The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  'You hoped he would never… ' I said, angry with him. 'He is my father!'

  He nodded. 'He is that, and my son as well. There are faraway events you do not understand, reasons why I left the home in the north, mainly to do with your poor father and possibly you. I hoped Maroboodus would find life in Rome, far away from here. To be sure, I should have killed him before he went, or rather, after he sired you. I love him, so I did not slay him, but sent him away. Curse my weakness.'

  'Kill my father?' I asked, shocked to the core. He did not answer, but looked down, as if there was something terribly unusual running around in the straws.

  'He wanted to stay and fight the dastardly Bero, but I did not want him to wage war in our lands.' He sighed despondently, and his eyes became glossy. 'I left the north with your father, because of my mother's words. She was a fine seer.'

  ‘Great-grandmother was a seer? Völva?' I asked, happy Gernot had gone. I would know something he did not, but Hulderic's mood was strange, and I looked around to see how many mugs of mead he had drunk. Not many.

  He groaned as he stretched, and then nodded his head. 'Yes, one of the revered ones, usual in our line of blood. We are an old, ancient family, and Woden's hallowed blood runs in our veins, like fire through a dry field. Such blood and fire hold doom. She had a forewarning sight, Hraban. She saw the ring, and a Bear and a Raven, and deemed war would come to the lands of the Germani when the Bear roared. After that, the very end of Midgard would be near. The Bear and the Raven, and the ring of Woden hold some part in the events. She believed the Bear was your doom-ridden father.'

  'And the ring was Draupnir's Spawn?' I asked, and continued, 'End of times? Do you mean—'

  He nodded. 'I do not know if the ring was this one, or if anything is certain when a Völva dreams. Ragnarök is indeed possibly the terror she spoke of. There are many prophesies in the vast land of the gods, but only one that speaks of the end of the end. She knew of the doom few know of. The gods, and Midgard itself will one day sink like a weighted net into the sea, dragging with it all we hold dear. This will come to pass. She told me it would be happen if the men close to Woden's family make severe mistakes, and yet hold no sacrifices.

  ‘In the past, our family has made great ones to avert this evil. But, Maroboodus is not one for sacrifices. He is selfish and wild. Even so, I could not kill him. Instead, I took the ring along with your father and fled. There was a brutal war coming to the north. I did not really know what I would do, nor where I would go, but I only knew I could not kill him. After we arrived here, I exiled him after Bero threatened us with another war. Your father left us, cursing me for a cur, but he returned for a short time. He was just married, and you and Gernot were born soon after. When he left again, he took the ring, and did not come back.' He scratched his chin and stared blankly at the ceiling. 'We lived well for nigh over a decade, but now Maroboodus is coming back, and there is much war in the land. Will the Bear roar? Then, I will have to act. Finally face my duty. Adalfuns will help me. You will too, I hope.'

  'I am not,' I said carefully, 'very comfortable with the thought of fighting my own lost father.' I nervously looked at Hulderic. I realized I did not feel any dread for obscure curses and old, vague prophecies, or their givers. Yes, we all knew, or thought we knew, such things existed, but I did not think my father was a key to the destruction of Midgard. Yet, I saw Hulderic believed in these things.

  He saw my doubts and scowled with genuine anger. 'Just keep out of the way, then. Did I say your great-grandmother also saw a Raven? Your father named you Hraban—Raven. I did not like it, and tried to call you another name, but Sigilind forced me out of the habit.'

  'You did mention it, and I will not ask what you wanted to name me. I am sure I would not like it,' I said with humor. I did not think much of that part of my great-grandmother's ramblings either. For Hulderic's benefit, I sighed, and with a massive effort, summoned a well-astonished look on my doubting face, and was awarded by his approving nod.

  He poked me in the chest. 'It is possibly you are the raven of my mother's sight, and you should heed it. Understand there are gods and their vile servants out there that wish to see the cursed prophecy transpire. There are gods who hate Woden, and would like to see him and his creations fall to Helheim. We carry the hallowed blood of Woden. Likewise, our enemies also have the blood of their filthy gods and demons, and they are bent on the destruction of all our people. There are people who would like to see the world burn like kindling, sink like a broken corpse, and replace all this with their own future. So, you will stay far away from Zahar, the Tear.'

  I looked confused. 'The old hag living in the thick woods to the north, on the Quadi side?'

  He nodded, his eyes glittering. 'She and her nasty son, Odo, are bad news. Ishild, her daughter, in some way too—especially to you.'

  'Very well,' I said. 'I have no interest in them.'

  He snorted in deep disgust. 'I know you have seen fair Ishild, in the fort of the old people, at the very hilltop? She told you about old spirits and canny elves, and you were like a beached fish. Helpless before a lovely girl. She said'—he leaned on me, hissing lecherously—'that she cares for you. Then, she kissed you as if she was married to you. It's been awhile this happened, but these thoughts of young lips and lovely hips do not gallop away from a man's mind like a wild horse, but stay with you like the most docile, tame nag.'

  I blushed and stammered. In the past, I had indeed met with Ishild, but I had not seen her for two long years. The last time we had met, at the old oppidum of the ancient Celts by Marmot's Ford at the edge of the village, I had sat on some wet moss, which she claimed housed an angry fairy. I had laughed, and she had slapped me, then she had indeed kissed me. It was my first kiss, and nothing stokes a man's confidence more than a beautiful female showing such interest, and that sweet kiss did just that. I felt proud for months. To be that special, my Lord Thumelicus, was a thing every man should experience early on. True love or not, it felt wonderful as the sweetest water to one dying of thirst.

  'It was a long time ago,' I told him morosely, 'and I had forgotten.'

  He smirked despite himself, and continued, 'It is likely Ishild is there to support her family against us, and so she appears like a spirit soon. And you will avoid her.' Hulderic squinted at me and cursed, as I was clearly not well-convinced. 'She is the daughter of the Tear of Woods, a mighty seer and a dreaded magician. She knows seidr magic, which Freya, the war and shadow goddess, grants her in abundance. She can seduce men like a frog eats frostbitten flies. How do you think Zahar got a man to sire her children? She looks like a dead deer. And I think they do not love Woden, nor us.'

  I nodded and groaned inwardly. Had Ishild indeed enchanted me? No. I did not believe in such magic, for I was not foolish. 'I know, Grandfather. I am careful. Was it Gernot who spied me with her?'

  'It matters not who told me.' Hulderic slammed his ham fist on a rotten beam, cracking it. 'I told you to avoid her. Not to be careful with her.'

  I bowed to him, and he calmed. 'You think they are dangerous, and have a stake in the events that might lead to the prophecy,' I stated seriously, humoring him. 'So I obey.'

  He looked relieved. 'Adalfuns thinks so. They came here after I arrived, and asked strange questions about our past. Perhaps that has meaning.' He smiled ruefully. 'Your father does not forgive easily, Hraban. He wanted me to kill Bero. I said no, and threw him out. I failed then. I hope not to fail now. But I will ask your father to leave again, and I will fight Bero should he make a move for us, for the ring, for Maroboodus.'

  I looked down to my toes, and turned away.

  He pushed me around. 'Ah, you wonder still why I did not defend the family honor and slit Bero's throat. I am not weak, Hraban. I have good reasons why I did not try to slay Bero when your father assumed we would naturally do so. Now, if Bero threatens you and Gernot, I will forget those reasons and break my oath.'

  'What oath?' I asked, but he shook his head stubbor
nly. I glowered at him and continued, 'And I suppose I should be hugely thankful you did not slay me as well? Though you might have done this to Gernot, and I would not have been worse off.'

  'Leave your brother out of this. Bero and I have a history. This blade, Head Taker, took his son's life. Maroboodus wielded it then, but it did happen, and he fears it. A völva once told him it would one day end his life, and so he has ever since bought the holy men and women in hopes of diverting his fates. He fears war with me, and he fears this blade like ice jotun fear fire, but I am loath to hurt him. It was not always evil between us.'

  'He came from the north as well?'

  He smiled and walked off stiffly, ignoring my question. I heard him call out after he disappeared to the sleeping area, like a spirit from another world. 'Keep your oaths, Hraban. Oaths to me, to your family before all. Oaths to your father first and foremost, if I fail and die. Then you will be in peril, indeed, but that is wyrd, and gods know if you can find the path to the right choices, even if it means great sacrifices. Few Bears and Ravens in our family have lived a long and happy life, but maybe you will. Keep to your precious honor. Rather die than sully it. There is only honor in a man's life, and the rest is meaningless gibberish. Oh, and do not speak to Wulf either. Priests, the vitka, are weak to Bero.'

  I sat down to contemplate what he had said. Father was coming home. Hulderic was worried about him and some ancient, obscure curse and wanted him gone, even dead. Bero would have to be faced and fought, should he learn of Maroboodus's return, which he would, for tongues wag. Things would change for us. Wandal would love the idiotic story. A story that was going to tear the people I loved apart.

  I nodded to myself and decided to keep my peace, bide my time, and work for reconciliation. Oaths I would hold like any Germani, and I would struggle mightily by growing my honor and gathering warrior's fame. I would rather die than fail in that. I was a Germani, after all, and this is what we are famous for. Dying for honor. I expected nothing less. Let Hulderic deal with confusing matters, and I would pray Woden would let father come home. I had missed him.

  Or, at least, the thought of him.

  CHAPTER II

  After the joys of the Yuletide, the gods blessed us as the cold blissfully gave up for a while, although it was likely the winter spirit was only gathering strength. The Naristi, our mysterious guest, came to the frigid hall early one morning while I was eating moldy porridge. He saw me, stopped abruptly, and grinned. 'Hraban. You do look like your father. Same pose, same stance; you even eat the same way, with your mouth open.'

  I nodded and closed my mouth, then decided it did not matter.

  'I suppose you won't tell me of him,' I asked dourly while he grinned.

  The stranger eyed the closed doors of our bedding area. He hesitated, but shook his head. 'I promised my host I would not. But when you meet him, do not complain like a girl. Serve well and hard, no matter how hard it is. Do so, if you truly want to be his son. And know how to make compromises.'

  I nodded at him, not really understanding.

  He glanced the glittering snow outside. 'Hard in this weather. Hope you will not find my corpse out there, come summer.'

  'Where will you go?'

  'To my sweet home in the north.'

  'I thought you were a Naristi. They do not live in the north.'

  He shrugged. 'A wise man keeps his origins secret. To be honest, I am a Cherusci, and I have people to meet up in the north.'

  'For my father?'

  'Yes, for him. I will meet a man and settle down with my wealth, marry some young thing and finally have my sons.' He grimaced at the cold as he opened the door. 'I hope to see you again, Master Hraban.'

  I nodded, and he dodged outside with a curse, shutting the door behind him.

  We endured hunger that winter. Yule feast is time for the plenty, but after the celebrations, we ate meager porridge, old, frozen meat, and scoured our cellars for scraps of vegetables. Sometimes, when it got mortally cold, we slept fitfully in the cellar, all sharing warmth as if we were a litter of foxes, shivering uncontrollably in the cold. People died, some were born. Gods were thanked profusely by those who survived, and as hallowed Lenzing, or as the Romans call it, Martius, finally arrived, the first warm winds began blowing from the south. We emerged from our houses like some strange trolls, enjoying each sight as if it were brand new.

  Our village was unusually large, housing some two hundred people. It was generously spread out amidst patches of forests and haphazard fields. Few lived like the Celts, in walled and controlled oppida, though some Chatti did. Hard Hill was such a place, though it had no walls.

  People met and discussed various important issues, and gossip was shared. Womenfolk, having spent the winter making fine cloth and mending items, were the first to know the various news, and especially the scandals. Animals were let out, and they were visibly thrilled to eat fresh, bitter grass. Hulderic's men gathered under the open skies, some hundred, minus a few who had died or disappeared in the winter. Adalwulf brought news Hard Hill was peaceful, and there was nothing unusual going on. It was a beautiful month, and flew by with the swift wings of an eagle.

  Sigilind came to find me at the end of Martius. She stopped to regard us suspiciously as we were checking our makeshift weapons, sitting by the warming fire pit. We ignored her long look. We were busy with heated planning and arguments. We had no spears, of course, as we were but youth, unelected still for the honor of the manhood and wielded staves, except for Wandal, who carried a cudgel. That night would mark the end of Martius, and the start of the new month, the month of Óstar-mánór, of Eostere. She was our goddess of fair dawn, much revered by everyone and plentifully thanked for the end of the damned winter. As for us, we were preparing for the month of thanks by making devious plans to attack the unsuspecting Quadi youths across the river. We knew they would want revenge for the stolen mead and the beating we witnessed, and we planned to make a humiliating pre-emptive strike.

  I was frustrated with other matters. Hulderic had not made it clear if we would get our spear and shield that night. He had hinted at it after Yule, promising it for the next month, Drimilchi, but I was impatient. I pushed it out of my head, as Wandal grumbled again. 'Who shall lead this year? Eh? It's my turn.'

  I laughed and mocked him. 'I will lead. You would not outsmart Tudrus and his brothers if they were asleep at your feet.'

  Ansbor rolled his eyes. He did that too often, annoying the lot of us. 'Between you two bickering, we will never catch them. Likely, as usual, we will be the ones getting hurt. Why not let me lead?'

  Wandal growled, while ignoring Ansbor's last sentence. 'Did I not find their mead last year? They got punished for it, and we laughed at their tears. That is a victory for us. One of the few. I did that, eh?'

  I clucked my tongue at him. 'You found it, yes. But I led us to their very hall without being seen. Ansbor is too cautious, you are as sharp as an ox, and Hagano is a bleeding coward. I will lead.'

  Hagano opened his mouth, and hopped to his feet. His face was red, but Sigilind interrupted him by clapping her hands sharply. 'You lot, clear out.' My friends blanched and ran off at her simple words. Mother was lithe as a willow, small as a wolverine and as formidable as one when crossed.

  I turned to her. 'What is it, Mother?'

  She sat down slowly. 'I do not approve of your useless and dangerous Roman lessons,' she said gravely. 'You would do better to learn our laws, animal husbandry, and estate management. Already Gernot is better at these things.'

  'He is not!' I shouted with rising anger, but she put an iron–like finger over my mouth. She was right, and I knew it. I slumped, unhappy.

  She smiled sadly and continued, 'But perhaps the Roman lessons are not all useless. I am ill.'

  'Ill? How? I can fetch Wulf,' I said, alarmed. Wulf was the village vitka, a wise man and a healer.

  'No, I don't know if it is serious. An ache in my belly, that is all. I only know I want to speak to your fa
ther. And you can help me. A scroll with words? Is that what they call it?' She looked like she was having a bad supper with a murderous robber as she spoke of the strange Roman ways.

  'It is. I can try.' Then my head swam. It had not occurred to me I could speak with my father. 'What do you wish to tell him?' I asked her, wondering if I was up to the task as I stumbled to fetch a wrinkled piece of leather left over from my shield. She said nothing, and I went to fetch my stylus and ink powder, some of which I mixed in water. When I came back, she was still thinking, silent, unmoving. I realized she did not know Father either. I sat down swiftly and got ready, proud to show my skills and knowing she would not see how bad I was.

  She sighed and adjusted the two shiny fibulae, the brooches holding her dress up at the shoulders. When she was deep in her thoughts, she often fingered the fancy one with the silvery, startled-looking deer. 'What do I want to tell him? Many things. That I miss him, and that he should take care when he comes home. I …worry. I hear many men who go and serve abroad change. They adopt Roman morals. Gunhild, my sister, your aunt in Hard Hill? She just lost her husband last year. I lost mine some fifteen years ago, and now, I do not know what to think or what to tell him.' She spat on the floor in a sudden fit of anger. I stayed quiet, despite the insistent voice in my head demanding I reprimand her for the spittle on the floor.

  'I cannot ask Marcus to write this, Hraban. I do not like him, nor trust him,' she said evenly.

  I smiled. 'Marcus is not bad. He even has a fine sense of humor. He made me write gladius and vagina, they’re clunky words for a sword and sheath, and after I had recited them aloud twenty times one after another, he burst out laughing like a maniac and told me they have different meanings or more than one!'

  She smiled uncertainly. 'What meanings?'

  'They mean … well. It’s this snail and its shell, from the Alps.' I blushed and shrugged.

  'And how is this funny?' she asked, suspicious.