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

by Alaric Longward

  I did not move. Every fiber in my body insisted I leave and forget the clearing and its uncouth inhabitant, but I could not move.

  Suddenly, the fire sprung up with a curious hiss, and soon, it was burning fiercely, with bluish flames. She mumbled something about wildfire, something more about a weak life force, a mysterious guardian, and strange spirits.

  She took out a well-used clay jar from her bag and opened it. She drank from it with greedy swallows. Time went by, I do not know how long, and then I saw her dirty head jerk a bit, just a bit, and whitish breath escaped her mouth. She began speaking in a voice strange to an old woman, a near-masculine voice full of sinister menace. Her elbow bent unnaturally, a loud popping noise evident as it stretched out to her side, yet she made not a sound of pain. I could hear vague names, great names, our old gods. Woden, Donor, Tiw, Freyr, and Freya, Sibb, familiar names we hear in feasts and at hearth, when the old speak of the old gods.

  'What is needed? Is it truly so?' she pleaded, with a voice of a young woman now. She shook as she recited something in the sinister, masculine voice. Something that sounded like a wicked spell.

  ‘The Bear will roar, beware you gods, for the time has come to break the bars, sunder the rules, break the words. The Raven will find the sister, the gods to weep as blood spills onto the Woden's Ringlet.’

  There was more, much more, but she screamed, and soon she was crying, weeping painfully and tearing at the wet ground with her haggard hands. She was communing with mighty beings, who were not of this world, and she was beyond frustrated. Then she went still, her elbow popping back into a relatively normal position, and she turned her surprised, hazy eyes towards me.

  'Hraban?'

  In panic, I got to my knees, ready to run, but I felt a sharp, dizzying blow to my head, and things went dark as the deepest night.

  I do not know how long I was unconscious. Finally, I clawed my way out of the gray lands and opened my eyes, feeling rotten to my core. Pain was throbbing through me. I retched and nearly threw up, and my thoughts went out erratically and desperately, trying to find clues as to what had happened, what time of the day it was, where I was. I listened to my body, trying to figure out if I was badly hurt, and if there were any bones broken.

  I felt the back of my head. There was a sore lump there, but there was no blood on my fingers when I pulled them away. My fingers blurred before me as I tried to focus.

  Then I felt more pain, but it was a different kind of pain, and suddenly, I could focus my eyes.

  I had a caliga, for that was what the Romans called their harsh military sandals, resting on top of my chest, its ragged hobnails grinding down hard on me. I struggled briefly and tried to grab the impossibly strong foot. It pressed down with more strength than Donor's gauntlet crushing a jotun's skull, and I gasped from the pain. My hand swiped the stave lying on the ground, but I could not reach it.

  I cursed and turned to look at the man. A Roman. Clearly. He had huge, light brown eyes, wide and staring with little emotion. It was like a bear gazing at a carcass. He was hairy as an ape, and clearly touched by the gods. He cackled at my struggles, drool dropping from his mouth. His hand went to his well-used gladius, hanging from a fanciful balteus. The sword was decorated with bronzed, leering suns. His cingulum militare belt with its silver studs brushed against my chest.

  'Fabricati diem,' he growled with a high, bloodthirsty voice, meaning 'make my day,' as he grabbed my hair. He pulled out a pugio, a wide, elegant Roman dagger.

  I saw his face, and recoiled, with no place to recoil to. He was hideously scarred by fire. His left cheek and the skin around his left eye were wrinkled in ropy, angry red slabs of meat.

  'Hold,' called Tear.

  I turned to look at the other people in the clearing, forgetting the pugio for now. There was a warrior with long, thin mustaches and intelligent eyes, wearing a lorica hamata that reached down to his knees. The fabulous chain mail armor was glimmering in the fading sunlight. He blinked back at me impassively. Another man was seated on a small rug before Tear, a fat man with a Roman-style tunica smeared from wine and food. His jowls hung far down his chest, and jiggled as he laughed at my discomfort. He did not seem the sort of a man to hike around in the thick woods, but a man that would die of exhaustion if he tried. Yet, there he was.

  The fat one spoke in a bored voice, while he struggled with some sharp stones under the rug, his big belly getting in the way. He rumbled in Latin. 'Cornix. Let the boy be. The ugly hag wants him alive. Best not kill him. I knew a Claudii who murdered a youngster in his house, and while the boy had been humping his wife, the noble was later to find, to his discomfort, that it was the son of his principal creditor. He went bankrupt, naturally, and died in the darkest and dankest of mines, whips dancing on his fleshless back. We will let him live. Our dignitas and good sense demands we keep our hosts alive. Koun, you agree?'

  The mustached one shrugged and spoke. By his accent, I realized the warrior was a Germani, a Roman serving Vangione from across the river.

  'Gaius Antius,' Koun said, with a thick Latin. 'Let your man gut the boy. He is useless to us. I think the hag is too. She refuses to tell us anything about our man.' He peered at Tear carefully, as if to judge if she understood Latin.

  She did not move a muscle.

  Antius sighed and spoke to Koun like he would to an idiot child. 'Koun, my contact in Hard Hill has already told you where he lives. The contact sent you a scroll as well. You do not need her for that. Your little war will go on. You are here to help me on another matter, and I beg you to be patient. You will be back with your father and your men momentarily.'

  Hard Hill? War? I wondered, and thanked Marcus Romanus for the lessons he had painfully endured to teach me the hard language of the Romans.

  Cornix grunted, reluctantly put the pugio away, and let go of my hair. He whispered half to himself. 'Well, you look poor as a rat. Dirty, too. I would have robbed you and humped your virgin ass, but you are out of luck. The fat one prevents you from knowing the best cock in the XIX Legion.'

  My eyes narrowed in confusion, and I looked away in disgust, trying to make out the meaning of his words. Surely, he did not mean he wanted to take me like he would a woman? I hid my dishonored face so he would not know I spoke Latin, and I was afraid and horrified at the implications of his words.

  Antius grabbed a purse that clinked uncannily and threw it on Tear's lap. 'For the deal. You will help him.'

  'Who will she help?' Koun asked, confused.

  'That is not for you to know. Wait,' Antius said tiredly, a hint of anger playing in his deep voice.

  Tear shrugged as she weighted the sealed purse. It was fat as the merchant, full of coin. She gestured towards Koun and spoke, 'Indeed. And your part, Roman? I asked for no coins. The ancient scroll?'

  Antius looked at Koun, scowling as if daring Koun to ask more foolish questions. 'Koun, you are here for this question.'

  'Scroll?' the Vangione asked in Latin, ignoring Tear, apparently making a stupid question, for Antius cursed.

  Antius nodded, calming himself. 'I mentioned this earlier, remember? Your sister, Shayla, may gods keep her safe, holds a key to some old prophecy. It is a scroll, I hear.'

  'I know little of damned scrolls, Antius, but is this the prophecy my father is so interested in?' Koun said while sulking, his eyes in slits. 'Part of the reason for what we are about to do?'

  'It is. Our host will not risk his profits, so answer her,' Antius said, bored.

  'But if we succeed this night,' Koun continued stubbornly, 'surely she will be dead?'

  'She will not, and she has her uses, no matter what happens,' Antius spat angrily, and Koun shuddered, giving up.

  Koun spat and spoke to Antius with the utmost effort, still in Latin. 'Indeed. My sister, Shayla, has such a scroll. I have not seen it, but I doubt she will want to part with it for a wretched Germani witch. What is it, merchant, that this witch is to do? Who is she to help? If we would part from the scroll m
y sister reveres, we need to know how this old woman helps us.'

  Antius shrugged, exasperated. 'Well. Koun. She will help me, not you, to be exact. You need not understand what, or how. And you know things will change one day, and you and your younger brother might need help against your elder brother.'

  Koun narrowed his eyes, but changed his mind quickly enough. 'Very well. If you deem her help worth it, I suppose we can get her a copy of the maggoty prophecy.' He spoke to Tear in Germani, full of strange grunts, and she nodded arrogantly, making Koun redden with indignation. Koun turned to Antius and switched back to Latin. 'And the boy? If he walks, he will tell them about us.'

  'Let the hag deal with him,' Antius said, smiling at me briefly.

  Koun shook his head. 'Let me detain him, just to keep tonight's surprise a secret, and I promise to do my best with the scroll. Take him for a slave.,' he was gesturing towards me.

  A slave.

  I blanched at the thought, and blurted out angrily, 'Koun? A Gaul name. Dog, is it not, the meaning of the name?' I asked loudly, grinning at him though I was scared, speaking with an uneven voice.

  They turned to look at me in great surprise. Koun's eyes narrowed as he hefted his large hasta, a heavy cavalry spear.

  'You understand Latin?' he asked with a voice subtly curious and doubtful.

  I lied. 'I don't speak the language of the dogs, but I hear your master call for you, like he would his favorite hound,' I told him, blushed with anger and indignation for my pains. I cursed myself for being a stupid ass, and imagined Gernot smirking at the news of my cold corpse being found hanging from a tree.

  Koun stepped forward with a growl, his intent clear.

  'He will live,' Antius said, stopping the uncertain Koun in his tracks. The merchant got up with difficulty. 'Remember, Tear. Help him, and we will all prosper. I will deliver unto you what Koun promised.'

  Tear nodded, uncertainty playing on her old face. Antius turned to go, Cornix following him.

  Koun pointed a finger at me, anger playing on his fine features. 'The forests are deep, boy, and I belong to the deepest of the shadows. Fear the shadows from now on, for dogs stalk you,' Koun muttered. He stomped my shield into several pieces, and left ponderously after the swiftly retreating Romans.

  I regarded my broken shield and panted in anger. I saw Antius glance back at me, the scroll I had scribbled for Sigilind in his hands. He grinned at me and waved the scroll. He had realized I understood Latin, but had left me alive. Did he trust Tear to take care of me? She could, perhaps.

  I stared at her sharply, but the bitter words of Koun popped into my mind, and the fact they were looking for someone was foremost amongst them. They were looking for someone, who was known in Hard Hill and someone in Hard Hill helped the fat merchant. Koun had also spoken of war and a sinister deed for that very night. Then an odd question jumped into my mind, and I went rigid with doubt. Father was a fugitive to Rome, by the words of our former guest. 'Were they asking you about my father? Where we live?'

  She smiled carefully. 'Smart, boy. They did, at least Koun did, but as you heard, I did not tell them, and Antius already knows. The Vangione thought they were here to learn more of your father, but my agreement with the lard sack was of something entirely different. Now, sit, Hraban.' Her voice had a compelling quality in it.

  I reluctantly obeyed, and sat down where she indicated, swooning with the pain in my head. She was a völva, and to disobey one was to risk all. She briskly rummaged around her satchel, pulling out sticks with carved runes. She was mumbling to herself, giggling a bit, and the hair on the back of my neck was standing straight from terror. It took her forever to find the crude rune sticks and moldy stones she wanted.

  'Making an enemy of Koun there, Hraban, was not wise.' She seemed to have found what she was looking for, the last rune stick carved in darker wood than the others on her lap were. 'He seems like the sort to finish his many feuds.'

  'Why are you dealing with them?'

  She was toeing the smoldering remains of the fire she had lit earlier, but then she glanced at me and ignored my questions. 'I know you were looking for dear Ishild. She is not here, but she is safe. She is a bit different from when you last saw her, two years past, but she is still Ishild.' She smiled, strangely calm, beguilingly benevolent, and I tensed, waiting for her to pounce. She did. 'Odo wishes you to stay away from her,' she said with force. 'I think it is wise.'

  'I am her friend,' I said angrily and unwisely, considering the company.

  She sat there for a while, seemingly collecting her thoughts. She stared at me with her cold, feverish eyes, and finally, it seemed she had made up her mind. 'Ishild is not your concern today. You came here because I will test you. There is a prophecy, boy.'

  'I came here because I got lost. And about the prophecy? Hulderic warned me, but I do not believe in this superstitious nonsense.'

  She nodded. 'Accident. You coming here was not due to divine guidance, no. That is good, and it makes you much more likely to be useful to us, as you are a nonbeliever. A rare thing in your family that. But that is what we need, I think. A nonbeliever who will gallop along the path, never heeding warnings until it is all done.'

  'In that case, I am the most devout believer in this nonsense,' I told her in all seriousness.

  She laughed happily, clapped my cheek with a twinkle in her eye, but then sobered and went fey. 'I see Hulderic told you some of this, but let me explain. You know Woden is the mightiest god at this time and age? True, some tribes worship Tiw, and others Freyr over him, but Woden has power across the nine worlds, Niflheim, even Jotunheim. Over Alfheim the most, likely. And then Midgard. This is so because he created men.'

  'The Three Spinners,' I recited, bored, 'will one day cut all the strings. We will all die. Because of a Raven, a Bear, and the Ring. Yes, yes. Hulderic told me this fanciful, exciting fairytale.'

  She sneered. 'Woden created the young race of men, making them from his very own immortal blood, giving them a speck of his wisdom and poetry, and so, some of the men living in this world are…purer. Look at your unusual hair. In your family, there are many with that hair, Woden's pure color, and dark as night. You and your family are his strongest tie to this world. Yet not all the gods agree on his predominance. A god, a great and merciless rival to Woden, put a patient curse on the men the day they were born. One day, one of your family, Hraban, will betray Woden's misplaced, over-emotional trust, and fail.'

  'I will not fail, if it should be so,' I said, nervous at her intensity.

  'We will see. The god who cursed his creation, Hraban, came to Gulldrum, far to the north of here. There, he made my family, just as ancient as yours. He nurtured us, shaped in the ingenious mold of Woden—but we are different, you see. We will be rewarded, if we help with the prophecy our god laid down, and if not, it is still his will, and we are his humble tools to use and discard. Even his amusement is a worthy cause. One day, my hallowed god will shape the new Midgard to his beautiful image. Our god's faithful people will live in it, even if most of the other gods and men die as sacrifice to fuel the fine work. Wyrd.'

  'Wyrd, indeed,' I said, thinking her mad.

  'So I will ask the wayward spirits, and make sure you are of Maroboodus's seed. You must be of the blood.'

  'I am my father's son,' I said indignantly.

  She shrugged. 'Sigilind has been alone, and Bero might have had a man rape her in revenge, or she might have gotten lonely.'

  'I will not have you speak thus. Nor will I help you destroy this world, even if I was some damned mysterious Raven and my father a flea-bitten Bear, and your lot whelped by a mad, rancid spirit.'

  She regarded my rage calmly, and hesitated. 'There are indeed some ways you could avoid this fate.' She lay the runes aside. 'Previously, through the ages, either the Raven or the Bear has been noble. They have believed in their father-god and the fey prophecy and have been obliged to lay down their own good for the honor of their family. Yet, you, Hraban, I know
by your own words and actions you do not believe in such things, and I think you are utterly selfish and deeply stubborn, not willing to sacrifice your excellent goals.'

  A deadly looking snake appeared in her gnarled hand, yellow-skinned as poison, its dead, black eyes an inch from my face. Large fangs opened in front of my suddenly bloodless nose, and I froze, terrified.

  'Be noble, and die then, Hraban,' she hissed. 'Prove to me you are as holy as the ones from your family have been, in the past. Be braver than Hulderic, who failed in slaying his Bear, after his mother had been given a warning in a dream.'

  We sat there, looking at each other intensely. I was sweating, but I said nothing for a long, long time. In my heart, I knew I was not ready to die. She saw it.

  'As I said, a survivor,' she hissed and relaxed, but the snake stayed in place.

  'I do not think,' I said, struggling to keep my voice calm, watching the snake, 'that dying like a fool for foolish words uttered by foolish people too religious for their own good is worth moving to Valholl early. I think the ones who prophesize should show example, and let their snakes bite themselves first.'

  She cackled happily, nodding, agreeing on either my foolishness or hers. 'Woden's blood is growing thinner. Not only did Hulderic fail when he learnt his son was a herald to doom, but so fails Maroboodus the Bear by spitting on the prophecy. And so fail you, Hraban, my Raven, by refusing the damnable snake.'

  There was a faint scream in the woods nearby, and I thought I could hear some muffled yells. I turned to get up, but the hag stopped me. She rapped my head painfully with her wand, and the snake was even closer if possible.

  'Sit down. Spirits haunt the wood. Pay them no mind. They will go.'