Ivar awoke in a dark cell with his head pounding and his throat clogged. He coughed and spat, his growls echoing in the damp shadows, the light of distant torches flickering through a small grate upon a locked door.
Where…? Oh, I am in the Hollow.
Sindhome’s prison, an underground channel scoured into the earth, hidden from grace and light entire. It was a deserved destination for only the most heinous of crimes, yet quarter was granted freely amongst the meek and downtrodden. He sighed, knowing full well that he would be stuck there until release. The cells of the Hollow had long since been adapted to the Vol, barring exit from even its most powerful prisoners. He remembered Snorri, Afisk’s own godi, and considered that if the man was still alive then he, too, would be held within these damp depths.
There was a knock at the door. Ivar scrambled away, leaning up against the back wall of the cell as light flooded the chamber.
“Gods above, they actually caught ya.”
As his eyes adjusted to the light he relaxed.
“Yvaine?”
She was shorter than Ivar, shorter than the average woman of Yvaheim. She had copper hair and amber skin, with a pair of glistening green eyes. At her waist was a utility belt lined with special pouches, gadgets and knives. Most auspicious of all, however, was the midnight Volhaust’s robe that she wore as a tunic.
“O’course it is, who else would’ve skulked down here to drag yer ass out?” She said with a smile, her voice accented and playful. “Now let's get you out o’ here, ya can tell me how ya got into this mess as we move.”
“Alright.” Ivar said as he crept towards his friend. “But, where are we going?”
Yvaine gave an exhausted sigh. “To see the Grand Companies.”
*********************************************************************************************
The events of the last few decades had transformed Sindhome. Like the rest of Yvaheim, the city had been built with respect to Afisk and his designs, though he seldom gave it. He insisted instead that they were free to choose for themselves. As such, they had defaulted to a system by which the wealthiest family would come to power, with the family head becoming the acting Earl. This system had stood in place for centuries, until fifteen years prior.
With the ever-growing influence of the foreign operations in the city, it made little sense to exclude them from consideration for Earl. Fifteen years ago, the native residents lost the position to a southern family by the name of Sangria.
In a now famous diplomatic gesture the Sangrias instead proposed that the Earldom be dissolved and Sindhome be governed by a council composed of the four wealthiest groups, henceforth known as the Grand Companies. As a result the Engels would still hold a position on the council. The Sangrians would still hold theirs as well, finding only greater influence within the city after its creation. The remaining seats were held by the Workman’s Union and the mysterious Hymnal Church.
The Workman’s Union played an important political role within the Sindhome. Being an organization composed entirely of the working class, it provided leverage to the common man in an otherwise aristocratic landscape. If the other companies ever needed to contract labor outside of their own work force, it needed to be done through the Union. The Union was represented by its guild master: an old, stocky man of little humor named Erik Sted.
The Engels’ head was Inrig Engel, an ancient man who had enjoyed the title of ‘Earl’ for decades before the Sangrians had toppled his empire. The Engel family fortune was due to their management of Sindhome’s ports. With this income they chartered entertainment halls which proved to be fruitful investments. Brothels, gambling dens, theaters and more, Afisk’s distance had afforded the Engels fertile soil for artistic patronage and unsavory establishments alike.
The Sangria family, led by a shrewd woman named Maria Rosa Del Sangria, had made their fortunes in the wine trade. Their family history spanned back centuries from a country far to the south named Espald and in the years since establishing the council Sangrian influence had only grown. Maria, however, had inherited their vineyards back in Espald, marking her future in Sindhome as uncertain. Without her presence, confidence in Sangrian ventures were shaky at best.
Little was known about the Hymnal Church. A recent arrival to Yvaheim, the church had established itself in Sindhome not but five years prior. With massive financial backing they already owned the largest single structure in the entire country: a monolithic cathedral at the center of Sindhome referred to only as Sanctus. Strangely, and despite its massive presence, it made no attempts to evangelize the local population. They had little need to. Once every twelve days, at the break of dawn, the cathedral would ring three great bells from its towering belfrys, signaling to any would-be followers that the time for worship had begun. Once summoned, however, most would be denied. Barring the great doors to enter Sanctus were priests, dawning robes of gilded burgundy, who would usher in only a handful of new worshippers at a time. Then the doors would close.
No one knew what happened inside those walls, for those that were granted entry would emerge from the cold, stone belly of the cathedral in an altered state of mind and refusing to speak on the experience. They returned with the tolling of the bells all the same.
Who the Hymnal Church was and why they were in Yvaheim was a mystery to all; a vexing question that, since the disappearance of Afisk, had become all the more pressing.
********************************************************************************************
The Hollow was on the eastern end of Sindhome, within the 5th district. The 5th also happened to be the poorest of the city, which was visually apparent as Ivar and Yvaine traveled. As they exited the subterranean architecture,the damp stone underneath his feet turned warm and dry, giving way to daylight and illuminating the squalor around them. People slept in shacks of broken metal and discarded wood. Dirty children tore through refuse lining the streets, fighting over scraps of rancid food.
“When did things get so bad?” Ivar asked, his feet dragging as he felt compelled to break up the scuffle.
“Too many people comin’.” Yvaine answered casually. “There’s only so much space, and the other districts won’t even let ‘em in. If they’re caught anywhere outside o’the 5th they’ll be beaten by the guards and tossed in the ol’ bucket.” She gestured back at the Hollow behind them.
“Where did they come from?”
“Abroad,” Yvaine said. “Most came from far down south, Espald and the like, been told there was good work to be had this far north. There is, just not here. Tricked, the whole lot of ‘em, putting their lives up for sale only to end up like this.”
“I do not understand.” Ivar said. “Why does the council continue to allow people to flood the city?”
Yvaine stopped in her tracks, pulling Ivar back within a shallow alley. She scanned their surroundings suspiciously.
“Between you and me, alright?” She whispered. “It isn’t a matter o’ just lettin’ folk in, aye? No, it’s a matter o’ organized action. Ya ask me, this is a plot against the Workman’s Union, plain and simple.”
“To what end?”
“It's the way the city works. Ya can unseat a councilman by makin’ more money than the seat ya would be seekin’, or ya could cripple their income through other means until ya overtake ‘em by default. The Workman’s Guild relies on their own labor. Flood the market with hungry mouths and, well, suddenly labor is very cheap.”
Ivar paused for a moment. “Yvaine, how did you know I was in the Hollow in the first place?”
Yvaine squinted, both amused and annoyed. “I know things, Ivar. It's what I do. I may not be on the council board, but I do well enough to know a thing or two. And I came for ya because I was told to come. Grand Company orders, though they came by hand of one wearin’ the colors o’ the Union. Apparently, it is no secret that we know each other.”
Ivar dipped his head. “I am sorry. I don’t mean to question a friend. Sindhome has changed so much since I was last here. With Afisk missing-”
“Not so loud!” Yvaine interrupted. She leaned close. “Tell ya straight, I’ve not the foggiest clue what happened. It’s a complete mystery, even to my Blackforne.”
The Blackforne Enterprise was Yvaine’s employer and had been since they first met. Operating under the technicalities of a transportation company, anyone with connections to the city’s underbelly was well aware of its additional services. In truth, Blackforne was a criminal organization. Smuggling, espionage, shakedowns and even assassinations, anything for the right price.
“You still work for Blackforne, then?” Ivar asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
Yvaine tilted her head. “Ya haven’t heard? I’ve a title now, Ivar. They call me the 1st Thorn. I run the place.”
*********************************************************************************************
Before long the pair exited the 5th district, entering Sindhome’s central plaza. It was gray, wide, flat, with one structure dwarfing all others.
Sanctus.
Its stone was a chalky gray. Colossal flying buttresses sprung out along the sides of the building like the wings of a baleful dragon. The facade was adorned with a stained glass clock face, with two cast iron hands affixed to the front. The clock face was decorated with symbols that Ivar could not make out. Above, its facade branched off into three parallel spires, the belfries, and atop these towers stood strange devices of glass and sand.
It matches the banner flying from the gates. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it looks like that thing Astrid has; a tool she used to time and monitor our lessons. She mentioned that they were popular in the south and that in some place they were even held sacred.
“Could you tell me something, before we continue any further?” Ivar asked.
“Depends on the question.”
“Why does the banner of the Hymnal Church’s banner fly from the city walls? ”
Yvaine grimaced. “I don’t know. Grand Companies decided so about three months ago. I’d be careful askin’ too many questions about them folks o’ the church, Ivar. Blackforne gives ‘em a wide bearin’. People tend to disappear when they get too close.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Do you think they had anything to do with Afisk-”
Yvaine raised a finger. “And it is that exact question that I would cautious of askin’ Ivar. Not that that means they did it, but yer bound to find trouble when yer lookin’ for it.”
Ivar acquiesced, following Yvaine deeper in to the plaza. Despite Sanctus’s dominating presence, their destination lied elsewhere. Referred to as the ‘Old Hall’, it was a two story building that was wide and covered in vines. Its center was domed, with two wings branching opposite each other before curling forward, creating a frontal courtyard. The structure was made entirely of wood and was painted a dark red.
Yvaine stopped him just before entering the courtyard, pulling out a pair of iron clasps.
“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to put these on ya before we can go in.”
Ivar frowned, “I didn’t expect my execution to arrive so quickly.”
Yvaine gave him a light smack on the head. “Don’t be so dramatic! There will be no executin’ no one today. They wanna talk, nothin’ more.”
Ivar sighed. “Alright. Let's get this over with.”
*********************************************************************************************
Ivar, hands and feet bound in irons, stood at the center of the council chamber. The council was seated on a series of raised pews that formed a half circle with the opening directly behind him. Behind the council were rows of auditorium seating, filled with delegates from Sindhome’s smaller companies.
Ivar stood alone, with hundreds staring down upon him, at the center of that room. He watched as, far above, Yvaine took her seat as an observer. She waved her support before fading into the crowd. Upon the raised pews were four seats, each evenly spaced, belonging to the governing board of the Grand Companies.
Inrig Engel sat to his left, surrounded by three of his daughters, each whispering into his ears. He was tall and gaunt, with a thin white beard and great bushy eyebrows. His cheeks had long since sunken in, but his eyes held a timeless predatory spark.
Erik Sted, master of the Workman's Union, rested his chin upon balled fists. His head was shaved, his neck as thick as Ivar’s thighs, and his chest a barrel of flesh and bone. Ivar knew Erik, and was glad for his presence. The man was curt but honest. It was these very traits that made him popular with the workmen of Sindhome, yet here, in this pit of snakes, made a jester of out him.
The remaining seats were empty.
“You will have to forgive my colleagues,” Inrig began, his voice airy and hoarse. “They seem caught upon some other business. Rest assured, they will be here in due time.”
“I’m sorry ye were brought here like this.” Erik said, frustration plain on his face. “I had only just learned that they had stuck ye in the hollow when they had told the rest of us. It was I who sent for Yvaine, feelin’ ye would welcome a friendly face.”
Ivar bowed. “You have my thanks. I was not expecting so many unfriendly faces.”
Inrig sat up in his seat with a sly smile. “It has been some time since you were last with us.”
“Are the bindings really necessary?” Erik asked suddenly. “The man is harmless.”
“The only good Vol is a dead one!” Someone shouted from the auditorium.
“Kill him and be done with it!” shouted another. This was followed by a chorus of support.
Inrig frowned as the crowd settled.
“Ivar Volsson, godi of the Great Bear, the Red Pilgrim.” Inrig began. “Voljar though he be, the man has labored for the benefit of us all for over a decade. He has earned naught but the respect of all Yvan peoples, and that includes us! If something happened to him here, in our care, we would have the Berserkir breaking down our front door. Is that what you all want?” Inrig paused, an uncomfortable silence filling the air. “I didn’t think so.” He turned and gave a nod to one of the guards, “Release him.”
Ivar’s hands and feet were unbound. He grasped at his wrists, providing some small relief to the now raw skin underneath.
“Why have you brought me here?” Ivar asked as he met their gaze.
“Well for one,” Erik answered, “Ye didn’t let us know ye were comin’. Ye got caught trying to sneak into the city, illegally, on a cart smuggling fiskburr, illegally. Had we not heard o’ the incident, ye would still be in the Hollow.”
“It was most unusual to find you in such a place,” Inrig added. “Surely a man such as yourself, on what I can assume is the official business of Bjorneldr, would wish to make his presence known…” Inrig’s breath left him, ending in a sputtering cough.
As if on queue, the main entrance to the council chambers shot open. A small army of glorious soldiers, radiant in their shining plate, entered the room. Towering and silent, with not a gasp or a huff breathing out the metal, they thumped along the wood flooring. Between their plates burgundy cloth with seams of spun gold were stuffed and padded. They each wore helmets that covered their faces, latched firmly. Flowing behind them were brilliant burgundy cloaks, fluttering just inches off the ground. There were twelve soldiers in total, six in a row with two columns, escorting a small figure. They meandered around the edge of the pews until the tiny figure was seated, the escort forming a small encirclement around them.
The small councilman was covered head to toe in the purest white cloth, unsullied from the weaving of even its own threads. The hood was drawn, and the only decoration upon it was a golden sigil depicting an hourglass. As the noise died down they pulled down their hood and revealed themselves to be a young boy with curly, dark hair, olive skin and golden wizened eyes.
“That was quite an entrance, Isaac.” Inrig quipped, his voice now returned to him.
Stoically, the boy spoke. “‘Know the truth, the radiance of divination, borne from sands and fire and time. Live this truth, and allies shall flock to your side.’ Evangelical Paths: 11:32.”
“Don’t get the lad started.” Erik pleaded.
Isaac stared at Ivar, his eyes unblinking, focusing upon him like a cat stalking a mouse.
Ivar cleared his throat, “Why does the church send a child to speak on its behalf?”
Isaac’s large pupils dilated as he answered.
“‘And within this holy order I shall establish a Choir, a golden Choir. Children shall sing hymns of our virtue and all shall hear. The meek will flock to our side, the wise will join their voices, and the wicked shall turn in fear. Let them be our voice forever more.’ Ordinances, 113:34.” Isaac spoke with voice unfaltering, eyes unwavering, and with a tongue that bathed in sanctimony.
“You will forgive our cryptic friend.” Inrig said. “He means well, even if he is, at times, difficult to understand.”
Isaac continued. “‘All that is true is written in the texts. Deviate not from the sacred tongue, for a voice true and pure shall produce friends from the rendered spirit of his foes. Let them know our guidance as it was written, as it is lived.’ Evangelical Paths, 1:2.”
Ivar felt a power residing within Isaac that echoed with a tune he had only felt before in the oldest places of the world. It was as if something greater was inhabiting the child’s body, something ancient and wrong.
This is no child.
A pair of doors at the back of the room, atop the auditorium risers, burst open in a flurry of tapestries and flowers. A red carpet unspooled itself, pouring out of the hallway beyond and into the council chambers. Half a dozen young men adorned with white roses, the sigil of House Sangria, frantically hurried forward and posted themselves along the sides of the carpet with trumpets in hand. As the flowers began to settle, the trumpets flared a brilliant series of notes, triumphant and warm. From beyond the flowered veil the final council member approached.
She towered twice the height of a normal woman as she bounded along the carpet with clockwork prosthetic legs, excessively long and slender. They ticked in sync with the motion of her thighs and hips, spooling metal threads and gears buzzing at the knees, the feet replaced by imitation hooves. She wore a short dress and gown, dark navy blue and shining gold fabric accented with white roses.
Maria Rosa Del Sangria was accompanied by her husband Antonio, who lacked the effortless authority she exuded. He was short, thin, and frail, with a pair of thick spectacles. Age had not been as kind to him.
Maria had a wicked glare and hooked nose, but was beautiful. It was clear that her ‘generosity’ in establishing a council, here in Sindhome, had in fact enshrined her as a queen.
Maria sat down in a massive chair, more resembling a throne, with a smaller seat at her side for Antonio. They were also encircled by their own entourage of house guards. Maria’s legs continued to tick and spin for a few moments, then quieted.
“Now that introductions are finished, we can begin.” She announced. Her voice was regal and authoritative.
“You have yet to introduce yourself.” Ivar jabbed.
“You know who I am.” She retorted, unimpressed. “Ivar Volsson, why are you here?”
“I was jailed on my way into the city.”
“You were caught, Ivar. Why did you not announce your coming?”
“Circumstances have led me and mine to believe that Sindhome has become unsafe.”
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “And what could have so shaken the faith of our otherwise stalwart allies?”
Ivar took a deep breath and stood tall. “Afisk is gone, Bjorneldr can no longer sense his presence.” He paused, giving room for a collective gasp from the audience, but received only the dry air of expectant silence. He continued. “I then received a message from Snorri. A warning. And I have come to investigate.” Ivar spoke, locking eyes with Isaac. Isaac had yet to blink.
Sinners of sand, saints of the hourglass…
Maria furrowed her brow. Inrig drifted off watching himself in the reflection of his daughter’s eye. Erik flashes his eyes helplessly. Isaac, still, had yet to blink. After a moment Maria finally answered.
“Afisk is gone. We do not know why. Snorri was a drunken fool who has long since lost his wits. He thinks the Hymnal Church has somehow caused Afisk's disappearance, yet we’ve no evidence to support his claims.” She said.
Inrig chimed in. “Once we informed Snorri that no immediate action would be taken, he flew into a rage and attempted to murder us in this very chamber! We were to execute him for his outburst, but it was Isaac who motioned for mercy. He is in the Hollow now, serving a life sentence for his crimes against the council.”
“You have a funny sense of mercy,” Ivar spat. “Nary a trace of Afisk’s essence remains and the only man who might speak on it is locked out of my reach. Why are you not concerned by this? He is your wild god!”
“There are many here in Sindhome, myself included, whose blood finds novelty upon the soils of Yvaheim. As such, I would insist that a native inform you of our position.” Maria commanded.
Inrig spoke again. “Afisk has not paid us any heed in decades, Ivar. Where Bjorneldr labors daily for your people, the greatest boon Afisk ever delivered us was his absence. We have flourished without the hand of a wild god and are not particularly keen to regain it. Afisk is gone. Where? We do not know, but we will not chase him.”
Ivar felt his cheeks flush.
Inrig, you conniving snake. You have uttered nothing but lies from the moment I met you. Why would you change now?
He shook the thought, and called upon his training to still his racing heart . “Bring me Snorri. I would speak with him now.”
“No, fair godi, you will not.” Maria decreed.
“You would give me nothing?”
“I would. Snorri is a dangerous man, a Voljar, who wishes us harm. You are also a dangerous man, and the extent of which is yet unknown. I would not condone the alliance of two Voljar who seek to undermine this council.”
“I will not leave here empty handed.”
“We have told you all we can.
“You are liars!” Ivar screamed, his voice echoing through the chamber. The guards throughout the room tensed, reaching for their weapons. “You are vapid, greedy parasites who insult my honor and my intelligence!”
The chamber fell into silence which lingered for a few moments.
Maria remained unswayed, “If there is nothing else?”
Huffing, Ivar looked to Isaac once more, “I have a question for the boy.” Maria waved her wrist in approval. “Tell me, speaker of the church, in all of your truths and virtue, what did you do to Afisk?”
In that moment Isaac’s face finally shifted, producing a menacing smile. His eyes flickered with an ancient prejudice, burning from within.
“‘It is the call of the church to grow. To sing the sands into a standstill and to unite the chorus that is creation unto a single divine purpose. As our rising harmony grows it is only right that softer songs should be absorbed, that they join the chorus in servitude. Lend thy voice and embrace eternity.’ Conversations, 4:9”.
“This meeting is adjourned.” Maria interjected. Let this be a warning, Ivar. Guards! Escort Ivar out of Sindhome and inform the city watch that he is not to be allowed entrance without council approval.”
At once, Ivar was in chains and the last thing he saw as he was being dragged away was Isaac’s wicked smile staring back at him.
