Edgelanders (Serpent of Time)

by Jennifer Melzer

  “Enough, Finn,” Viln shook his head. “If you’re going to talk about what an idiot you are out loud, you need to prepare yourself for outside thoughts on the matter.”

  “The seers have already spoken on the matter, as it is,” Logren said. “She is meant to choose Finn for her mate. Nothing can change what has already been seen.”

  “That’s not true,” Viln disagreed.

  “Much as I hate to say, I don’t think it’s true either,” Brendolowyn added.

  “The gods give us paths to walk, and those paths are not always straight. Seers may guide us and instruct us with the wisdom of the gods, but even that I find to be rather doubtful. In the end it is a matter of choice which road we will walk.”

  “That is blasphemy, you realize,” Logren cocked his brow, a smug, but playful grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Is that the kind of nonsense the Council of the Nine has been teaching the U’lfer since the War of Silence ended?”

  “Did the War of Silence really ever end?” Finn muttered, but no one paid him any mind.

  “I would think having been through all you’ve been through since the War of Silence, you would be more inclined to such beliefs yourself. Do you really believe the gods wanted any of this to happen? That Llorveth himself sat down with Foreln and planned for this?” Vilnjar held his hands up to encompass everything around them before dropping them casually at his sides again and stepping up to the doorway leading into Hodon’s hall. “That Llorveth hand-picked your sister to save us all from…”

  “I don’t think Foreln and Llorveth could sit in the same room together long enough to plan anything, but I do believe that what is written is what is meant to be. My father died to uphold those beliefs, and so did yours. I thought you of all people would understand that better than anyone.”

  “Is that what our fathers died for?” The indignant laugh stuck in the back of his throat was on the verge of spilling out. “I could have sworn it was…”

  The doors to Hodon’s hall swung open before Vilnjar could finish those words, and when he saw the fire ignited in Logren’s eyes he realized it was probably for the best that he wasn’t able to complete his thought. Since they were reunited, their differences in point of view brought both of their tempers to a head more than once. Perhaps it was for the best if he didn’t poke the beast while entering the hall of a man with the power to decide his fate, he realized.

  On the other hand, Viln had never been one to keep his opinions to himself.

  “Come in, come in.”

  Hodon greeted them at the door, flanked by two intimidating hirdmen with seasoned axes dangling from their belts. Vilnjar squinted as he studied the one nearest the door before passing through it. Much like Hodon, the man looked familiar and he found himself reaching back through his memories for his face.

  “Welcome.” Hodon nodded first at Finn, then Vilnjar as they were ushered into the hall.

  Hodon’s hall was vast and spacious, the high beams overhead arching into a tall dome with a spiraling staircase leading into upper-level rooms. For a moment he stopped in his tracks to take it all in, but Finn nudged in behind him, pushing him forward as Hodon gestured for them to follow. He led them into an open sitting room with a long dining table with an intricately carved wooden chair at its head. The table was also carved, knotted patterns trailing the oval edges and connecting to a greater design etched into the center. A charging stag, the body of a woman suspended above the ground with her arms out, as if preparing to embrace the stag.

  Well-lit by a series of windows spanning the roof dome overhead, the ceiling seemed to touch the sky while also making Viln feel incredibly small.

  “As promised to The Light of Madra, no harm will come to you, sons of Deken and Eornlaith, while you are here in Dunvarak.”

  “We don’t need her protection,” Finn insisted, but Vilnjar jammed his elbow into the massive wall of muscle and flesh behind him, causing his brother to cough.

  “Regardless, you have her protection as long as she extends it to you. Unless you break our laws, you have been given free roam of the city while you are here, and it is our hope that in time you will feel welcome enough here to call Dunvarak your home, as our seer insists will be the case.”

  “If we are free, why have you brought us here for questioning?”

  “Not questioning,” Hodon replied. “At least not in the sinister manner you seem to assume. Our intentions toward you are not ill. I assure you.”

  “And the wolves that were chasing us through the Edgelands? The ones your men brought ahead of us?”

  “Now they will be questioned, and I cannot promise the manner of their questioning will be near as civilized as the courtesies we are extending to you and your brother. Please, won’t you sit down?”

  Vilnjar curled his fingers around the back of the chair in front of him and watched Hodon ease his large body into the seat at the head of the table. Logren took the seat on Hodon’s right and the mage sat down beside him.

  “I simply asked you here this morning to learn what news you carry from the Edgelands. It has been long since we have had word from beyond the borders of Rimian.”

  “Perhaps if you were awaiting word from the Edgelands, you might have let someone know you were here. Before we were intercepted by Logren Bone-Breaker, we believed there was naught beyond the borders of Rimian but giants, trolls and goblins scattered across the endless miles of ice of and snow stretching all the way to the ocean.”

  Logren was still annoyed with him over their disagreement just outside the hall; Vilnjar felt it when he turned a distasteful look in his direction before drawing his own chair away from the table to slide in on Hodon’s left, but Hodon himself laughed. His hearty chuckle echoed through the quiet, empty hall like thunder, followed only by the uneasy chuckle of the two hirdmen seated to his left.

  “Wit like your father, you have, lad,” he guffawed, “and the bite of his sarcasm as well. Tell me, Vilnjar, did you inherit your father’s thirst for blood also, for I fear we will need plenty of men with Deken’s heart and vigor before all that waits ahead of us is said and done.”

  “I’m afraid my brother got all of Deken’s lust for blood and battle,” he conceded, a hint of apology in his tone. Among men such as them, he couldn’t deny feeling slight lament that he was not more like Finn, more like his father would have wanted him to be. “I spent the number of my days toiling among the historical and legal scrolls in Drekne, trying to make sense of the things our people agreed to when they signed the Edgelands Proclamation.”

  “Your days are still many, and the thirst for blood and battle within you will rise to the surface before all has been said and done. While you may not believe in what the seers have to say, Yovenna has seen your future, and you are destined for great things, Vilnjar the Strong, but much suffering will you endure before the end.”

  “Surely she has mistaken my future for my brother’s.”

  As arrogant as that sounded, Vilnjar had felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, a tingling sensation rippling down the length of his spine. He had already seen enough suffering to last a hundred lifetimes. The prospect of more to come did very little to assuage his already ornery mood.

  “She has seen great things for both of Deken’s sons, and though I have brought you here to talk about your future, I would like to know more about what has become of the Council of the Nine. Rumors drifting into our land from the sea tell me they have all but abandoned the old ways in accordance with Aelfric’s ruling. Is this true? Have all of our U’lfer brothers resigned to defeat?”

  “Survival, not defeat,” Viln shook his head. “The council thought it best that we follow Aelfric’s decree to guarantee our survival as a race.”

  “How well is that working for you?” Logren made a nasty sound in his throat, his face reddening beneath the patchy hair of his unshaven cheeks and creeping up in splotches toward his burning ears. He shook his head and turned to Hodon. “It is as we feared. They ha
ve abandoned the old ways and given up hope.”

  “Given up?” Viln astounded. “Had hope torn from our grasp is more appropriate, had the old ways decreed forbidden under penalty of death, like our fathers and brothers suffered. Though none of you would know that, as you fled to hide here in your magical city, leaving those you would call your brothers to fend for themselves while mankind thinned our numbers so severely we can barely reproduce fast enough to revive them.”

  Already incensed with him over their earlier argument, Logren started to rise from his seat, ready to tear into Vilnjar with a vengeance, but Hodon reached out a hand to stay him and keep him seated. Grinding his teeth and seething, the older man spoke before Logren was given chance to let loose whatever spontaneous tirade he planned.

  “We did not flee to this magical city, as you so casually put it, Vilnjar.” Hodon kept his calm, but Logren was still fuming beside him, his fists clenched and knuckles white atop the table. “We were guided to this place by the Light of Madra and we built this city in accordance with Llorveth’s plan. You may not believe in divine intervention, or that the gods have chosen a path for each and every one of us, but I have seen firsthand the will of Llorveth, and it is his will that we work together to ensure his sons and daughters do not go the way of the Dvergr.”

  “And how do you know it is Llorveth’s will?”

  “Because she has heard it spoken.” It was Brendolowyn who said those words, his voice inspiring a long silence in the hall that lingered for what felt like an eternity after. At last he went on. “Yovenna the Voice has heard this and many other things. Llorveth speaks to her.”

  “Through the Light of Madra?”

  The scoff that followed that question evoked a dark, bitter look from Logren. “You may not believe she is who we know her to be, but the Light of Madra saved our people, and she could save yours too if you would just swallow your stubborn pride and let her do the work Llorveth has designed for her.”

  “I have spent enough time with your Light of Madra over the last week, and I can tell you there is nothing divine or magical about that girl.”

  For the first time since they’d sat down to table, Finn spoke, his deep voice bringing unexpected truth to the conversation at hand. “I feel what is inside of her, Viln. When we were at the exiling there was a god inside of her. It was no sorceress’s trick.”

  “Tell me of this exiling,” Hodon instructed.

  Finn told the story from beginning to end, Rhiorna’s death and the great passing of light from her body into Lorelei. When Vilnjar glanced over at his brother, he swore the young man’s large hands were shaking.

  “And then our people cast her out,” he finished. “That is why we have come here. When the U’lfer learned who she was, that Rognar was her father, they couldn’t get rid of her fast enough, and when the god was inside of her the elders were terrified. They cast her out and sent hunters to finish her off so no one in Drekne would be the wiser.”

  “That would indicate to me that the U’lfer do not wish to be saved by your Light of Madra,” Vilnjar sighed.

  “And what about you, Vilnjar?” Logren challenged him. “Are you too good for her to save you as well, or did you just come along for the charming weather south of your borders?”

  “The Council of the Nine would have the U’lfer believe she is a villain,” Brendolowyn interjected before another argument could break out. “If your people knew who she was, what she is capable of…”

  “They think her a curse, not unlike the one her father brought to our people,” Finn muttered, leaning forward across the table and folding his trembling hands together.

  “My father brought freedom to the U’lfer.” There was no keeping Logren in his seat anymore. “It was your precious council that destroyed that freedom, handing him and his men over to King Aelfric and signing the order of execution on every living U’lfer in Leithe. Your own father was among those men!”

  “I’m not disagreeing with you, Logren.” Finn looked up at him, the oily tendrils of his hair clinging to his face even after he unfolded his hands to try and brush them away. “As you’ve pointed out, my father was also named a curse, and our mother was never allowed to forget the hardships our fathers brought to the U’lfer.”

  Viln had never heard his brother speak with such dignity, a serious quiver in his voice when he cleared his throat to go on.

  “I never knew my father, or yours, but Eornlaith told me everything I needed to know about Rognar and his men, about their cause. I was already bonded to Lorelei when I found her, but when Rhiorna told me who she was, the things she was meant to do, I knew in my heart that I would do anything to stand beside her and help her raise our people from despair.” He paused for a moment, turning a very serious eye to every man at that table before finishing his thought. “All of our people.”

  “You are as noble as the seer said, Mad Finn the Reckless.”

  “No,” he shook his head, the hair he just pushed away falling back into his face again. “I’m not noble.”

  Viln rolled his eyes, but a part of him couldn’t help feeling a hint of pride at the stand his brother was willing to make, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

  “I am only doing what I know to be right. My heart and soul belong to your Light of Madra, and I will walk beside her on whatever path the gods have chosen.”

  Glancing across the table, Vilnjar’s gaze shifted toward Brendolowyn, whose mouth tightened around the edges into a scowl he seemed to be trying desperately to hide. He noticed the half-elven mage’s obvious affection toward the young woman in question; his brother had noticed too, and the possibility of anyone else paying attention to the object of his desire burned him like fire.

  “Rhiorna gave me very specific instructions before she died,” Finn went on. “I am to guide and teach her the old ways, pass onto her everything my mother taught me. She will make the old ways new again.”

  “This has been seen,” Hodon nodded agreement and stroked his fingers through the long plaits of his beard. “If our people are to survive the coming darkness we must return to the old ways. All of us must embrace the beast within, even those who do not know how.”

  Vilnjar was about to protest further, claiming there was no way for the half-blooded bastard sons and daughters of the U’lfer to embrace the beast spirit they were obviously not born of, but before he could speak Hodon cleared his throat and continued as if he already knew everything Viln was preparing to say.

  “When the Light of Madra came to Yovenna the Voice she spoke of a way.” He looked almost nervously toward Logren, then Brendolowyn and then he shifted his watery eyes toward Viln. “The Horns of Llorveth hold the power to awaken the beast within us all, allowing us to band together and stand against the sons of Foreln to take back what is ours, but only the Light of Madra can retrieve them.”

  “Of course,” Vilnjar shook his head in disbelief. “And where are these horns to be found? In the stars? Is she to walk Madra’s river of tears, or sift through Dvergen’s scattered jewels scattered across the sky?”

  “It is said the horns were hidden by the sons of Foreln in the northeastern mountains of Leithe.”

  “Good luck finding them there. Our kind are not welcome in Leithe, and are to be executed on sight upon entry into Aelfric’s lands, as per the proclamation.”

  “Damn the proclamation, Viln!” Finn started to push his chair away from the table. “If finding Llorveth’s horns means giving the people here what they need to embrace the wolf spirit, we could stand up to Aelfric and take back what should be ours.”

  He could never say how much it startled him when he looked upon his brother then. So much like their father, his brilliant eyes shining with the pure white fire and unyielding willingness to go all the way for a cause that should not have been his to take on. And for what? The promise of a young woman that might not even choose him in the end?

  “Before you damn the proclamation, little brother, perhaps we should learn mo
re about what has been seen for you.”

  “If you kept your mouth shut long enough for anyone else to speak, Vilnjar, perhaps we could talk more with your brother about his purpose.”

  “We’re calling it a purpose now, are we?”

  “Viln, would you just shut up,” Finn growled, turning the fire of that stare upon him when he snarled. He had been indignant before, even rude, but never so righteous. “I didn’t even ask you to come into exile with me. You chose to come along, and I’m not going to have you hovering over my shoulder every moment for the rest of my life dictating all my actions as if you have the right.”

  From the corner of his eye, he swore he saw the corner of Logren’s mouth twitch with a grin beneath his mustaches.

  “You have seen only eighteen years…”

  “And in those eighteen years I have seen more than you could imagine, been places and done things… I am not a child anymore, Viln. I don’t need you looking after me like I’m some pup still toddling around in a shitty swaddling cloth.”

  Vilnjar winced at those words, and turned his gaze down at the table in front of him as if the carvings along the edge were the most important thing in the world at the moment. He had promised their mother… had sworn on his own life to take care of her baby boy. Why didn’t Finn understand how much that promise meant?

  Swallowing hard against the ache in his throat, Vilnjar pushed his chair away from the table and coughed. “It seems I’ve no purpose here,” he said with as much pride as he could muster. “I will wait outside until you’ve finished your meeting here.”

  The sound of his boots was the only thing he heard as he made his way out the way he’d come in, their echoing steps carrying him away from the one responsibility in his life that had ever really mattered to him.

  Mid-morning sun streamed through the clouds and nearly blinded him when he stepped through the doors of Hodon’s hall. A gust of cold air blasted across his face as he lifted his hand to shield his eyes for a moment and glance across the street toward the smithy. The beautiful young woman at the forge was still hammering away at the blade on her anvil, the smudged soot decorating her pale skin the most enticing thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t even notice his own feet moving of their own accord, across the cobbled street, away from Hodon’s hall and toward the smithy.