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

by Alaric Longward

'It is a Roman thing. I will write now.' I kept my eyes down, and knew she was contemplating on pushing the issue, but after a few moments, she sighed and continued.

  'Very well. Tell Maroboodus, your father, this,' she said.

  She spoke, and I wrote furiously. She eyed my awkward writing style, and waited patiently as I managed to write down most of her words. I felt remotely angry when the task was done. She had not asked Father if he had been true, though perhaps she had been wise not to do so. She had only humbly assured him of her own virtue and patient feelings of eternal love. She gazed at the writing on the skin, and tears fell from her eyes, smudging some of the letters. I took it gently from her hands. She nodded in thanks, her eyes tired.

  Wandal came in, his expression guarded as he saw my mother. 'Tudrus and the brothers are on the other side of the river. They are mocking us,' he said with an angry tremble in his voice.

  'Go show them your hairy ass. We'll deal with them later,' I told him.

  Mother scowled at my words.

  Wandal looked sheepish. 'They have your new shield.'

  'What?' I asked, trying to understand what Wandal's meaning. 'Who has my shield? Ansbor?'

  Wandal looked embarrassed. 'No, Tudrus the Younger has it. He is flaunting it across the damned river. He sat on it.'

  I stared at Wandal for a long moment. My shield had been leaning on the doorframe of the alcove I slept in. Then I cursed and kicked up from the seat. Gernot would pay dearly. I grabbed the skin, rolled it up, stuck it on my rope belt, and went for my stave. He would pay. I rushed out to the beach, as if chased by rabid dogs.

  The River Moenus flew by on its peaceful way to the great River Rhenus. The chirping birds skimmed low over it, hunting for lazy insects. The gentle banks were swaying with the early grass and pale flowers. It was a beautiful, familiar sight, except for the three dangerous young men on the other side.

  A wiry and muscular, gaunt-faced youth of my size was dragging my shield around. Two rock-like creatures, his brothers, shadowed him. Tudrus the Younger, for that was the troublesome leader of our enemy, carried a brutal black stave on his shoulder as he prepared to mock me. I could see his wicked smile. They were anticipating many pleasures for their prize, my poor shield. He hammered the stave on the shield, making a loud booming noise, and I winced, hoping it would bear the trashing. I saw many unrelated Quadi looking on to our much-awaited confrontation from their busy feast preparations. Tudrus the Younger looked like a young cat with a fresh bowl of milk, one that was not his, but one he would devour nonetheless.

  I was not afraid, just angry and disappointed. I would fight them for the shield, of course, very likely take a beating. Then I would go and dig up the culprit, Gernot, from whatever foxhole he was hiding in. I would hurt him back like I would be hurt. I would force a fresh turd down my brother's throat. I had no doubt he was behind this great insult.

  'Hraban!' Tudrus called. 'Bear’s ass? Is that you or an ugly girl? I cannot make out the difference from here!' he hollered loudly across the water, but his brothers remained silent.

  Usually, their rare humor was reserved for brutal hits in a fight, then they would laugh like angry boulders, their noise deep and reverberating, and their beady pig eyes glistening with unholy joy.

  'Hraban! Look what I got!' Tudrus yelled devilishly, hefting my shield.

  I saw Ansigar flitting our way, his face nervous as he regarded the cruel brothers across the river. Ansbor was fidgeting and murmuring, and Wandal was growling angrily in my support. Hagano was dejectedly untying a hollowed out log, and I nodded his way, gratefully. We called the rotten log the “Draca.” The Dragon.

  I laughed at Tudrus with a show of contempt. 'Can you carry it? It is heavy, meant for a man. Did you sneak here to steal it, or did you pay my thief of a brother to fetch it? I doubt you dared to cross the river, as you cannot swim.’

  He snapped. ‘Steal? It was you lot who stole the mead last year. We suffered for it while you laughed, drunk. See here, your shield? A fine thing.’ He flung it casually to the ground.

  ‘Did Gernot bring it to you, like the bastard he is?' I asked forcefully, and he shrugged, utterly uncaring of my inquiries. It was Gernot. We did not want him to join our band of Bear Heads, and he was forever betraying our plans to harm the Quadi, though we could not prove it.

  'Come and get it?' Tudrus the Younger taunted.

  I could see his great father, one of the highest three leaders of the Quadi, standing in the shadows. A great warrior, a man feared and widely respected, his face was ruddy and strong. He was looking on as his son challenged me.

  'Come, Hraban, or I will toss it into the river. But I will start the coming humiliation like this.' He pulled out his penis and pissed on the shield. I looked on, incredulous as Tudrus kept pissing, his face betraying relief and joy.

  Paint smeared on the surface of the shield—washed away, like my honor.

  Ansigar snickered, but sobered quickly as I glanced at him in savage fury.

  There are men who hear the call of battle, and forget everything else. Some call it Woden's Rage, to go berserk with violent anger, to yap like a feral dog, howl like an upset wolf and charge your poor enemy headlong, little caring for coming wounds and looming death. Some berserkers live on unscathed, while others die more quickly, but all are full of a god's wrath.

  Woden's Rage was born inside me that day.

  Tudrus the Younger pissed on my creation in front of my friends and the snickering villagers on both sides of the river. The horrible insult was utterly unbearable, and I felt a painful thrumming on the sides of my head. Rage clawed inside my wide chest, and I felt blood hurtling in my ears, rushing around in dizzying anger. In the mists of my mind, I saw a massive, brutal figure, his helmet adorned with twin dragons as horns, his outline pounding the ground in unrivaled savagery.

  I grabbed my stave and walked over to Draca as my friends filed in after me. I turned on them, and made my point of wishing to go alone clear by shoving Wandal back out of the raft.

  'What are you doing? Eh? They will kill you!' he said, exasperated as I pushed the raft off. Hulderic and Marcus ran to the shore, having heard of what had passed.

  Grandfather was yelling at me, his face red. 'You fool! Do not beat them and make us enemies. A rabid dog, Hraban, will end its days hanging from a tree!'

  I ignored them all, as I shoved the unsteady boat closer to the other shore. I saw Tudrus the Younger tie his pants, and all three angry brothers made ready. I smiled and made an animal-like growl as I shoved the raft forward, the icy water seeping in to wet my legs.

  Then I was there, ready to take my shield and honor back.

  Tudrus the Older held his hand out as the Quadi came to look on at the unexpected fight. I grabbed my stave two-handed, the point quivering in the general direction of my nemesis. I walked for Tudrus the Younger, who raised his black stave in an overhand grip, not using it like a spear, but a club.

  'Know keen pain, humiliation, and let the first tears of this year flow, Hraban the Piss-Shield. Let us see if you have learned anything useful this past winter.'

  He came at me resolutely and bravely, but I did not break stride. He swung at me, I blocked, and we turned and turned like struggling bear cubs, looking for the next angle to hurt each other. A battle, Lord, as you have been taught in the efficient Roman captivity, especially a one-on-one combat, is all about fast, sure legs. You need to keep moving and anticipating their moves, need to know where the other one is weakest. Your legs take you to assured victory, if you know how to use them. He turned again, a bit unbalanced, and I danced out of the way. I laughed, feeling nothing but a curious mix of mad passion and unbridled joy bursting from every fiber in my body.

  For some reason, he seemed to move much slower than usual, and I knew the strange anger that boiled my blood made me faster. Fast as an otter in the water. His face was screwed up in concentration as the black staff swung for the third time, aimed at my ear. This time, I let it come, placin
g my stave spear alike, aimed low. I saw I could sidestep the swing and perhaps stab him from the side, but I wanted him to hurt me. I managed to twist my head enough for Tudrus's stave to slap onto my neck, and it did hurt. I saw red and black in my stabbing pain, and should have gone tumbling down. Everyone cheered my foe. I heard my friends groan in disappointment all the way across the calm river, and my whole head throbbed painfully, but I ignored the pain.

  I embraced it, too angry to care.

  While Tudrus the Younger was gloating, I punched the stave at his groin, and surprised him entirely. He fell heavily on his side, so quickly I doubt he understood what had happened. He yelped while he lay there, out of breath and writhing in pain. My next thrust went for his throat; snake fast, intending to mangle and kill quickly. It would have done bloody damage to him, but the quarrelsome and surprisingly alert Agetan barreled into me, with Bohscyld ambling behind to save their elder brother. I growled in disappointment, spat and then laughed madly as Agetan's pig eyes squinted at me. He hovered over me with his hand around my throat. I let go of my useless stave and pressed my fingers quickly and savagely into his eyes, forcing a scream of surprised pain from his lips, and he rolled away. I got up, fast as a plummeting eagle, grabbed a jagged rock, and looked for my next prey.

  Bohscyld took a step back, raising his cudgel in a warning.

  A bronze-helmeted Quadi champion grabbed my arm.

  No matter my rage, I could not break free from his grip. Everyone was quiet. I struggled, not sure for how long. The warrior was whispering to me, calming me, but his fingers continued to pinch into my skin. Finally, I let out a shuddering, ragged breath, and the mighty champion relaxed his grip. The rock fell from my nerveless hand, and the savage dancer in the mists of my mind faded away. He was lurking there, somewhere, and I knew I would see him again.

  Everyone was gazing at me in unnerving silence.

  Hulderic was on a boat, being rowed across by Adalwulf, the oars splashing desperately at the old man's growling commands. Marcus was with him, precariously trying to keep his balance. I spat, confused, and gazed at the men around me like a wolf would gaze at trembling lambs.

  I do not know what possessed me in that moment. Mindlessly, I grabbed my stave and piss-soaked shield, and ran in the direction of the dark, green woods.

  I heard Hulderic yell, 'Do not go there. Hraban!'

  I ignored him, and plunged into the shadowy, green landscape with my shield and honor, but without my innocence.

  CHAPTER III

  The woods of Germania were wild and deeply magical, ancient as the gods themselves, and the moving shadows whispered to you with the willow voices of the animals and spirit kind. Under the canopy of old beech, fine alder, great fir and so many other wonderful trees, you found uncanny peace, but also unexpected danger. Sometimes that danger walked on four stealthy legs, sometimes but two. There were, they say, old forgotten gods in the deep places where few men have visited. Vaettir, and the many dead were said to haunt the ancient groves the invisible fairy and careful dwarf folk visit from the various nine worlds. Those who practiced magic come there, and sometimes they did not return. If you hunted, you hunted in practiced pairs, and then you found elk, the great grouse, and careful deer, lumbering moose and even irate bear, if you were brave and foolish. Spirits rarely disturbed groups of determined men, only those who ventured out alone.

  That day, I embraced the danger.

  I needed to bend my mind on what nearly passed. I had wielded a sharp, deadly rock in my hand, and I would have mauled with it, giving little heed to demands of reason. I would have rammed my stave inside Tudrus the Younger's skull. He had been the prey, and I the hunter. I had been so enraged, strong like an auroch, fast like a fox, feeling no mercy. The being that had danced wildly in the mists of my mind had forced a dangerous bloodlust on me. Somehow, I knew the shadow dancer had always lurked in the recesses of my mind, savage, odd as a crooked back, never speaking, yet reeking of both wisdom and godly joy of carnage.

  I walked the emerald green woods, moving the foliage aside with my wet feet, trying not to make a sound. I felt older, somehow fiercer. I felt like I could lift a mountain, and then I felt silly. Had I dreamt the whole episode? I walked for a long time, my mind confused.

  Then I saw them.

  Ishild, and her brother Odo, hunched in a small depression.

  I went to my knees, and spied on them from amidst some dank, smelly ferns. She was beautiful, lithe and slender like a young sapling, her blonde hair glimmering eerily in the misty air. There was a familiar, quick-witted look on her delicate face. That face flashed in my direction, though she seemed not to notice me. She was listening carefully to her brother's hissings, and I shuddered at the sight of him. His red, greasy hair was hanging in hanks around his shoulders, his chest was flat and bony, and he was hunched in a curiously animal-like way. His face was lean and mean, the inhuman look completed by rotten teeth. He was a vitka, a holy man. A boy, still, but reputedly powerful.

  They were hovering over a small plant, digging around it with careful movements. I remember Ishild telling me how a plant must not be harmed, and how the spirits would curse a person who twisted so much as a leaf. They worked diligently. Odo hissed at Ishild, who cowered before him as she made some sort of a mistake. She was prettier than I remembered, with the round hips of a woman and the curved bosom, too. Her face was no longer the face of a child. She had a pert nose, full lips and quick eyes, all blending together into a creature of beauty, not unlike a perfect doe. I remembered the kiss from a girl and grinned, but for some reason, I felt the woman before me was not that girl, and I was troubled. Hulderic had warned me to stay away from her.

  A hand grabbed my foot, and I scrambled and turned, my heart rent with beating terror. It was Hagano.

  'Hey, why did you run here? You fought like …' he started, his face gray with fear, but went quiet as I put my finger on my lips.

  I held my chest and glanced at Ishild and Odo. They had not noticed. I grimaced as Odo held Ishild's arm, obviously painfully. Her lovely face was screwed up in agony.

  I hissed at Hagano. 'What are you doing here? Where are Wandal and the others? Did they—'

  He grinned and looked pale. 'You called me a coward, did you not? The others were reluctant to follow, and Hulderic ordered them back. He sent Adalwulf after you, but the dolt went the wrong way,' he said, trembling with the effort of speaking softly. Shaking his head, he regarded the two siblings. 'Are those … alive?'

  I nodded. 'Yes. Tear's children.'

  'What? The völva? Let us go. Hulderic was angry, truly angry. He has the feast to prepare, and now you—'

  'Shh. I know. I will clean the stables, apologize, suffer, and grit my teeth while I bow and lie that I will change my ways, but I had to get away,' I said miserably as I spied the dissimilar siblings moving away.

  'Fine, but let's go,' Hagano said with chattering teeth. I did not follow him, and his brows drew down in a frown. 'It is best to go. The priest can call nasty things from the shadow lands. Things that will make us weep. Damned spirits and gibbering demons that will eat us like mutton. I want to stay as I am.'

  I smiled. 'Bah! Any change is an improvement.'

  I stealthily sneaked after the siblings. Hagano tensed, trying to grab my pants by the rope belt, but instead, managed a hold on my leather shoe, which I promptly discarded. I grinned, and Hagano sobbed as he came after me. We stalked after them, and they led us deeper into the heavy woods. Sunlight started to fail as the canopy above grew dense as a bone.

  'Why are we doing this, Hraban? Just tell me that,' Hagano asked.

  I shrugged. Ishild? Something else? I felt drawn like an insect to a bright light. Then, the siblings were gone.

  I shook my head uncertainly and looked around. Hagano's eyes were wide, the whites shining in the semi-dark. He did not see them either. Up ahead, there was a curious haze of sorts, and I thought it might be caused by fire. I smelled bitter smoke, and I moved slo
wly forward to see and smell better. There seemed to be a clearing, and I could make out a sliver of weak sunlight, but the smoky haze was flitting around the woods, obscuring the sight, and I felt strange foreboding as I gazed at the area. Then, in the haze, something moved, as if a distant dream was walking, fast, ever so quickly amongst the haze.

  'Did you see that? Did you?' Hagano demanded.

  I grunted, noncommittal. I was not sure what I had seen. A fragile arm, a long leg or perhaps a hint of an ethereal body? Not human, perhaps.

  'We are going, Hraban. We are going, you numb-skulled ass.' Hagano pulled me so hard, I fell on my face.

  I turned around, slapped his hands off, and pulled his face closer to mine.

  'Do you trust me, Hag?' I asked him, and then shook my head before he could answer. 'Well, I trust you. If I do not return, go and find Adalwulf. He must be lumbering about somewhere. Or the Quadi. Get them, at least.'

  'You are going there?' His eyes were wide to the point of looking ridiculous. 'Why?'

  'I have to. I do not know why. I will never call you a coward again, I promise you that.' I clapped his shuddering back lightly. He was my friend, I trusted him, but he would be of no immediate help, if my idiocy got me into hot water.

  I continued on, leaving Hagano behind me.

  When I got closer to the clearing, the apparitions faded. They had been flickering shadows, lingering heat, perhaps something not of Midgard, likely something that a man should worry about. They were replaced by something else. It was a clearing of ancient moss, an old and rotten tree, and a large stump where a woman sat, painfully posed.

  It was an old woman, the woman Hulderic had vehemently insisted I should not meet.

  It was Tear, Zahar. She was hunched over an unlit heap of kindling, mumbling something very slowly. Her bony shoulders were sagging, her greasy hair bouncing as she was trying to make the kindling light. Next to her was a fresh looking sprig, or a wand, her magic talisman of deep power. She was a wand carrier, seidr user, a seer and a sorceress. A woman to be feared. Yet, when I looked at her, I did not fear her. While dirty, there was something melancholy about her ways, and when I saw her face, I could see she had once been fair. She was chanting as she grabbed her wand. Then she took a deep green leaf, which she started to rub vigorously on the wand. After a while, she chanted harshly, and then went still.