The four of them sat deep within the den. The sun had long since set on this meeting, a small fire flickering between them.

  “Could you, please, say that all again? One more time.” Sigrid said distantly, lost in the small flame.

  “Afisk is gone.” Astrid said bitterly. “The council is lying to us. Snorri has been imprisoned within the Hollow and access for questioning has been denied. A mysterious religion has essentially commandeered the capital city, locking off the rest of Yvaheim from the Aferd pass and isolating us.” Astrid turned to Ivar. “Does that about sum things up?”

  Ivar nodded, visibly exhausted from his journey.

  Bjorneldr blew smoke out of her nose in a huff. “Grim tidings.”

  “Godmodr,” Sigrid began, a spark of curiosity ringing through. “I have a strange question, if you would hear it.”

  “Speak child.”

  “What happens when a god dies?” Sigrid asked. “Are you unchanged since the start? Do you remember the beginning?”

  “I do, and I do not.” Bjorneldr reclined a bit, raising her snout as if to peer through the stone ceiling of the den and towards the sky. “This is not my first body. I have fallen twice before. When one of us dies our essence leaves our body, yet we do not leave Yvaheim. We wander. With time we remember what we were, and with memory comes purpose and form. Eventually we are made whole again. This process can take years but it is certain all the same. Listen to me when I say this: not a moment goes by where, even in that state, my siblings and I cannot sense each other.”

  Sigrid gasped, “Then that means Afisk-”

  “Afisk is not dead. He’s gone.”

  A silence gripped the chamber. Sigrid was sat on next to the fire, legs and arms crossed in consideration. She had changed from her bed linens for the first time since giving birth. She now wore furs and leathers stretched and interwoven to cover her massive frame. Adorning her head was the centerpiece of Jarl authority, a crown made of antlers. Two interlocking circles were branched upwards at four evenly spaced points and carved with runes. It bore the title of Yrsa’s Dawn, named after the first Berserkir, Yrsa, who was of the Nine.

  “What are we ever to do?” She asked.

  “We need to uncover what fate befell Afisk, first and foremost.” Astrid suggested.

  “You will hear no protest from me.” Bjorneldr responded. “Though an investigation will certainly prove difficult. Where do we start?”

  “That poor old coot, Snorri, is probably already dead or made mad by the Hollow.” Astrid said. “Even if we could find him, forcing entry into Sindhome might escalate this whole situation beyond what is necessary. We are not prepared for open war.”

  “Nor do we even know, beyond doubt, who is really to blame.” Ivar said.

  “True,” Sigrid added. “What matters now is learning the truth.” She turned to Ivar. “I propose one more favor, love. I would ask that you travel to Thrahygg. Speak with Seida, and Eigir if you can. I have a feeling we will be in need of allies in the days to come.”

  “Eigir, though fickle and aloof, would relish the puzzle presented. I am certain he, too, is desperate to learn of our brother’s fate.” Bjorneldr spoke, a fleeting trail of hope present. “Snorri’s predicament should also concern them, for the Academy is not one to ignore missing Voljar.”

  “You two are of one mind,” Ivar sighed as he stood, the bags of his eyes drooping low. “I shall go as I am bidden.”

  Sigrid frowned. She leapt up from the ground and followed Ivar around the fire, towering over him. She hoisted him up, squeezing him tightly in a loving embrace.

  “You are bid nowhere but here, with me, you sod.” She said. “And you are to return as swift as you can before I drag you back myself. I’ll not have Ragni and Munnin suffer an absent father.” She kissed him firmly upon the forehead.

  He giggled like a little boy as she set him down.

  Soon I’ll have time to be the father they deserve. To be the father that I never had. Ivar thought.

  “I would waste no time while I still have my spirits,” he announced, some level of vigor restored. “I will leave now, as I would like to arrive under Seida’s good graces. She tends to get a bit ornery come the late afternoon.”

  He stepped aside and spread his feet, the transportation circle he had drawn earlier was still etched onto the floor. Placing his hand outward, the runes on his skin shined. In a flash of pale blue light he was gone, a gust of wind that smothered their small fire.

  In the dark Sigrid sighed. “This could not be happening at a worse time.”

  Bjorneldr, great haunches rumbling, curled around her back in an offer of comfort. “No, child, it could not.”

  Astrid joined their embrace. “There are no good times and there are no bad times. There is only time, unyielding. This shall pass, my dear. There is no telling what tomorrow may bring.”

  *********************************************************************************************

  Traveling to Thrahygg through the leylines was different from visiting other locations. It was the most popular destination and thus the most accessible, its lines carved deep through millennia of rehearsed traversal. It proved to be an efficient, if boring, journey.

  There was an arrival platform within the largest of the nine schools. It was flat and empty, with several Volhaust posted at its side constantly monitoring it. No sooner had Ivar arrived than he was confronted by several of the ghostly figures.

  “Name?” One asked. They held a pad and a pen in their hands.

  “Ivar Volsson.” He answered.

  They scribbled. “Business?”

  “An audience with Eigir and the headmaster.”

  Two of the Volhaust exchanged glances from behind their opaque veils. More scribbling followed. “We will inform them of your arrival.”

  The arrival platform’s room opened into the main chamber of the Academy. At its center opened a gap in the stone foundations, leaving space for a large pool of frigid water around which students were perched in meditation. They wore the dark robes of Volhaust, but had not yet drawn their hoods and veils.

  They still have their eyes. They still have their stars and souls, how great a foe to struggle against. Ivar thought. Most of them will lose their fight; will be conquered by the will of their magics. He fell solemn but had no choice but to stuff away his sorrow. What was the use? He could not help them, not so long as Seida ran the school.

  The walls were carved from whole stone, blackened and damp, lined with ever-burning torches. The inner chamber was smooth and the only way to ascend the floors were ramps installed as hallways along the inner lining of the Academy.

  The Volhaust continued to ignore him.

  They know who I am, all too well. Even after all the years spent here, all the horrors and suffering, our kinship was washed away the moment that they became Volhaust and I did not. They hate me for it, they cannot feel a thing and yet their hatred seems to fuel the very torches that light Thrahygg’s dark and dreary halls.

  I do not enjoy this place.

  He heard the distinct sounds of latches and knobs unfold, colliding upon the obsidian above.

  “Leave us.” A distant voice command.

  It was Seida’s, as it had the distilled sense of power and authority only held by her. While he could hear footsteps fading away, he knew they were not hers.

  Seida does not walk.

  Levitating off of the balcony above, Seida descended through the central chamber. Centered above the freezing waters of the pool, she hovered in place with a radiant authority. In spite of all her power, her reputation, she could not help herself from smiling.

  “Ivar...” She sang expectantly.

  “Seida.” Ivar answered flatly.

  She gasped, bringing her fingers to her chin. “Such a cold front! Is this all I can expect from you after such an absence? It's been months!”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been occupied, especially as of late-”

  “Urgent business brings you here, yes? It always does. You only come when you need my help, never to say ‘hello’, never to visit! Never to tell me about Sigrid or your new life in Timberfell. You have kept me at arm’s length, Ivar, and it hurts.”

  The playful pretensions had now faded, replaced with genuine disappointment. She lowered herself onto the floor just in front of Ivar.

  Ivar lunged forward, snapping her up in a warm embrace. For all of his complicated feelings towards the Academy, all the brutality of his early childhood, Seida had been a mother when everyone else had abandoned him.

  “I’m sorry.” He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll do better.”

  “Hush now,” she soothed, squeezing back. “Come with me, I would speak with you in private before we see Eigir. He will need a while before he is ready, he does not do well with sudden developments.”

  *****************************************************************************************

  “Twins…” Seida rasped as the blood drained from her face. Even she, whose achievements stand tall atop the corpses of ten thousand children; each a testament to the brutal reality of the Vol, despaired at the idea. “A blind child, born of twins, son of the Godmodr’s godi and Berserkir. Ivar, you better hope and pray that that boy is not Vol, as should we all.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I know-”

  “And that is to say nothing of Ragni! Imagine, a Vol and a Berserkir? Yva below, could we even-”

  He slammed his fist on the table. “I know!

  They sat at a small table inside Seida’s personal quarters next to a lit fireplace. The room was furnished with bright shining brass and lavender silks, matching Seida’s own attire. Her dress was well fitted and the sleeves separate, creating a hard cut off before the shoulders. She wore a golden tiara interwoven into her gray buns, forming a jeweled lattice that had expanded to include her earrings.

  She took a deep sip of steaming tea. “My apologies, I do not know what came over me.”

  “I am well aware of the challenges my children might pose.” Ivar said. “Know this, for as long as I live they will not become your charge.”

  She nodded “I am aware that Thrahygg is a last resort, a desperate haven for Vol without guidance. Your children will be your own, as long as you teach them properly.”

  “Guidance,” he echoed. “Guidance is why I am here. I would seek your counsel on Sindhome.”

  Grimly, she set her cup down. “While I have no doubt that Eigir has been watching Sindhome from afar, even he would benefit from your first hand account.” Seida gestured to the balcony.

  Two glass paned doors lead to an observation deck that ran along the outside of the Academy. They left the warmth of her quarters and embraced the freezing air of the arctic sea. Seida raised one elegant hand out in an offer of comfort. Ivar grabbed hold of it and then himself floating. Seida lifted them both, hand in hand, into the air and drifting gently onto the ice below. As they descended, Ivar lost himself in the boreal lights dancing upon the horizon.

  ‘Eigir’s Dreams’, they were named, a testament to the reverence held for the great kraken. At certain times of year the northern skies would dance with the brilliance of a rainbow, shining on the opal crests of the waves.

  They landed on the ice cap stuck to the academy and approached the edge of the ice. There the waters stirred. A whirlpool swirled in front of them, churning faster, its edges sharpening. All at once the water leapt up and crashed back down, turning serene.

  Then the god appeared.

  Dark jade scales which glistened a deep purple, countless tentacles parting the water, his great visage slowly rising out of the sea. Eigir’s flesh began to peel and open, revealing a massive singular, orange eye with black pupils, two thin slits close and parallel.

  Larger than any ship Ivar had ever seen, Eigir’s from swelled before him.

  “Our Red Pilgrim. Prodigal son.

  What grim winds foretell your coming.”

  Eigir spoke with a voice so colossal, so deep, that it rattled the ice.

  “Poet of the Depths.” Ivar spoke clearly and loudly. “I come bearing news from Sindhome and to beg your counsel.”

  Eigir’s eye spun, then dilated.

  “Afisk is gone, suspiciously,

  serendipitous fortune comes.

  Tell me of my brother, godi.

  Speak, as my mind and spirit hums.”

  *********************************************************************************

  Ivar told the kraken everything while Eigir remained still in quiet contemplation. Only once Ivar was finished did Eigir deign to answer.

  “The Children of the River lie.

  Their silence is an admission.

  Daggers of mem’ry never die,

  Some plot has seen its fruition.

  I have now, through salt, ice and time:

  An infernal bargain at hand.

  Gaze with me, through the frozen rime,

  The distant past withholds a plan.”

  Seida stepped forward, “You couldn’t possibly mean… One hundred years came and went before you shared it with me, before you believed I would survive it. Do you think he is ready?”

  “I do. For time is not a friend.

  I would share it before our end.”

  “How can you be certain?” She asked again. Her legs were spread in a powerful stance and her back was arched like a cats; she bristled like a worried mother.

  Ivar stood resolute, “What would you ask of me?”

  Eigir’s eye sharpened.

  “Carved stone, hewn and thrown, aged and set.

  Upon the curse of Thrahygg rests.

  Words half-lost, let rot, left buried,

  Forgotten words of men first born.”

  “What is he talking about?” Ivar said, turning to Seida.

  “Convergence.” Seida uttered with a reverence he had never before seen from her. “An old prophecy, left behind on an ancient runestone, written by Norna long before Thrahygg was built.”

  The hairs on Ivar’s neck stiffened. “The Norna, of the Nine? It was written by her? What does it say?”

  Eigir answered.

  “Nothing.

  Everything.”

  In a flurry of writhing movement, Eigir’s tentacles lurched forward. They encircled Ivar, trapping him tight. Eigir swept him off of the ice and brought him close, forcing Ivar’s gaze to meet his own, his single eye swallowing the little man.

  Between the cracks of orange iris, twinkling in the dark recesses of the Eigir’s pupils, Ivar saw it. And then the darkness of Eigir’s gaze expanded, consuming him.

  *********************************************************************************************

  Ivar stood alone with a void upon a stone surface broad, thick and smooth. It stretched forward unto the horizon, careening up and arcing through the sky, before curling back beneath his feet. It was marked with symbols he had never seen before, far removed from anything ever written by the Yvans or their gods.

  It was a wheel.

  He felt his legs wobble, realizing that the stone he stood upon was moving. Rotating. He walked forward, maintaining a pace that kept him upright. As the wheel spun, the void gained color and light. Softly at first, just barely illuminating, before the speckled dew of stardust spread before him. With light, then, came the great tree. It was impossibly large, but finite, for it stood trapped inside the rim. As the wheel spun, the tree grew. As the tree grew, a strange figure appeared upon one of its branches.

  A man hanging from a noose.

  Fresh flesh and pale skin, the figure on the branch aged so rapidly that it quickly crumbled to dust and bone. And there the corpse hung, ignored by the spinning wheel and the expanding canopy. Eventually, the boughs of the tree stretched so far that they touched the wheel itself. And there they did not stop.

  Oaken bark moaning loud, bough burden broke, the tree roared against the wheel. Pushing and pushing and pushing as it grew, it became too much. And so it was that the tree broke the wheel. And as it all came crashing down, the hanged man was freed.

  As he fell, approaching the pale sand far below, his flesh returned. The passage of time reversed itself such that, just before the man hit the sand, he was an infant babe in swaddling cloth.

  Gazing upon the destruction, Ivar blinked. He found himself standing back upon the wheel once again in the black void, all undone.

  Eigir spoke to him in the darkness.

  “This is the natural cycle,

  So as it was written before.

  The wheel of time is kept idle,

  By the hanged man that hits the shore.

  Yet, as my Norna wrote in stone,

  Words ignored by her kin, all eight.

  Cut loose the man, make time thy own,

  And wait not those great boughs to break.

  Convergence, so it is spoken.

  As the hanged man hits the pale sands,

  And before the wheel is broken.

  Cut the man loose with mortal hands.

  And see that he is awoken.”

  *********************************************************************************************

  Ivar awoke flat upon the ice and gazing up at the flickering lights of Eigir’s Dreams. “What the hell was that?”

  “Convergence.” Seida said softly, almost hesitantly.

  Ivar, now standing, turned to Eigir. “I don’t understand. What was all of that supposed to be?”

  Eigir answered.

  “A vexing question it ever is.”

  “We do not know,” Seida elaborated. “Deep within the ice Eigir keeps it: the Convergence stone. Norna gave it to him long ago. She had kept it to herself until her deathbed, where she passed it onto Eigir.”

  Eigir grew somber as she spoke, but said nothing.

  “So it's all a mystery then; the wheel, the tree and the hanged man?” Ivar asked. Seida nodded. “Why share that with me? What relevance does it bear to Sindhome?”

  Eigir’s tentacles writhed for a moment, as if shivering in the cold water.

  “The wheel of time has overlapped.

  Patterns repeated, now inept.

  Seek the source of the river’s laugh,

  And find what writs the Fate has kept.”

  “A god has never vanished.” Seida said. “Not like this. Eigir believes that the stone is a clue, a warning from the past. It is no coincidence that Afisk disappeared with the coming of the Hymnal Church.” Her voice softened and regretful. “Ivar…What we are about to ask- we need to know that we can trust you.”

  “Anything, you have my word.” He said plainly.

  “It is not that simple.” She said coldly. “We need more than just your word.”

  A tentacle rose from the water, carrying a thin, silver band. It was an armband, to be worn around the bicep. It was grooved and spun, with a red gem set in its center. It looped but did not quite meet on the inner rim, instead two curling knobs spun away from each other. On the inner band were rows and rows of small spikes, sharp and glistening.

  “An oathbairn?” Ivar asked, incredulous. “You think me a slave! Have I not yet earned your trust?”

  “This goes far beyond us, Ivar. We can ill afford to take any chances, even if it's with you.”

  Staring at the oathbairn, Ivar nodded grimly.

  I have no choice, Seida. Anything for you.

  Seida display the artifact with an open palm and Ivar took it from her grasp. With a workman’s mindset he slid its band at an angle, coming to the thinnest point of his left bicep, after which he wedged it inward, grimacing as the silver spikes pierced his flesh.

  “Are you ready to take your oath?” Seida asked.

  “I am.” He said as he felt the warmth of his blood begin to trickle.

  “Kneel.” She commanded.

  Ivar knelt.

  She raised her arms above her head and spoke towards the night sky. “Ivar Volsson, you would take this oath knowing you shall henceforth be bound; by blood and honor and soul?”

  “I am bidden.” he answered.

  “You are to hold the good of Yvaheim and its people, its safety and wellbeing, above any and all else.”

  “I am bidden.”

  “You will do so, not because it is just, but because you are now oathsworn. You will not fear death. You will have no doubts. You will know no gods but duty. The price of failure will be your arm, branding you an oathbreaker for the rest of time. Do you understand?”

  “I am bidden.”

  In a flash of searing pain the armband ignited in a roaring blaze of flame. It burned for but a moment, echoing in the flickering peace of a promise, before fading.

  The armband was gone.

  “You are bidden.” Seida finished. Ivar, panting from the pain, stood to his feet. Seida exchanged a glance with Eigir and continued. “We believe that Norna left behind additional tablets. We have reason to believe that they will help us better understand the Convergence stone and we need you to look for them. No one can navigate the leylines like you, not even me.”

  Ivar flexed his bicep ruefully. “ Where should I start looking?”

  Eigir rumbled in a low cacophony that could only be described as a laugh.

  “You’ve now been touched by Norna’s voice.

  You’ve now the scent to track them down.

  Trust yourself and your instincts true,

  Good winds ahead, my red-haired hound.”