide out of sight easily.
Culann looked up the road towards the cemetery, and saw nothing moving.
“All quiet?,” Sheren asked the two men, one younger and the other older with his hair and beard mostly gray.
“Aye,” the graybeard answered. “Haven’t seen anything moving.”
“What’s that?,” the younger villager spoke up pointing at the rod. The young man appeared nervous, licking his lips and taking a step back.
“I have a spell that will let me track where the skeletons are coming from,” Culann answered watching the road. “This will help me with that spell.”
“How?,” the nervous young man asked.
“By getting me a needed item.”
Culann stepped onto the road and away from the bend.
“Stay here,” he said as he started walking down the road, the rod hanging loosely at his side.
He didn’t feel the confidence that he hoped he projected.
Culann glanced down at the rod in his hands, focusing on the flat end. The rune work was fine, he knew and the shoddy craftsmanship of the rod itself wasn’t going to affect the result, but he wasn’t even sure it would work as intended. He’d never attempted this kind of spell before.
But there was only one way to find out.
He was not one to not try. He’d taken plenty of risks and leaps of faith in his life, but he always liked to have some small inkling that the idea would work, that he would pull off whatever he was attempting. He had been called daring many times and sometimes even reckless, but he never tried anything without some small belief that he could pull it off.
He thought that way now. He knew there was a good chance this would not work, but there was also a small chance that it would. And he had the confidence in his own abilities, if not the spell, to get out of danger if it didn’t work.
He was almost to the trees and there should have been parts of skeletons lying around. This was where they had destroyed three of the magical creatures, breaking them apart into pieces that were still moving. But there was nothing. The dust and rocks on the road showed the evidence that something had taken place, but there was nothing of the skeletons.
All traces had disappeared. Faded away.
It made sense, he thought, as he looked at the stand of trees. If the skeletons were magically created, they would fade after awhile, after the energy that created them was expanded.
The stand of trees was just ahead and he heard nothing. The shadows were deep, but it looked like nothing was moving either.
He paused at the edge, straining to hear, but still n
othing. No scrap of bone on bone or clack of jaws moving up and down. What if there were no skeletons? The whole plan hinged on there being at least one.
Walking into the trees, he still heard nothing.
He slowed his walk, moving quietly and carefully, listening the whole time.
Stepping out from the trees into the cemetery, he had to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. It was peaceful here, he thought, looking out over the large grassy plateau. The gravestones, all laid out neatly in rows, dotted the front half of the field with small clusters of trees here and there. Steep drops led down to the tree covered valleys below.
There was still nothing moving.
Culann walked further out into the cemetery. He could now see all six of the crypts with the third and last being open, just as they had left them. One last look around the field and he moved to the third crypt, the first with the door open.
The heavy door had been pushed open enough so the skeleton could walk out. Marks on the edge of the door and the wall showed where the creature had scrapped as it forced its way from the dark tunnel. The angle of the door prevent too much daylight from penetrating the entrance to the crypt and all Culann could see was the rough carved stone of the walls and floor to only about five feet back.
Holding the edge of the rod, he reached into the dark and tapped the metal against the stone. The sound echoed down the tunnel and into the deeper parts of the crypt. He stopped the tapping, listening for anything that was reacting.
Silence.
He tapped again, harder this time to produce a louder sound. He kept at it longer finally stopping. Stepping back from the entrance he listened to nothing. There was no stirring in the depths of the crypt. He looked down towards the sixth and last crypt with the heavy and thick stone door that had opened the widest. Nothing could be seen moving.
“Never anything around when ye want it,” he muttered to himself wondering what he was going to do.
Lucien Joratson leaned against the wooden arch that formed the entrance to the third mine, the new shaft. He was tired and bored; a bad combination. He wasn’t against the arch itself, more against the planks that had been nailed to it, the barricade to keep any skeletons in the mine itself. The planks were rough and uneven and he could feel where the gaps between them were. But it was still better then leaning against the hard and rough stone face of the mountain.