I stared at the swaying woods, and for a second, I thought I saw movement, but then it was gone. I grunted, worried over poor Hagano. 'Do the spirits hurt people?'
She gazed at me shrewdly, again ignoring my question. 'In your selfishness, you can benefit from our relationship. You will find very soon, boy, your hair sets you apart from your people. Moreover, when you have fallen from grace, you will see I can be useful to you. It will be a long road for us, for I do not know the full prophecy.'
I snorted. 'You are madder than a bat in sunlight. You think I will help you destroy Midgard, but you don’t even know how.'
She ignored me. 'But I will learn how. It is part of the road. Gods and goddesses know what is passing, and their servants try to stop us, for the gods wish to live, and there are people out there who kill us and try to thwart us.'
'What is this scroll you so desire?' I asked her carefully.
She snickered. 'You are right to mock us. Ironically, our god's people, my people, do not know the prophecy. Woden made it so it would be a hard road for us to help the Raven and the Bear along, but we know some. My god gave the full prophecy to the world, but either Woden fought him or our lord is a tricky one. It was given to the Celts, who are not friends to us. Now, a woman who is both Celt and Vangione holds it. She is young but powerful, I think. Yet perhaps now, through the Roman, I will get it for the aid I give to him and if not for that, I will help your ominous father. He will help me gain a powerful man as a sacrifice. I will give his life force for the ability to part the mists and get the whole verses from the elusive spirits. We will find the truth; the path. However, for now, we know some and now, I will know if you are part of our future. And, no, do not think to offer Gernot in your place. He is but a simple mortal.'
'Help my father? Why would he want your help?'
'He is like you, Hraban, and intends to ignore your simpering grandfather and his weak pleas to stop what we want to come to pass,' she said, smiling. 'He is selfish as a Roman, which he truly is. Maroboodus is that.'
'It is not selfish to survive madwomen, and spear them at a better opportunity,' I hissed like a cornered fox cub.
'Well, we will see, god's child.'
Despite myself, I felt pride at her high estimate of my blood's worth. Gernot a mere mortal; I, a godchild? I sobered. 'How will you find if I am this … creature?' The snake hissed at me in answer, but I had asked Tear.
She smiled. 'Now, look at the snake. It looks ordinary enough, does it not? What you do not know is that life force attracts snakes, for snakes feed on it. Always distrust snakes, Hraban. They are not useful to you. They are to me. If you die by a snake, this snake for example, it will drink your life force as I just told you. I assure you there is no escape. Dying with the filthy curse of the snake, Hraban, is not something you should want to experience. I would sit still.'
I was still, very still, staring at the black, lifeless eyes.
'So let's see, shall we,' she said, and she cast the many rune sticks on the wet ground. Very slowly, she looked down at them, and I was praying very hard to Woden for deliverance, my face wet with cold, clammy sweat. If I was not this Raven, I might die, and if I was, I was to serve the insane völva. Time was standing torturously still. She was sitting there with that bastard of a snake in her surprisingly steady hand for an insufferably long time, looking at the myriads of sticks and stones. Then she sighed greatly, and I realized she had been holding her breath.
She sat up painfully, drew the snake away from me, and threw it aside languidly. She kept glancing at a dark rune that was sideways, neither up nor down, but nearly on its side. 'You are a lucky boy. The other ones, the unlucky ones not of the high blood, in other times and strange places, met the spirit-consuming snake. Spirits are speaking in fey voices to me though in riddles. They always talk in riddles, hard to understand.' She suddenly wept bitterly and mumbled sadly to herself, consumed by sorrow. Her voice was barely audible. 'You are the one. Your father is the Bear, you are the Raven. All the pieces are on the board, and for the first time in the long history, both pieces are arrogant bastards who spit on their own past. Woden's worlds will tumble down to the past, for you two are fools. It will be so that the three fateful cocks crow, and the tall jotuns and the bitter gods do mighty battle across the worlds, and those worlds end. It might take many ages of our puny lives, but the horror of Ragnarök is coming, and you and your father are dangerous heralds for it.'.
Surprised, I felt strangely sorry for the crazy, dirty woman who had threatened me with a poisonous snake. I gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder. I also felt cold shivers running up and down my spine. No man is happy to be called the herald of the end, no matter if they believe in such things or not.
'You should be happier if it is indeed so,' I said slowly, still not believing anything about the prophecy.
She looked at me hopefully, patting my hand, and I took it away gently. Then she dropped the heavy coin purse on my lap. 'You did not choose to die, Hraban. Some of those who came before you had the same choice. They believed in this curse, and loved Midgard and Woden. Some died rather than risk the end of the world. Some accepted this offer, to walk away and disappear far, far away. They thwarted the prophecy, fearing it though my family hunted them forever. There are many stories of these men and women in the past. So take these coins the Roman gave me, find a life elsewhere, and avoid Odo.'
I eyed the open purse full of brilliance. There was glittering gold there, duller silver. Things Germani usually disdain deeply, preferring horses and cattle to coin, practical things of use. Yet I knew it was worth a great deal across the far rivers, and there were places, where it could buy me arms, horse, armor, men and even a lord, and I could travel far and become what I wanted to become. I could be a great man.
But not at home.
'First, you tell me how you will serve your god, and now, you offer to thwart the fates?'
She shrugged. 'Even if I am of our clan and loyal to my gods and past, I know there is a terrible price I have to pay, one that any old woman would find hard to bear. Once it starts to live its life, the snake-like, slithering prophecy, it is too late to stop the storm. Then, I will do all I can for it, and so will Odo. Now, I can avoid it still, and let others at other times struggle. I am just a woman.'
Her eyes were desperate, pleading. I considered it, but then the image of Gernot, supreme in the family, came to my mind. He would meet Father; he would be the first son. She saw the look on my face, one of sullen denial.
'No?' she asked, anger playing on her suddenly dangerous features.
I brought my strong chin up. 'I am a Marcomanni noble. I will be a man of the family, obey my grandfather while he commands us all, and perhaps I shall be my father's right hand and the ring giver to my men. I will rule well, live as long as spears allow me, marry high and make weeping widows of our enemies’ women. I wish no evil to you, but I am not your chosen one, and my family will protect me from all schemes and prophesies your clan conjures in the damned, dark corners of these foul woods.'
She looked away and nodded. She got up and put the coins away.
'So be it, Hraban. When you meet your father, know that you will also serve us. We will ask you for a deed, one thing we know is required by the prophecy. You will find a sweet girl, a little girl, or rather you will bring her to us. For I know where she is,' her voice cracked as she walked off.
I spat. 'Your chanting spoke of spilling blood on a ringlet. Is that Woden's Gift? Our holy ring? I will not do anything like this, Tear. Bring little girls for a bloody sacrifice. I know it happens, but I shall not—'
She turned at the edge of the woods, tired. 'We need something from her, Hraban. Perhaps not her life. However, I told you, I do not know everything yet. The wayward rune that fell on its side still leaves me some hope of avoiding my fate. Perhaps, despite your choices, some way these unfortunate, ancient curses will fade away, and I am spared my pain.'
She disappeared.
I
got up, but she called out from the dark woods. 'Go home, Hraban, for Vangiones know where Maroboodus might be found. I told them nothing, but they know already where your village is. Vago, their king, is here, and they will want Maroboodus for Rome, and perhaps you as well. I know. They hunt for us, and no doubt for you, too, for you are perilous. Be wary of Vago and his daughter, Shayla.'
As her voice faded into the woods, I ran, as that night was a great feast night. Few old Germani tribes would attack others during such a night, except the Roman Germani, who did not always follow our old ways.
The Vangiones.
CHAPTER IV
Tear's words haunted me as I jogged through the darkening evening, in a wood splintered by the moon's meek light. I wanted to be home as quickly as possible, and tell Hulderic everything that had passed. The ominous woods streaked past me as I rushed on, and I cared neither for a night animal nor for a plant as I ran.
I ran until I remembered Hagano.
Reluctantly, I turned back, cursing myself for an idiot. At first, I could not find a route in the suddenly strange, dark wood, but I managed it after many time-consuming wrong turns. I saw the depression where we had seen Ishild and Odo, and then I strode north, swallowing the pressing need to see Hulderic.
Soon, I saw the damned clearing again and looked around, covered in a clammy sweat. The sun was finally down, and only the moon and stars shone in the sky. There was no sign of Hagano, but I was sure I had left him there. Had he gone for help? He had seen the Romans and the Vangione, and had obeyed me. I cursed and blessed him, and turned in the underbrush, much relieved, ready to leave when a strange bird took off from the wet foliage a few feet away. It was a crow, and it was trailing something glistening and reddish from its beak. I walked that way, dreading what I would find. I brushed the foliage with my bare foot, and my breath stopped as I hit a lump of flesh.
I kneeled beside a husk of a boy that had been Hagano. His face was ashen gray, his one remaining eye listless, and I sobbed in fear and anger. I threw up violently. When I finally recovered, I sat down and stared at the corpse, calling for him, my mind confused. He was gone to Valholl, or to Hel, depending on if he had fought bravely or not. His neck had been cut, and he had bled out. Perhaps he had not even seen who attacked him.
I remembered the distant scream while I had been held by Tear. Koun had been out there, the master of shadows as he had claimed to be. Cornix, the Roman, might have been there as well, despicable and dangerous.
Finally, disbelieving the nightmare, I spoke to Hagano's cold face. 'I promise to take vengeance for you, Hag. I am sorry I called you a coward.'
I placed my trembling hand on his cold palm, and left him there for the unseen foxes, wolves, and crows, for what else could I do?
I ran hard in the near dark woods, thinking of death. Koun. Cornix. Both guilty. That fat Antius as well, for he led them there.
I stumbled many times, cutting and bruising myself, and cursed at the throbbing pain.
Finally, I burst out of the woods near Tudrus's fine hall, and sprinted like a bee-stung hare for the shore. Draca, our raft, was still there. I pushed it off, aiming for our side. I could see bonfires burning at the Trout Grasses, our hallowed meadow, and on this side, near the hall of Tudrus, I saw glimpses of a large clearing filled with the Quadi, all dressed and armed to their best. I paddled hard and cursed harder, and nearly fell into the cold murky river, but then the log hit the beach, and I was over the Moenus. I ran for our people, my feet cold to the bone, shivering.
I saw them all there. Many people had gone to the surrounding villages of Hulderic for their similar celebrations, but over a hundred men and women of our village, Hulderic, and some twenty of his best men were standing in serried ranks, with the vitka Wulf in the middle. All wore the finest of pelts and the best-mended cloaks, their good tunics and cleanest pants. Many had wide belts with fine, carved buckles, and all wore the best arm jewelry they possessed and a few fine Celt torcs. Men had bizarrely painted shields, even the ordinary men, and most held deadly framea spears and javelins. Many had cudgels with iron enforcements. Keen axes and haphazard pieces of leather armor were evident amongst the bearded men as they rhythmically beat their war-tested shields, while Hulderic was addressing the community. Hulderic wore his splendid war glory, same as Harmod the Old, the sun-bitten old bear of a man.
The moon was full, and it was not entirely dark. The three mighty men of the band were wearing lorica hamata looted from Romans and Celts. Hulderic's was fringed with golden hoops. His war helmet, a silvery thing of steel, carved with runes, was at his feet. The standard of Hulderic, a pole with tall bear fangs, was by the stall. Wulf stood next to it, hunched and important enough not to need visible wealth. Harmod the Old was leading Deór, his old, tired warhorse forward to be sacrificed.
I moved for Hulderic, pushing the common folk out of my way until a stern, huge hand grabbed me. It was Euric, Wandal's mountainous father, his gray and black beard jutting. Wandal, Ansbor, and Ansigar were there, all eyeing me with deep wonder.
I tried to free myself from Euric's grip, but he sneered, 'Be still, boy. Hush! Your grandfather will have words with you after he is done.'
Wandal pushed next to him with Ansigar and Ansbor.
'Hraban!' Wandal said loudly.
Euric slapped Wandal gently to reprimand him for his lack of decorum in the holy event, and Wandal spoke more quietly as my friends leaned on me. 'Hraban? What happened? Eh?'
I tangled in Euric's fierce grip as Ansbor roughly pulled my tunic aside, having spied the reddened marks of caliga on my chest.
His eyes widened. 'A strange vaettir marked you? Spirits?'
I shook my head, tired to the bone, and in no mood to answer their questions, and they saw I had some tears in my eyes.
Ansigar sneered and asked: 'What? You afraid of your heavy-handed grandfather? You should be, he—'
Wandal pushed him away, scowling, and inspected my chest appraisingly. 'Shoe? Eh?'
I nodded as Hulderic raised his hand up to the air. His forearm glittered with the silvery bracer of the law speaker, the first man of the village, as he placed his hand on Deór's flank, making the horse shy nervously. His voice took on a reverent tone, which faltered as he spied me. His eyes narrowed, but he recovered quickly enough. Wulf stepped forward and silently hallowed the place with prayers to Donor the Thunderer, the god of guardianship. Wulf asked for his protection, and then Hulderic walked next to him. He gestured around the clearing and spoke with a loud voice, meant to invoke the gods:
‘Eostere, lady of spring, hear our plea. The land has awoken; the winter is broken.
See our bellies fill with plenty, and our hearts with joy. Hear us, lady of growth, and see our hand toil and men groan.
Much work lies ahead, and beast and man will plough the soil. Aid us in this, the growth of our land, and see us reach out to you with smiles and boons.’
With this, he reached for a glittering dagger and slit Deór's throat with one fluid movement. Men clung desperately to the horse as it whinnied in surprise and pain, and Wulf came forward with hlaut vessels, hollow clay jars to hold the sacred blood of the sacrifices. The vitka worked quickly, drenching himself in the tangy stuff, but he did not seem to mind, and vessel after vessel was filled to the brim.
'I have to speak to him,' I told Euric steadily, but he shook his stubborn head. 'But I must!'
He glared at me, and I saw Wandal reach for his father's arm, which would surely have meant a not-so-gentle slap. Marcus saved Wandal. The Roman appeared like a wraith, nodding imperiously at Euric, who let go of me, though reluctantly.
Marcus took me aside in a huff.
'What is wrong with you? You ran to the deep woods, even after your grandfather told you not to. Now you come here, insisting on speaking with him, during the holy rituals? You will be punished, and punished hard. No wild tales can change that. You are not a simpering child anymore. A warrior failing in his duty can expect to be thrashed, and
he will thank the lords for it, for it is right.'
I glared at him. 'I do not run from my damned punishments! There are …'
Marcus stopped me with a finger and moved behind me. Wulf was swiftly circling around the happy people, holding a hlaut vessel and a reddened sprig of evergreen. He was chanting slowly, smiling as a dull child, and using the fresh sprig to sling many droplets of dark blood on all the people in the circle. They received the messy blessing gladly. Only Marcus blanched.
The Roman gestured towards Wulf. 'Careful, or Wulf will spill some of that stuff on me. I once bought a blessing of the Magna Mater and went through a dreadful taurobolium. I was drenched. I felt inclined to bathe, but it was impossible to find a respectable bathhouse that would take me in. It looked like I had killed someone, and then rummaged around their innards. I found a less respectable bath house, but they robbed me.' He glanced anxiously at Wulf. He was half-expecting the old vitka to run at him with a hlaut-vessel held high, forcing the grim blessing on the unhappy Roman.
I grabbed his tunic, and put my face close to his. 'They are coming for Father.' He did not flinch, and I thought for a moment he misheard me. 'Vangiones. They know we are here, and that Father is coming.'
Again, nothing. Marcus looked away.
'Stay with me, Hraban, if that is indeed the case. Maroboodus would like to keep you alive,' he said carefully.
'You know something?' I asked him in shock, but he shook his head in swift denial and took a step back.
He shrugged at Euric and walked away.
How could Marcus possibly give me sanctuary?
Wandal nudged me, forcing me out of my confused thoughts. 'Where is Hagano?'
I shook my head, and took a ragged breath. Marcus's strange mood evaporated from my mind. An irreversible, bottomless feeling of doom filled me as I thought of our friend's cold corpse.
Wandal's eyes were huge and round as he understood my sorrow.
'Hagano? Eh? Is he lost, or dead?' he asked.
The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
