Too Cold to Bleed

by D Murray

  “Come, follow me,” Harvind whispered to them. “When I stop, you stay where you are. Speak only when addressed directly. Be patient.”

  Kalfinar and Valus both nodded in agreement and walked on across the black sand-covered floor. A commotion sounded behind him, and Kalfinar turned to see villagers spilling into the Great Hall. Here for a show, I suppose. The villagers began to file along the walls, whispered words coalescing into a murmur of excitement that sent the hairs on Kalfinar’s neck prickling, in spite of Harvind’s words of ceremony.

  As Harvind approached the dais, he indicated for Kalfinar and Valus to cease and remain where they were. Complying, Kalfinar stood his ground. He observed the striking old man who sat upon the dais and noted the frown upon his face as Harvind exchanged words with him. Harvind turned and pointed to Kalfinar, and then to Valus. The Grey Father nodded, and then faced the captives before him. He opened his palm before Harvind and indicated that he should place something into it. The odd-eyed man stepped up onto the dais and handed the Grey Father his antler-handle knife. Harvind bowed, and then retreated back to the foot of the dais.

  “To trespass on the lands of the Maracost people without invitation is an act that is punishable by the flame.” The Grey Father spoke in clear words, and in the language of the Cullanain.

  Kalfinar watched as the old man cocked his head towards him, perhaps reading his face, perhaps all part of the pre-ordained show that was being put on.

  “Are you surprised to see a savage such as me speak the common tongue of the Cullanain? We may set your flesh to the flame, but we are not the monsters you claim us as. We too believe in law and justice. We too believe the people will have a voice. I will see that the people’s voice is heard, and so they will determine if you are to be given to the flame as a sacrifice to Woakie, may she be blessed, and bring us peace upon her sea.”

  The Grey Father’s features gave nothing away. Like the assassins at Hardalen, and the many Ravenmayne killed at Carte, the Grey Father had blazing eyes of red and yellow. His face, despite his evident age, was smooth of wrinkles, and his body appeared still to hold strength in it.

  Kalfinar felt the old man’s eyes on him.

  “Why are you here?” he asked Kalfinar. “Why have you travelled to my lands?”

  “My lord,” Kalfinar uttered the title, unsure if it would even be recognised, or if it was, if it carried enough in the way of respect. “We travelled this way by ship, from Grantvik's Bay, on a mission of grave importance. Our ship sank.”

  “You were foolish to travel. Your arrogance betrayed you to Woakie, as it does so often with your people. Your ship sank. Woakie was angry with you, and judged you by the sea.”

  “Our cause is of great importance not only to our people, but to yours also. There are dark actions afoot, and the Ravenmayne are at the heart of it.”

  The Grey Father eyed him a moment and then spat on the ground between him and Kalfinar. “You know the ways and wants of the Ravenmayne? Again, you speak with the arrogance that courses through the blood of your people. You people of the Cullanain, you children of Dajda.” He spat again.

  Kalfinar held the Grey Father’s gaze for a silent moment. Can’t back down. No time.

  The old man’s face split in a grin, his teeth shining white and reflecting the glow of the lamps that surrounded the Great Hall. “Speak then of the Ravenmayne. Tell me all you know of their movements at the heart of this great darkness you speak of.”

  “There is war to the south and west,” Kalfinar said in a patient tone. “Solansia has risen against the Free Provinces, and laid assaults at Apula and Carte. Solansia has been aided by an army of Ravenmayne, and all are in thrall to a usurper god.”

  “You call us Ravenmayne, and say that all are in thrall to this god?”

  “No–” Kalfinar made to correct the Grey Father, but the old man cut in.

  “What you and your people understand of the Ravenmayne is a lie. Those few of your people who claim to hold knowledge hold nothing but dust. The wisdom you hold is but the convenience of corrupted gods, and lies that keep our people cut off from the world, and paint us as a tribe of monstrous half-men. The Ravenmayne were those of our people who worshiped Bhalur. Your people named them so for their god, Bhalur, is the Crow of the Mountain. Your people called them the Raven Men, and when we were cast out, called us all Raven Men. Your language has changed that into Ravenmayne over time, and named us all such. This is the lie. Our people were many. We were called the Hoona, the Whebba, the Sjoke, and the Maracost. We each had our own way, but we were not so different from you. Until your Dajda and Canna called us corrupt, and cast us out, and her servants of the quill turned us into monsters, and cursed us. There are not many of our people left, for we have been pressed into the bleakest corners of this world, and silenced by Dajda and Canna’s bind. The world for our people has been broken, and now we survive, not flourish. As for our cousins, the Ravenmayne, they were ever cruel and violent. Even as we all suffered out here in these lands, they still sought to war with us. Then came the power of the usurper Balzath. Rich and seductive it was to them. The children of Bhalur had found a way to grow strong, and they embraced their new god. But in doing so, they became even more corrupted than ever before. There is no way back for them. They are broken now.” The Grey Father looked to Valus. “This woman, she is not of Dajda, is she?”

  “I am not, my lord,” Valus replied, adding a slight bow of the head to accompany the honorific. “I am of the Lihedan Isle. I speak for my god, Gighra.”

  “Then you are sister to me. You too know of the betrayal of the gods, and the yoke of Dajda and Canna?”

  “I do.” She bowed once more. “And still I work with Kalfinar and his people. There is a new hope for us. But to see the lustre of this hope, we first must make it to Hagra Iolach and free Dajda from the bind the Usurper has placed upon her. For if we cannot, there is little hope of freedom for our peoples. We can work as one. With your aid, we can break the bind.”

  The Grey Father rubbed at his head and thought for a moment. “You must go to Hagra Iolach. But you do not know the way?”

  “I have a sense of it,” Valus replied.

  “But you do not know the way,” the Grey Father repeated.

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “The aid of my people will give you little strength. We are weak, and the Ravenmayne are strong. Balzath’s children descend on us and take from our hands what they wish. We are so few now, as are our cousins who have resisted Bhalur and now Balzath. There is little hope. But you ask this thing of me, and my people, and so I will give it to the children of Woakie to determine your fate.”

  The old man stood from his seat upon the top tier of the dais and descended towards Kalfinar and Valus. The dagger Harvind had given to him was held tight in his fist, point glinting as he moved towards them. He stopped several feet from them, and regarded Kalfinar first, and then Valus. The chief made a show of thinking. He turned the blade of the dagger to the ground and sank into a squat, his dark robes wrinkling on the black sand floor. He scratched lines into the sand in front of Kalfinar and Valus, connecting the lines and muttering words in his tongue as he worked the blade tip about in more complex patterns. After a moment, the Grey Father stood up, and spread his arms wide. He tipped back his head towards the ceiling and called out, “Let Woakie judge once again, for she spared you from the sea. Woakie, give us a sign, and show us your will.”

  Kalfinar looked down at his feet and studied the pattern scratched into the sand. An elaborate image of a whale and curved lines surrounded by runic symbols had been drawn between him and Valus. Symbol of Woakie.

  An explosion of voices sounded from around the Great Hall as the Villagers cried out their judgement. The words were alien to Kalfinar, but they had an intensity to them. His heart quickened and he felt his mouth water. He looked to the Grey Father and then to Harvind.

  “Do you wish to know how Woakie leads them to judge?” the old man asked,
his face void of emotion.

  Kalfinar nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  “They demand flesh for the flame.”

  Kalfinar’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched the Grey Father raise his hand, instructing more driftwood logs to be added to the fires on either side of the dais.

  The old man turned back and smiled at Kalfinar and Valus. “The people have judged, and we shall answer them. So it has always been. They demand flesh for the flame, and so it must be.”

  Kalfinar turned and looked at Harvind, a coil of fear tightening about his neck as the crowds of villagers cheered as the Grey Father ascended the dais and sat back in his seat. The fires either side of the dais were stoked higher, the flames glowing bright and hot. The billowing black smoke snaking toward the ceiling from the burning fat gave way to the clean heat of the dried driftwood. “What ceremony is this?” Kalfinar asked of the odd-eyed man.

  Harvind said nothing, and instead nodded to the entrance of the Great Hall, where four Maracost men entered, carrying with them two large copper cauldrons.

  “What’s this?” Kalfinar asked, looking at Valus. She shook her head, lost for words.

  “They demand flesh for the flame, and so it must be,” the Grey Father repeated. “You eat whale meat in Carte?” He followed up his words with a deep laugh.

  “Whale meat?” Kalfinar repeated the words, feeling the flush of shame as he realised he had been toyed with once again.

  Harvind shrugged and watched as the copper cauldrons were brought before the two fires.

  Kalfinar stared at the Grey Father, amazed at his own ignorance, his own prejudice. The sizzle of meat on the fire drew his attention.

  “There. The fire has been satisfied, for now she tastes flesh.” The Grey Father stood, raising his arms in celebration. “We accept your offer of aid against Balzath. Now let us eat.”

  Long tables were pulled out from the sides of the Great Hall and placed about the large fires. The Grey Father sat at the central point of one of the tables and invited Kalfinar and Valus to join him and Harvind, alongside the guards who had stood by the dais. Sizzling and steaming steaks of whale meat where brought from the fire and tossed onto the table in front of the Grey Father.

  “I would like to apologise for our manner. We are not often these days in receipt of guests, and so we are somewhat out of practice with your ways of hospitality. Know this: what few welcome guests we receive tend to be whalers and seamen. I find they enjoy the games we play with them.”

  Kalfinar nodded to the Grey Father, not yet certain himself if this was another ruse, and if there could as soon be a spear point filling his belly as whale meat. “It is I who must apologise, my lord. We have washed up on your shores and bring nothing but hungry mouths, and open hands.”

  The Grey Father dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “Hospitality has always been the way of the people of the Cullanain – for that is what we were, before the Corruption of Dajda and Canna. And so we shall show you our hospitality.” The Grey Father placed an open palm before one of his guards, who pulled free a long, curved dagger and placed it pommel first in his hand. The Grey Father grabbed a large, steaming lump of meat and carved free a large steak. Without any fuss, he tossed it across the table, where it landed in front of Valus. Grease spattered onto Kalfinar’s face as it landed, causing him to twitch. The guards beside the Grey Father laughed as another steak slapped down on the table before Kalfinar. “Eat,” the chief said with a smile before setting about the meat and carving more steaks from it. The Grey Father’s actions were replicated throughout the fires of the hall, with villagers slicing off great chunks of meat and passing them out freely.

  Kalfinar picked up the steak in his hands, his mouth flushing with spit at the sight of the dark, red meat. The steam wafted about his face, like roast beef only with a sweeter scent. He bit into the meat and tore a chunk free, barely taking time to chew the tender flesh before he swallowed it.

  “Good?” the Grey Father asked, tossing a steak Harvind’s way.

  “Good!” Kalfinar said, forcing another mouthful to the side of his mouth.

  “Very good, my lord,” Valus added with a little more elegance than Kalfinar could muster.

  “Good. You’ll need to have full bellies for tomorrow.” The Grey Father tore a mouthful of whale steak and smiled at them, his lips shining with grease and juice.

  “What comes tomorrow?” Kalfinar asked.

  “Tomorrow, we fight.” The Grey Father pointed his steak at Kalfinar. “And you have come to offer us aid, and so you shall fight by our sides.”

  Kalfinar lowered the steak in his hand and ceased his chewing.

  “You need our help, and we need yours. In our world, we have little need for currency, as you southerners do. In our world, there is value in helping your neighbour. You are our neighbour. You were hungry, and so we fed you and your men. Now in return, we require your arm in the fight.”

  Kalfinar looked across at Harvind. He appeared oblivious to the conversation, continuing to eat his fill of meat. Kalfinar returned his gaze to the Grey Father. “We lost most of our weapons in the shipwreck. We have salvaged some, but most of what we had is gone.” As soon as he spoke he felt the weakness and lack of courage in his words. I must get to you, my love. I must bring you home. Not dally here.

  “We have weapons.” The Grey Father smiled and placed the last chunk of steak in his mouth before wiping his hands on the table, leaving streaks of grease on the wood before him. “Come.” The Grey Father stood and walked towards the back of the Great Hall.

  “Hurry,” Harvind said to Kalfinar, standing and wiping his own fingers on the table.

  Kalfinar followed, wiping his greasy fingers on the table, mirroring the actions of the Grey Father. He saw the old man step behind a seal-fur curtain that appeared to cover a doorway. Harvind followed, holding the curtain open for Kalfinar. A faint amber light shone inside the room as Kalfinar approached it. Stepping inside, he saw the Grey Father haul a huge unlit copper fire bowl off to one side, revealing a narrow hole in the ground.

  “Pass me the lamp,” the old man instructed Harvind, who lifted a small oil lamp and handed it to him. The old man stepped into the hole, his feet finding purchase in the darkness, untouched as yet by the lamplight. As he descended, Kalfinar noted there were footholds carved into the earth, alongside which ran a rope, bolted into the side with what appeared to be sinew and bone.

  “Go on,” Harvind said, instructing Kalfinar to follow the Grey Father into the hole.

  Kalfinar stepped in, holding on to one of the footholds as he started to descend. The ground was freezing to the touch. He stepped on down, the faint light from the Grey Father’s torch carrying an ever-warping canvas of light and shadow up into the passageway.

  Harvind had started to descend as Kalfinar dropped onto the floor. Turning around, he saw the glint of metal twinkling in the lamplight. The room was freezing cold, and perhaps thirty feet long by twenty deep. The frozen walls were lined with mismatched wooden and bone racks and shelves, appearing to be crafted as much by salvage as design. Held in neat order about the myriad of storage were a multitude of bright and keen weapons. Swords, axes and maces were held along one wall, spears, pikes, and javelins along another. There was a wall full of bows and crossbows, and barrels of arrows and bolts were stacked against the last wall.

  “We have some means,” the Grey Father said with some pride. “Though our enemy has the greater numbers.”

  “You have fought them often?” Kalfinar asked, walking to the swords and touching one sharp, oiled edge.

  “Some years past, we ceased resistance. We would be no more if we had continued to fight.” The Grey Father looked around the room and sighed heavily as Harvind entered the room. “I lost all my children to them. First my sons. I had four. Then my daughters fought. I have no children now.” He looked at Harvind and smiled. “All I have is this Wehabrun, which means 'son of my sister' in our tongue.”

&n
bsp; Kalfinar turned to the younger man, who nodded silently.

  “We decided that resistance was of little point to us,” the Grey Father continued, “as did most of the other tribes. We needed to survive. But the people of Grantvik’s Bay traded with us, and so we have acquired arms. Woakie has sent you to us at a most fortunate time. It is clear to me that this is a sign that our mother, Woakie, desires us to rise now and fight. You are with us, brother returned to bear arms alongside brother. Now our people must unite, as we did once before, and put an end to this corruption. Now we fight and bring the old world back into the new. You fight with us, and we shall take you to Hagra Iolach.”