Witan Jewell

by Russ L. Howard

  “Good morning!” Sur Sceaf said. “I apologize for being a few moments late. Had to stop for a view of my new colts.”

  Pyrsyrus smiled and said, “More like it was hard to leave that nice warm body in your bed.” They all laughed.

  Sur Spear looked him square on. “You mentioned last night that you wished to have the first few minutes of this meeting to discuss a matter of great concern to you. Please proceed.”

  Sur Sceaf blew air out of his nostrils and with a half laugh replied to his father. “I have waited until our private meeting to speak to you all. The matter whereof I speak may be of holy portent. I just don’t know. I am not sure. Let me begin with my journey alone in the High Desert. On my way to Fort Rock, I had this strange encounter with an old man in the wilderness near the Ghost Marshes, whom I judged to be a poor wayfarer, but as I drew closer I noted he wore the traditional Saxon-Green traveling cloak of the Roufytrof, complete with the sacred gold braided Herewardi knots along the hems. Two large ravens rode astride each of his shoulders. He gave me the royal embrace and displayed all the appropriate signs and tokens of both our kinship and our bloodline. Then he said to me, ‘The pertha-rune be upon you and your posterity throughout the galaxies of time and throughout all the eternities’.”

  Paloma postulated, “Perhaps, he was just an elderly member of the Roufytrof gone to the High Desert to give his swan song and die in peace without encumbering his family.”

  “That’s what I thought also at first. I sought to ease his journey by offering to let him ride on the back of White Fire, but he said he was in a hurry. When we parted he said,” Sur Sceaf paused and hesitated, unsure if he should reveal what happened next.

  Redith frowned, “Go on, tell us what he said?”

  “He said, he would give me half his name and that it was Yggd.”

  Instead of the puzzled look he was expecting he noticed Pyrsyrus looked even more intrigued. “I discern that is not the end of your tale.”

  “As perceptive as always, my lord. Yesterday at the moot fire I heard a voice in my ear and, when I turned to answer, I saw this same wayfarer sitting in the Sacred Empty Ancestral Chair directly behind mine which has heretofore always remained empty as per your orders, my king.” His gaze met Sur Spears. “He said you would vouch for him, Father.”

  “That I will.”

  “Here’s where it gets most curious. Onamingo, who was in my proximity, said he was the same elderly gentleman who had led them through the desert of the Arid Zone to waterholes and that back then he went by the name of Yung.”

  His parents exchanged a most curious look. With a slight smile on her face Paloma exchanged glances with Mo Mo Redith and Sur Spear. All three looked at Sur Sceaf pronouncing in unison: “Yggdyung.”

  “Don’t you see,” Sur spear said, “it was the Elf Father, Yggdyung, the Ancient of Days, but always young. He is the lord of the Wild Hunt, the lord of the Life Force of the Ur Fyr. One of the deathless gods. It was Odhin!”

  Redith inquired, “Did you smell anything familiar?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I detected the sweet scent of white magnolia.”

  Redith nodded. “It is the breath of the gods.”

  Sur Sceaf was stunned. Paloma appeared very pleased as she leaned forward. “Do you hear? The All Father visited you in person. By the gods, we do live in strange times. The Beginning of Days is at hand. We may soon walk with Elvenkind again.”

  “The cloak, the ravens, the wise counsel, the tokens, the smell of white magnolia, and the burning in my bosom. Why didn’t I pay attention? It was the Urfyrter. I did have a moment when I thought he was more than an old man, but then I dismissed it because I refused to believe that the greatest of the gods would condescend so low as to speak with me.”

  His mother reminded him. “Often, the Father of Heaven, has entered humbler abodes, visited lonely shepherds and even young maidens in the field. Some of those ended up with child. It’s obvious he just wanted you to figure it out for yourself. He’s teaching you to start listening with your heart. Remember what your father said, ‘He reveals mysteries hidden in the open.”

  He nodded. “If it was a test, I guess I failed.”

  “On the contrary,” Sur Spear said, “the fact that he took up his chair in the moot fire is his way of confirming to us all that which we suspected. Thou art the haeland we have been waiting for. ”

  Sur Sceaf could feel the blood draining from his head and the room faded away as he said, “I could be no savior, I am no haeland. I am just a warrior. It can’t be me! Perhaps Melyngoch was right when he said, he was the chosen.”

  Then Sur Spear made his usual rumble, “Hrum, on the contrary, I have long suspected you would be the one who will make straight the path of the Seed of the Woman. It is a great calling, but fraught with even greater dangers. The enemy shall now turn his attention entirely toward you and the Dark Ard Elves will pursue you with a wrath akin to the pursuit of wolves. It will be up to us to distract and decoy the enemy as much as possible.”

  “But I am not even the firstborn, Father. If anyone deserves to be chosen, it is Pyrsyrus.”

  Pyrsyrus looked at Sur Sceaf, smiled, and said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Brother, I knew you to be holy from the day of your birth. As a matter of fact, you were likely chosen for this role long before you came to the Ea-Urth. Perhaps you were far older than any of us in the dawn of the gods when we climbed out of the Well of Souls. I know for myself that you are to be the spearhead of our father’s clan. Of this there can be no doubt. My bosom burns inside me. Although I was the first of our father’s seed to break through the matrix, I can foresee, the birthright is surely yours by divine selection. Nature pronounced me the firstborn, but the gods pronounce you to be the rightful heir. For they judge more by our fruits than by our roots, more by the heart than the eye. And no one dares tempt the Wyrd Sisters. No, methinks Mother Urth has something in store for you.” Pyrsyrus paused momentarily. “I recognized it was my calling from the gods to shape you a warrior and a king. That is why I was so hard and demanding of you as a youth, for I knew the perilous road you were destined to walk. Father and I both sensed it and frequently discussed the matter over the hearth.”

  The king nodded.

  “Brother, you have always been my mentor,” Sur Sceaf felt tears welling up in his eyes. “You do me great honor in both your words and your deeds.”

  Sur Spear leaned forward and looked directly in his eyes. “My son, on the day that you were born I had a vision in which Grand Mother Freya came to me on an eagle-winged hame and showed me a tightly bound sheaf of wheat with one stalk that stood above all the others, but was supported by the many other stalks surrounding it, adding their strength so that it could not be broken. I have since come to realize that Pyrsyrus, Long Swan, and your close friends were the many stalks of that supporting sheaf. Cherish your friends and follow their counsel.

  “And I can name a few more, like Govannon, Xelph, Yellow Horse, and the rabbi, not to mention your mo mo, your mother, and of course your wives and children, but also one very special person you will come to know that Pyrsyrus has already acquainted himself with.” Sur Spear paused before continuing. “The Master Builder Muryh. Yes, my Son, you shall have many supports in your sheaf, for you are a Sire Sheaf set apart for the dawning of the gods.”

  “That is why we named you Sur Sceaf.” His mother added with an affectionate look in her eyes. “The gods chose you as the sheath of wheat that starts the next generation.”

  Long Swan looked up from his writing. “Well, I hope, just because we are the supporting stalks doesn’t mean that we have to laugh at your terrible jokes. You have Mendaka and Elf Beard for that.”

  “Then somebody better start telling them to laugh at my jokes.” As everyone laughed, Sur Sceaf felt the tension lifting.

  Sur Spear rose and signaled for all to do the same. “Let everyone here raise your arms to the swan square and then swear by your throats, your hearts, and yo
ur innards, that you will not reveal anything you have heard Sur Sceaf speak this morning in this den. For the less who know, the better. The Black Wolf has long been on Surrey’s scent trail. Let us hope you are safely hidden until you’re ready to face him for the final battle.” They all gave the sign and token of a sworn oath and executed the penalty while saying, “I do.”

  Sur Spear said, “We will talk more of this another day soon.” He laid a hand on Sur Sceaf’s shoulder. “What has been laid on your shoulders, my son, will not be easy to carry. That is why every shoulder in this room will aid you in your journey. For your journey is our journey and means the survival of our race. Little wonder that the Skull Worm has sent out his forked tongue to find you. But you will have the wall of your people always to protect you. Shape it so!”

  Sur Spear signed for all to take their seats. “Now, Long Swan set aside your sealed log and begin scribing in the official log.”

  “It shall be done, my lord.”

  “Begin by reading the intelligence we just received from Fergenstream in his travels this past year to the Mys-Isys River and how important this information makes the beginning of the whale oil trade.”

  Long Swan, half in jest and half in proper decorum said, “Most Royal Sur Sceaf, I quote an extract of Fergenstream of Stonyford’s written report,

  ‘We need the whale oil because the great shallow midland sea, is drying up and draining rapidly. That means the barrier between us that kept the enemy hosts at bay will soon disappear and become only a river as in former times. Thus, they can move their fortifications and armies more readily along their rat lines. Some merchants report it is already no longer a sea, and though a wide river, easy to cross. Soon the Pitters can build floating bridges and run their armies over in an endless stream to inundate the entire West. And what people can withstand their numberless legions? Who can know how long before they have easy access to these West Lands? We do not wish to be taken in fear and wonder, but we wish to lock horns with the enemy before he besets us with great evil. This whale oil would provide trade and wealth that could help us win allies and increase our numbers. So I petition you to make it happen, my king’.”

  Before Sur Sceaf could respond, his father spoke. “With your permission, Lord Sur Sceaf, I shall take a moment to reveal another reason besides Fergenstream’s report to explain our urgency to harvest this whale oil. There is a new enemy whom we will in all likelihood have to engage. I have waited until this meeting to reveal them, and that, when we thought it couldn’t get any worse.

  “Our spies have swept the lands for information about them. Our most trusted ranger, Starkwulf the Wose, has heard and reported much talk of them along the Pitter rat lines, as have many of our bush masters and numerous members of the Sire Sheaf. This enemy is known as the Growling which we know in times past lived in the Poisoned Lands. Gods only know what other monsters and demons from the Realms of Hell they are spawning in that freakish land.

  “Despite the fact, that there are trolls aplenty in the Poison Zone, the Growling manage to live in that waste where no other tribe will enter and only nightmarish legends about them exist. They were purported to be vampyrs and succubi. Tales of horror from escapees reveal the mouth of Hellheim is located there. Those who are wise do not think to go there. In the past we’ve only heard tales of the Growling.

  “These Growlings have seldom shown themselves, but now, Fergenstream reports they have formed an alliance with the Pitters and are marching out of the Witch Lands in great numbers. The Bounders bear witness they have seen the Growlings and that there is now this Pitter-Growling alliance made possible through the medium of the infamous traitors whose skins we have sought to bring to justice, namely, Inteus Walker and Yggep the Bitch. It did not take us long to realize Yggep was indeed a child of the Witch Lands.”

  Mahallah hissed and Redith grunted, at the mere mention of the traitors. Scenes of the bitter deaths at the Battle of Frink Glen flashed through Sur Sceaf’s mind.

  Sur Sceaf was drawn from his reverie by the oaken voice of the king.

  “By the gods, I know how abominable those names are to all of us, but did we really believe their evil would just disappear? No, instead it found the soil it grows in best...treason, oppression, the dark arts, and devilry. Now from the Poisoned Lands they have hatched this strange race called the Growlings to further afflict us with.”

  “I’d give half my kingdom to catch that green toothed bitch, Yggep.” Pyr declared fiercely. “I have a score to settle with that hell-born bitch.”

  Although Pyr had violated the protocol before speaking, Sur Spear was forgiving of the rupture in decorum.

  “You must forgive yourself, Son. When you freed those prisoners from the bitch’s death camps in Brimstone, there was no way you could have safely followed her back into the Witch Lands. Much of her black witchery skills she had garnered from the Dark Hag Queen, Gloomulah. You could not have known of her trickery. Soon we shall meet those two on the field of battle and then we will lay the Freak Maker and all her allies, Yggep and the Skull Worm, to the edges of swords and rid the Poisoned Land of all its freaks.”

  Redith added. “Then we can expect black magic to be unleashed upon us. I know that bitch, Yggep. I warned everyone when she bargained with us, that she had no soul and was an evil and designing woman, hell-bent on power mongering and nothing else. She is the anti-life the Godhi have long warned us would be coming.”

  Sur Spear nodded, “Tis true, you warned us, Wife-Mo. Soon we will see dark powers descend on us which we have not heretofore known, and with them much, much sorrow will attend, but we must have heart and grit to see this war to its end. The gods attend none other.

  “Now, according to Fergenstream and as confirmed by the Wose, the Bounders report Yggep is ready to exert the power she garnered in the Witch Lands and the Sire Sheaf reports Yggep is traveling west with the Cha’Kal and the Skull Worm in hopes of obtaining our defeat. Brothers and Sisters, they have pledged to drive us into the sea. They carry a banner, written in the Tongue of Oppression, that says, ‘Vestigia nulla restrosum’ which means in the Pitter priestcraft, ‘Never retreat.’ Unto this end we must prepare ourselves for a long and protracted war.”

  Redith rose up and gave a swan salute. “My lord Sur Spear, with your permission I had a vision even as you spoke.”

  “Thank you, Lady Redith, will you reveal it to us?”

  Redith shot a glance at Sur Sceaf. “I do not like to talk of dark things, but it’s vitally important that we know what is coming our way. What I saw was a monster wael coming this way. It is a murderous spirit these Pitter commissars possess and we shall have to fight with more than spear and arrow to win against this enemy for it is a spiritual war we are now locked in. And with the Growling joining the shadow of the Pitter, things are growing very dark indeed. I saw the dark fiend of the anti-life spreading her wings and her shadow fell over us of the Northwest under the banners of the Cha’Kal and the Skull Worm.”

  “Redith, the gods have given this vision to you for our benefit. Hryre Seath has ruthlessly crushed all opposition to his plan to conquer the West and has wasted no time in launching his crusade against us. He is a young and hungry wolf, who with his dark Queen Aso, and the children of Ish, is consolidating their power systematically. Their plan is to expand through fortified zongas ever westward, until they slowly strangle us with their legions. They have already done so to most of the East.”

  Sur Spear shifted his gaze to Long Swan. “I will now request that Long Swan, as the lore master, address the remaining reports on this new emperor. Long Swan, read us what you have surmised from all the materials you have collected from the beards of our Sire Sheaf.”

  Long Swan stood in his dignified manner and read from a scroll of parchment.

  “Hryre Seath is a religious fanatic and believes the glory of the Pitter Empire can only come about with the absolute extinction of the Herewardi. He has both decreed and ordered it so. For they claim with the he
lp of their one and only true god, Angrar, they will exterminate us.

  “To this end he has instituted a new policy to recruit from other nations, the Yenkish in the North and the Hickoryans in the South. He is raising those so converted to be a special and favored class called the Dominikers. These new converts of the Pitter religion, are human, but zealous to gain status and get gain by doing the will of the emperor and by power-mongering go so far as to betray their own people. As our spies report, these new recruits are blindly laboring for their own enslavement.

  “Hryre Seath’s high priest, the Skull Worm, has come to the West to hunt out and destroy the Herewardi and to establish the religion of their god, Angrar. They are here with the sole mission of attempting to ascertain who the Seed of the Woman is. And how she can be destroyed before the prophecy ripens. Although Skull Worm has had repeated failures, he never ceases to continue with the expansion, consumption, and nigh total annihilation of peoples in his pathway in order to get to us. His dark will cannot be broken, as the Comanche have recently discovered. He is the enemy of the earth. He is the anti-life that was prophesied by Elrus, long ago, and we must end his reign of terror forever. This ends my summation.”

  After the meeting in the Ram’s Den was adjourned, Sur Sceaf attended meeting after meeting with the Sire Sheaf, the tribal leaders of the High Desert, the Mexus merchants, the Coastal Rogues, and the Citriodoran smugglers from the South Kalifornias. They told of how they were being pressed by the Pitters into forced service and came to see if they might find hope of resistance or refuge in the future under the Herewardi wing.