Cooling, pale blue light bathed the silenced hallways in a serene glow as our steps played off the sterilised surfaces. We had not exchanged words since our departure, her solemn demeanour proving a worthy deterrent in the face of circumspection. It left me alone, battling anamnesis that threatened to unlock a veritable pandora's box that would send me spiralling into oblivion.
Placid illumination meant to evoke peace and tranquillity brought forth dread and suffocation. Marbled walls and flooring, pure in disposition, reflected a sinister image, wraiths lingering beyond the mirror of reality. The hairs on my neck stood at attention as cold sweat incised a pathway through my skin. What little solace I received came in the form of the thick herbal fragrance that saturated the air, being my only departure from harrowing reminiscence as I desperately fought to keep the tide at bay.
The meandering corridors eventually led to a foyer, a giant luminous orb hanging overhead, encompassing everything in a warming embrace. Ailing souls of broken bodies and shattered minds were strewn about, surviving the consequences of their exploits. I drifted closer to the nurse, the involuntary ticks and babbling drawing unwelcome retrospect. Suddenly, double doors to the side burst open, releasing a woman shrieking at the top of her lungs. I was stricken with fear, her frayed hair and sunken eyes giving rise to what anyone could mistake for a banshee. The commotion set off the other patients, who quickly descended into chaos. The perpetrator, in torn robes exposing a breast, displayed no awareness as she began sprinting toward us.
She didn't make it far before two nurses emerged from where she entered, subduing her with ease. It was swift and precise, and before the madwoman even registered their presence, they had her tied down in a neck lock. Once she had lost consciousness, they dragged her back, each holding an arm, their demeanour… lax. Similar scenes unfolded as I glanced around, nurses wielding the same practised motions and tactics in an almost premeditated fashion. It was apparent that incidences like these were more than common here, my frayed nerves finding solace in the steadying hand I had unknowingly clasped during the ordeal. As we continued abreast, I wondered what manner of turmoil could reduce an adult woman to such a state. 'Do I even want to know?'
We walked the crystalline temple dedicated to the mending of flesh and alleviation of thought until it was no more, minimalistic designs morphing to ones of grandeur. The sheen of polished marble gave way to the usual browns and greys I had grown familiar with, becoming the bedrock on which murals depicted grand sagas of eras long forgotten. It was a fine display of earthen artistry that was exceeded when we made it into what I expected to be the central chamber. Historic statues towered over all, chests ablaze, guarding this hallowed sanctum against those harbouring ill will while lighting the path of the worthy. If the adults were like toddlers before them, what more about myself, who was barely half their height.
People clothed in varying amounts of weaponry walked by us, heading into numerous side halls or elsewhere. The streams of warriors were accompanied by incongruous chatter, sounding like the early morning markets I sometimes visited. As we progressed, the statues grew in stature, depicting various men and women in different stances. Some remained stalwart, fit to weather any blow, while others opted for more aggressive forms, like a boulder in motion careening down a hillside, destruction in its wake. The level of detail of each one was astounding, to the point I could make out strands of hair and the stitches in their clothing. The people, 'no, artisans', who created these colossi were masters of their craft in all senses of the phrase.
My escort soon stopped at what I thought was the end of the main hall, but a fissure in the wall and the two guards standing by indicated the opposite. She stepped forth and had a few words with them, and despite me being close enough to hear the conversation under normal circumstances, the ambience deemed it possible to barely make anything out, and all I managed to catch was "thing". They let us through, the crack seeming to draw in all light, a crude manifestation of the void I had once sailed through. The pathway inclined downwards, with a faint luminescence within the stone, barely allowing enough visibility to secure one's footing. I began noticing rising temperatures while venturing deeper, cimmerian rock glazing us in a heat far above normal.
With the peculiar situation and us being alone, I decided it was time for some answers lest I enter the depths of Múspell involuntarily. "Miss—huff—where are we going?" I wheezed between handicapped respiration.
She broke neither stride nor form, replying, "A significant individual requested your appearance. I have been tasked with escorting you there."
"Who is this person?" I questioned, voice enlarging in the tube-like chamber.
"They are one of the Nine Pillars that preside over all warriors and supporting personnel. That is all I am privy to," she said with unconcealed reverence.
Noting her tone, I refrained from further inquiry, battling the heat that showed no signs of abating. When we finally stopped descending, I was drenched in sweat, feeling like I was within a large underground sauna. The nurse also did not go untouched, panting and habitually puffing her garment. Bright veins flowed within the opaque canals we treaded in, ushering us to who knows where. Heat pulsated from each one, the liquid flowing within, giving the impression I was walking within the arteries of the earth's beating heart. The lines soon congregated, travelling into a passageway barred by a gargantuan barrier, which was still an understatement for all intents and purposes.
Archaic etchings danced over the glassy lightless stone, a tapestry of ancient history out of reach of my understanding. It was slightly ajar, providing more than enough space for a man or ten to fit through. The maid turned and bowed before motioning for me to step into the darkness that crept beyond the gaping maw. With little choice to refuse and feet searing due to the inactivity, I complied, scurrying along, praying the stories I heard about fire giants were not based on reality. A low rumbling shook my eardrums as I delved deeper into what I was now convinced was Múspellsheimr, sweltering ground giving me no rest from its temperament. The shadows concealed my figure as I approached the glowing mouth signifying the tunnel's end, where I could untangle a few dissenting voices out of the earthly grumble.
"You have no say in this matter!" a gruff voice tremored through the tunnel. Caught off guard and practically blind, I stumbled, catching myself on a nearby wall. I yelped in pain, pulling away as fast as humanly possible, holding a scalding palm, the now lack of speech betraying the fact I was known. I would have liked to remain hidden and pull from their conversation as much information as possible before I revealed myself, but what's done is done. With a sigh of reluctance, I stepped into what was a large cavern, wincing at the change in brightness and setting.
What met my vision left me stunned, the tunnel culminating at a cliff that jutted high above an oozing sea of magma as far as my sight could reach. It bubbled and hissed as if it were alive, and a sense of powerlessness overtook me in its raw might. Ardent gems littered the roof of this expanse, resembling a bed of stars on a clear winter night. The earth at my feet, paired with the heavens high above, was a surreal picture, and I briefly lost myself to its majesty.
A silky voice, one you would expect of a conniver, interrupted my reverie. "I remember having that exact expression when I first came here. Ah, those were the good old times." Slightly miffed that I had let the awe of this place drag me away from the situation at hand, I looked towards the source of the voices for the first time. A bridge extended from the cliff's edge, sturdy, unbreakable, leading to a stone platform on the other side, lording over the molten earth. On this platform, I saw five people seated at a long table, silently awaiting my arrival, gazes palpable even at this distance. Crossing the bridge while trying to ignore the idea that below me, liquified stone with the ability to dissolve anything it touched boiled away, I sized up what I could now identify were five men of varying ages and the scene at large.
What stood out the most was that the… thrones they rested on were all unique. The central throne was the largest by far, denoting the foremost authority of its holder, an aged man, wrinkled and white yet somehow causing me an unfounded amount of concern. Carved out of his headrest was a vegvisir, the compass that shows the way. He was likely the head of this whole council. On the leftmost throne sat a middle-aged man, dressed in the standard colours of the guards, green and blue, his most distinguishing feature: shifty eyes. The symbol above his head was an opened palm, the hand that kept order within the city. To his left was a stocky individual, stroking a bushy beard, staring at me with angered eyes marked by the symbol of a person lifting a rock.
Sat to the left of centre was a man I had nearly mistaken for a bear, such was his size, muscles chiselled from stone glistening with sweat reminding me of those ancient nude sculptures. 'Gree—something.' His symbol was a bulwark of round shields forming an impregnable barrier. The last member seated at the immediate right of the head was a smirking man who looked the youngest amongst them, I guessed around thirty. I could imagine his identity from the dark hair and glowing green eyes, 'an Illugi'. The carving above his head was the most striking so far, involving a sword piercing through the top of a skull ending when it was halfway down its length. The remaining four thrones were empty, and I saw no reason to pay attention to them when facing such lofted individuals.
The one to speak first was the chief, addressing the Illugi. "What reason have you brought this child here for Ívarr? He has no bearing in our discussion."
"Oh? Here we are deciding his future, and you say he has no right to partake in it?" Ívarr said sarcastically. The meat of his words struck me like a bolt of lightning. 'My future? What do they mean!?'
"Tch—did you have to say it so bluntly, Ívarr. You've scared the soul right out of the little guy," hulk scolded, arms crossed.
"My bad, it was a slip of the tongue. I was just so surprised the kid is actually real and not some sort of out-of-season prank," Ívarr chuckled, much to the annoyance of the bearded man who had started pulling at his beard for some odd reason.
"What's done is done. Boy," I looked into the eyes of the elderly man, tension rising against the infernal backdrop, "do you know why you are here?" he asked, to which I shook my head.
"You murdered someone," the bearded man butted in, uncaring of the rudeness of his act. My heart dropped at the statement, for I knew this was no light charge. Would they lock me up in the dungeons or execute me? What would happen to my training, my goal of equalling the light? But most importantly, why could I not remember murdering anyone?
I gripped my head as blurred memories stitched together, gradually forming a mosaic of agony, rage and blood. I remembered the wrathful indignation I felt when someone dared step up to me. The searing pain and fright of tumbling down the bridge and nearly falling off. The delight of warm ichor trickling down my throat and ecstasy that kissed me when his head cracked like a pumpkin. "Nooo!" I cried, falling to my knees, tears hissing as they fell to the ground. This was not how it was meant to go. I had so much planned, so much to live for. 'What would they do to me… what would they do to me,' I lamented, sobbing on a floor that seemed far colder than what it was barely a moment ago.
No words of comfort or hands of support were offered to the wailing boy, curled up on the floor. Such an unsightly display deserved no such thing, and following that vein, they opted to do nothing but silently wait. The scene was reminiscent of one where five generals of Helheim had just cast irrevocable judgement upon a damned soul and were revelling in their captor's anguish. Even the land seemed to reject him, tears sizzling over the igneous rock. The boy eventually regained some semblance of dignity, standing on shaky legs, cheeks stained, sweating and huffing; he wouldn't last much longer down here. His quivering lips parted, involuntary heaves breaking speech. "W-What's going to hap-happen to me," he stuttered.
"According to custom, you would pay the equivalent price in blood," Bjǫlr growled, holding nothing back in the face of the offender, who looked to be on the verge of collapsing again.
The poor child sorely needed a steady pillar to lean on at this time, but the spot beside him remained vacant. While many knew the general circumstances he faced, the ones who knew the truth were few and far between. Shunned by his peers and neglected by his family, having to kick and fight for everything, only to trip at the finish line.
'What a shame,' Garðkell released a disappointed exhale. Still, regardless of the myriad of reasons that attempted to elicit his pity, it did not mean the boy was exempt from the law. Noticing the opportunity to grasp the reigns of this runaway situation, Háseti cleared his throat, saying, "Nothing has been set in stone. While Expert Bjǫlr is not wrong, we don't have the authority to pass judgement. Before passing the Vesperal Labyrinth, one is not considered a warrior and thus does not fall under our jurisdiction. Currently, we are at an impasse between barring you from entering warrior society and leaving it to the city to decide your fate or placing you under our protection."
A loud yawn watered down the sober moment, inciting a deathly stare from Ívarr. "This has grown tiresome. Since we can't come to a unanimous agreement, we should just vote on it. I stand with the boy. That way, I can at least say I did a good deed this year," he declared, kicking back in his seat.
"You Illugi bastard! This is not how we do things!" Bjǫlr bellowed.
His opponent winced, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Don't think your fooling anyone with that hard mask you hide behind; a coward will always remain a coward." The remark sent Bjǫlr into a tirade as he shot to his feet, exposing a stout figure that looked about ready to leap over and strangle Ívarr.
"Enough!" Háseti exclaimed with an intangible force that shook the cavern, effectively quashing any prior notions of conflict. When the debris, so to speak, has settled, he continued. "Not all of us are here, but neither is this a matter of extreme importance. Voting on it will be the quickest way to resolve the issue," he turned to the boy, stoically announcing, "While his actions were heinous, they were also involuntary due to his berserker fit. He showed great potential and, with the proper nurturing, will surely become a fine warrior. With this in mind, I favour taking him under our wing."
"Has everyone forgotten about Arta Tree-leg!" Bjǫlr exclaimed, searching his peer's faces.
"Of course, we all remember Arta Tree-leg, but these are two completely different situations. You, more than anyone, know how hard it is to remain present while in berserkergang. The boy deserves a chance," Háseti explained, patience running thin. In actuality, he intended to sweep this whole fiasco under the rug, have a private discussion with Bjǫlr, and hopefully sway the man to his side. Sadly, Ívarr, 'no, the Illugis,' struck before he had the opportunity, blowing the situation out of proportion. Now his concern was on what they were playing at.
What was their angle? Why make the life of this boy who has shown outstanding talent even by his standards so hard? The warning bell had been struck, and the fog that seemed to revolve around the boy known as Sǫlmundr would be unearthed sooner or later, 'I'll make sure of it.'
Garðkell squirmed in his seat, bulges rippling with every movement. He looked at the council head with an apologetic expression earning a nod of understanding, saying, "I'm sorry, Herra, but I also stand against it. While I do feel for him, our laws are clear."
All attention shifted to Thormoth, his vote pivotal in deciding the outcome that was currently in a stalemate. He gulped, the pressure mounting like a weight on his shoulders. Ívarr's emerald eyes briefly caught his attention, his curled lips conveying all the captain of the guard needed to know. "I stand with the Herra," he blurted, cursing his impetuosity while bracing for the inevitable impact.
Bjǫlr slammed his fist onto the table, a resounding boom echoing out from the point of impact. The ensuing shockwave hit Sǫl like an invisible fist, and he found himself on the floor for the second time in the short period he has been there. "So be it if you want him here, but he will have no place in my halls!" the fiery bearded man spat, face red from exertion. "I will not contribute to another tragedy. One… is one too many." He trailed off at the end, resignation evident as he sank back into his seat.
Remarkably his outburst had no effect on the table or area at large, though whether this was his own doing, that of the others or the environment itself was anyone's guess. Forlorn helplessness blossomed in the boy's heart as his very life was played with by these people that seemed like the incarnations of mighty fire jötunns.
Goosebumps prickled Sǫlmundr's skin as he felt the piercing eyes of the Herra, who had been staring at him with increasing intensity as time went on. He lowered his head as the council's verdict broke the dam keeping his already agitated emotions at bay. "It is unfortunate pessimism clouds your judgement and will hurt the boy more than you Bjǫlr, but it is within your right. It is decided then that young Sǫlmundr will be officially recognised as a seedling from this point on. However, his entry into the training halls to continue his formal education is barred, and any attempts to sneak in will be met with immediate banishment."
𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘥
"Oho, and I thought your speeches could only put Bergelmir to sleep," Ívarr mocked, glancing at the boy sprawled on the ground.
"Your lack of decorum and respect is a stain on the honour of this council, Ívarr. Apologise to Herra Háseti," Garðkell stated, trying his best to remain composed.
"Nice to know you still enjoy having shit on your nose, Garðkell," Ívarr said, exaggeratedly grimacing while waving away the air.
Veins that could easily be mistaken for eels wriggled under Garðkell's skin in preparation to correct Ívarr's mockery and lackadaisical attitude. It was high time someone beat some sense into this man, and he would gladly be the one to do it. As a rising tide of anger pushed him closer to the edge, Háseti's hand gripped his as if to say it was okay, "There will be no fighting between council members. Only by being united will be we able to withstand whatever is thrown at us. There is no mending a stone with cracks. We. Must. Not. Develop. Cracks." Háseti's voice sent a shiver down the member's spines, the power behind it hinting at something more profound. Ívarr turned away with a huff, much to the satisfaction of Garðkell, the other two donning complicated expressions, seemingly lost in thought that didn't go unnoticed by Háseti.
Háseti called for the guards who promptly appeared from the tunnel, ordering them to carry the fainted boy out of here, lest he suffer permanent damage under the harsh conditions. The meeting was adjourned a short while later, eventually leaving Háseti all by his lonesome, the last one out of nine others. "𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘩—Strange behaviour of the draugr, dwindling resources, and a city moving closer to a civil war. I am getting too old for this, wouldn't you say so, Jǫfurr?" No response materialised in the wake of his parting query, his eyes closing in rest as shadows danced to the smouldering tune of a scorching cauldron.
.
.
.
The heavens had been split open, rain bucketing down in a vengeful torrent, as thunderous roars shook the sky. An individual draped from head to toe in a cloak scuttled past houses and through backstreets, boots sloshing in puddles of muddy water, haphazard flashes of lightning stabbing through clouds illuminating the way. Storm winds whipped their robe about, the raindrops pelting their face feeling like tiny needles. Pulling the cloth tight, they hurried along, unwilling to be subject to the force of nature any longer. They eventually stopped before a house situated on the outskirts of the high-class district, slinking around back and knocking on the door with a rhythmic set of taps—a pattern.
The soaked wooden door creaked open, darkness concealing everything within but the silhouette of a woman, lantern in hand. After a short exchange, the lady beckoned the figure in with a nod, the door shutting with a slam courtesy of the active gale. The water-logged cloak dropped to the floor with a splat revealing its ineffectiveness in the form of a drenched person. Following the dim light of the lamp, they were escorted to the pantry by the women, dried foods dotting the shelves as cured meat hanging from the ceiling producing a unique aroma. She pointed towards the opened trap door in the back of the small room, giving them her all-important light source before ghosting into the shadows, erased from existence.
Ducking beneath the hanging flesh, they carefully descended down the cobblestone steps, using the measly amount of illumination provided by the lamp. The temperature plummeted as the spiralling steps deepened, dampness clogging breath, time drawing out, forming a neverending cycle. Thankfully, there was an end to the madness as a warm glow seeped from the doorway leading to an underground hideout. Hushed whispers died out, gelid attendees inspecting the newcomer, returning to their murmurings soon after. They found a seat in the back away from the others and waited silently, huffing into chilled hands. A blonde-haired man rose to his feet a short while later, stepping onto a small podium overlooking sodden faces that portrayed varying amounts of lethargy.
"I apologise to everyone here for the hasty summons, but it was urgent," he stated, sharp features half concealed by the skewed lighting of the room. "I have just received a message stating that the Pillars have decided that the one known as Sǫlmundr will become a seedling." The statement caused an outcry among the gatherers, who hastily addressed their grievances.
"It cannot be! Not after what he did!"
"How did he become a seedling in the first place! He did not complete the course!"
"This must be the work of those feral mutts! It has to be!"
"Silence!" a man at the front exclaimed, intent on listening to the remainder of what the speaker had to offer.
Smiling at the man, he continued, "Thank you. Now, as I was about to say, this is not all bad news. Despite being insulated from city law, Expert Bjǫlr has refused to take him under his wing. He has been barred from attaining formal training and will be left to his own devices." This piece of news was music to their ears, the heavy atmosphere clearing for one of optimism. But a few sharp-minded fellows deduced that this was still a problem.
"But if someone outside the authority of the training halls decided to take the boy under his wing, this could spell disaster for us," a woman said, curly hair pasted to her forehead.
"Yes, that is also my concern and why I have called this emergency meeting. We have an opportunity here!" the man announced with a glint in his eye. "If we can have one of our own come to his aid in time of need, we will have the opportunity to sow the seeds of rebellion within him. If left alone, I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 he will become one of our worst enemies, which is why we are left with two choices! To turn him into an asset that helps us usurp the throne or be rid of him before he grows fangs!"
"It's too risky… this could be a trap set by the Illugis."
"Or a knife in their back that brings them to their knees!"
"If I remember correctly, he already has a mentor in Old Gamal, does he not?"
"I say we remove him now while he's weak and vulnerable. No need to risk it all on a gamble."
Hearing the differing opinions of his fellow conspirators, he recognised it was time to drive the final nail in the coffin. "Brothers and sisters!" he bellowed, silencing the rowdy bunch. "We do not have the luxury of time. War will break out regardless of if we play safe or not. I know this is a risky gambit, but it may be the only chance we have of gaining the upper hand against the dogs. Our alliance is barely holding up against them as-is. Time is not on our side." Nods and grunts of support sounded from the people.
"Don't worry about Old Gamal; if anything, his usefulness outweighs the hindrances he may pose. The sharper the sword, the deadlier the wound, and while it pains me to say this, we have more ways than one to remove him if it does come down to that, though I sorely hope it doesn't. Rather, we need someone who can instil our values in the boy and point him in the right direction." The blue-eyed man focused on a lone individual seated at the back of the room, who gradually became the target of everyone's heated gazes. "Are you up for the task?" he beckoned.
Brushing aside their soggy hair and exposing a birthmark resembling a misshapen bird, they answered. "Yes, anything for the sake of the cause."
Sorry for the late chap.
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