Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  Meuhlnir held up his hands, palms outwards. “Yes, he has been cursed by the Dark Bitch. Hank has guest-right in my house, and I bear the responsibility.”

  The Alf seemed less than mollified. “Such a risk to take,” he hissed.

  “There is no risk,” said Meuhlnir. “He isn’t visible in that way. You’ve said yourself, he’s Isir and blood of my house.”

  The Alf bowed from the waist. “As you say, then.” He glanced at me askance. “No offense meant, Hank Jensen.”

  “None taken, and it’s just Hank. Your realm is truly beautiful, Yowtgayrr,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The Alf smiled at me. “We do try to keep it healthy.”

  Meuhlnir cleared his throat. “Yowtgayrr, we need the help of a few of your brethren.”

  “As you said, Master of Thunder. If you will follow me, I’ll assemble the Conclave of Elders and the Priesthood of Tiwaz.” He turned and led us deeper into the forest, not seeming to follow any path, but very confident nonetheless.

  I walked next to Mothi. “Cousins?” I asked.

  Mothi grinned. “The Alfar are gifted with syown, like Yowrnsaxa. They can see things others cannot. They can see how all things are connected, including people. That means you are either a descendant of Paltr, Huthr, Father or…”

  “Luka,” I said. “That would be a trip, eh?” I was trying to make light of it, but no one smiled.

  “No sense borrowing tomorrow’s battles,” said Mothi. “Nothing to be done in any case, is there?”

  “No. Tell me about this Priesthood of…”

  “Tiwaz,” Mothi said, “the Priesthood of Tiwaz. Tiwaz is the god of the sky to the Alf. Priests of Tiwaz serve him by taking the role of protector, or guardian, as Tiwaz protects and guards Alfhaym according to their beliefs.”

  “Ah, I see. Warrior-priests.”

  Mothi nodded. “They are quite skilled. I wouldn’t want to face one in anger.”

  We walked for hours through the magnificent forest of Alfhaym, but I never grew stiff or fatigued. Yowtgayrr set a fast pace, and we covered ground at a rapid rate. Though I could see shafts of brilliant golden light filtering down from above, we never seemed to walk through one, and the light was never in our eyes. The ambient light was always the same intensity—never dim.

  “The light…” I whispered to Mothi.

  “The Alfar are creatures of the light,” he said as if that explained everything.

  I shook my head at him and shrugged.

  “There is no night in Alfhaym,” he said. “No cloudy days, no darkness. The shadows you see from the trees is as dark as it ever gets here.”

  “Must be great for farming,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Mothi. “The Alfar believe Tiwaz granted them life in order to have guardians and protectors for the Skowkur Kuthadna—the Forest of the Gods—which is what they call this realm amongst themselves. They are shepherds of the land itself.”

  “Like druids?” I asked.

  “I don’t know that word,” said Mothi. “What is a druid?”

  I waved my hand at the forest. “A religion that worships nature.”

  “I see,” he said. “The Alfar don’t worship nature, per se, it’s more like they view the shepherding of the realm as a sacred duty, as a job given them by Tiwaz himself.”

  We came to a natural bowl-shaped depression in the forest floor. Trees grew undisturbed in the bowl, even when they were in the way. The bowl was brimming with Alfar of every shape and size: young and old, tall and short, skin like white marble, skin like beige marble. There must have been four or five hundred male Alfar in the bowl, with others standing around the edge.

  “Wow,” I said. “Big conclave.”

  “It isn’t often we have Isir in our realm asking us for help,” said Yowtgayrr, looking at me askance. “Let alone an Isir from Mithgarthr.”

  I wondered how he had summoned the conclave. He’d never left us from the moment he greeted us.

  “Greetings, Isir,” warbled a voice from the crowd.

  The Alfar fell into a respectful silence, and the crowd split to reveal an Alf bent over a gnarled walking stick. His skin was a pale gray, and his hair, what little of it remained, was shock-white. His voice sounded like old papyrus rustling in the wind. Skin hung loose on his frame, and he had a withered, sick look.

  Meuhlnir inclined his head. “I, Meuhlnir of the Thunder, greet you Master Freyr.”

  “Who are these others then?” he asked peering at me from under stringy white eyebrows.

  “You know Mothi, of course,” said Yowtgayrr. “This other one is Hank Jensen, a kanka-ee from Mithgarthr.”

  “Looks like an Isir to me,” grunted Freyr.

  “He has the blood,” said Yowtgayrr. “He is related to the House of Meuhlnir, and also bears the guest-right from the same house.”

  “Ah, guest-right,” said the old Alf. “Magic words, indeed.” He cackled as if he’d just said the funniest thing in the world. “What do you want from us, Master of Thunder?” Freyr sank to the ground with obvious difficulty and waved everyone else down as well. Meuhlnir, Mothi, and I were the only ones left standing.

  Meuhlnir cleared his throat and took a small step forward. “There is trouble in our realm. The Black Queen has returned to Osgarthr and is once again sending others out to do her bidding. Including dragons.”

  “Alfar?” asked Freyr.

  “No, no Alfar,” said Meuhlnir.

  “Then why come to us?”

  “The Black Bitch has spent most of her time over the past several centuries in Mithgarthr, doing what, I don’t know. My brother accompanied her, where they came into contact with Hank.” He waved his hand at me. “They’ve taken Hank’s family hostage to force him to travel to Osgarthr.”

  Freyr glanced at me. “Sorrowful, indeed, but you haven’t answered my question, Master of Thunder.”

  “We are set to rescue Hank’s family, but do not wish an open confrontation at this time.”

  “No more wars, Master of Thunder,” said Freyr in sad tones.

  “No, Master Freyr. No more wars. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Which you may not have.” Freyr’s voice was filled with an overwhelming sense of weariness.

  “Granted,” said Meuhlnir. “It is my wish, however, to encourage the Dark Queen, my brother Luka, and Vowli to repent their ways and rehabilitate themselves.”

  “Lofty goals, Master of Thunder. Lofty goals. Were not such goals the root of the problem in the last war?”

  Meuhlnir looked at his feet. “I do not wish them to die,” he said.

  “Even now?”

  “Even now.”

  “Wishes are like fishes,” said Freyr. “They are slippery and tend to flop out of one’s hands.” The old Alf turned to stare at me for a long moment. “And you Hank Jensen, Isir of Mithgarthr? What is it you want from us?”

  I cleared my throat. “I wish I could rescue my family without putting anyone at risk. I wish there were no reason for me to be here at all, but as you said, wishes are unreliable. I’ve been lucky enough to fall in with Meuhlnir and his family, and they have been gracious enough to offer to help me. Without them, I wouldn’t be here—I’d be wandering around in the snow and ice of Snyowrlant, lost, alone, and without hope.

  “We believe that by using decoys to distract the queen, we can avoid more bloodshed in the rescue of my family. We believe that a few brave men—or Alfar—may be able to reduce the cost of the rescue. I’m all for that, if it is possible.”

  Freyr looked at the gun on my hip, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “But you display these weapons of technology as if you are proud of them.”

  I glanced down at the pistol. “I’d happily throw them into the deepest ocean of the world if you can just show me they are no longer needed to defend the weak, myself, or the people I love.”

  “That is fairly spoken,” said Freyr with reluctance. “Still, you’ve come here wearing a weapon of wa
r, claiming to want to avoid war. The image is at odds with your words.”

  I shrugged and pursed my lips. “That may be, but we have a saying in the realm I’m from. Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  Freyr crinkled up his face as he tried to work that out.

  “It means that appearances can be deceiving and shouldn’t be used to judge a person or his motives.”

  Freyr scoffed without making a sound. “Why should we help you?”

  “That’s for you to decide. I don’t know much about the Alfar, or any of the new peoples I’ve learned about since coming to Osgarthr, but what I do know is that you value the role of protector and guardian. I have devoted the majority of my life to protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. I’ve risked my life for others on countless occasions, and have saved many people from harm or worse.

  “If it were just me, I wouldn’t ask you for your help, but it isn’t just me. Yes, I’m at risk in Osgarthr, and it seems I’ve put Meuhlnir, Sif, Yowrnsaxa, Mothi, Frikka, and Veethar, plus countless karls and thralls at risk just by being there. I understand I’ve put the Alfar at risk to some degree just by coming here. I’d bear that burden alone, and face whatever may come, but for one fact.

  “My wife and son are innocent. They did not come into contact with Luka or the Dark Queen in Mithgarthr—their only crime was being my family, and I will do anything to ensure their freedom and safety. They are everything to me.”

  “I believe you,” said the old Alf. “But even so, who are they to me?”

  “I didn’t ask to be brought here,” I said, feeling the fury pounding away behind my eyes. “I didn’t ask for Luka to commit random acts of violence, murder, and mayhem in Mithgarthr. I didn’t ask for Luka to kill my partner.” Mothi put his hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off. “I didn’t ask for any of this—but it has happened. It happened because I believe in protecting others. If you don’t, then to hell with you! If you can stand to sit in your beautiful forest when you could be helping others, then you are a worthless people who should be ashamed of yourselves.” I stood there, glaring at Freyr, fighting the lump in my throat.

  He looked back at me, eyes blazing at the words I had just hurled in his face. If his face was any indication of what he thought of my speech, it was a lost cause. I turned my back and stared past the Alfar looking at me in amazement and into the forest depths. Mothi put his hand on my shoulder, and this time I let it rest there.

  Meuhlnir cleared his throat. “You can see why I have chosen to help him,” he said. “I knew he was a relative to some degree, but even if that were not so, my brother Luka is at the heart of this good man’s trouble. And Hank Jensen is a good man. It is plain to see.”

  “Yes,” said Freyr. “No matter how impertinent he may be; it is obvious he is a good man who speaks the truth when he could lie.”

  Some of the tension drained out of me, and Mothi squeezed my shoulder.

  “We have much to discuss,” said Freyr. “You will take your rest and eat.”

  “This way, gentle Isir,” said Yowtgayrr, holding up his hand to indicate the direction we should walk in. Once we had passed through the last of the Alfar standing around the edge of the bowl, he laid his hand on my arm. “That was well-spoken,” he whispered. “You are a man I can respect.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry, though.”

  “There is never anything wrong with expressing honest emotion among the Alfar,” he said. “We value such honesty, and speaking your mind thus is a high compliment in light of what was at stake. It will not go unnoticed in this realm.”

  He turned and led us farther into the trees. We approached a very large redwood trunk and stopped in front of it. Yowtgayrr waved his hand in an elaborate pattern, and a door appeared in the bark. He opened the door and revealed a set of narrow stairs leading up the interior of the tree that encircled the heartwood of the tree. The stairs looked as if they were grown, not carved or cut from the wood of the tree.

  “Delightful,” said Meuhlnir.

  Yowtgayrr smiled and led us up the stairs. There was another door at the top, and when Yowtgayrr opened it, we were in the canopy of the trees. Wide branches had been converted into walkways between various trunks.

  “We will provide you with food and a place to sleep. The conclave makes few decisions without at least a day to argue and pout,” said Yowtgayrr.

  “Yes,” said Meuhlnir. “I remember.”

  Yowtgayrr looked me in the eye. “No matter what the Conclave of Elders decides, I have a feeling you will not be disappointed.”

  “Really? I thought the conclave had the final say.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “So do they, but the simple truth is that the conclave merely advises the Priesthood of Tiwaz. In most cases, their advice is followed, but not in all.”

  Mothi raised his eyebrow at the Alf. “That is interesting information, Yowtgayrr. Why share it with us?”

  Yowtgayrr placed his hand on my shoulder, his long fingers resting on my back. “Your cousin here has a worthy cause.”

  “Thank you,” I said, the final bits of anger and frustration draining out of me.

  After Yowtgayrr had left us in the small house that was grown inside the large trunk of a tree, we sank into chairs carved from wood that were as comfortable as anything I’d ever sat in—it was as if they were custom carved for our individual forms. Meuhlnir sighed and leaned back into the chair, wiggling his shoulders and advertising his pleasure with a broad grin.

  “No one makes furniture like the Alfar,” he said.

  “It helps to be able to speak to the wood,” said Mothi.

  “There’s that,” said Meuhlnir. “That was a passionate speech, Hank. It was well spoken, though I might have resisted telling the entire race off.”

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t talking to the entire race, just the arrogance embodied by Freyr.”

  “A bit of arrogance is to be expected once you’ve reached his age.”

  “Is he much older than you?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. Much, much older. He is to me as I am to a thrall or one from your realm.” Meuhlnir shrugged. “I’m not sure anyone knows how long the Alfar live. All I know is that Freyr has been alive since the Isir first visited Alfhaym millennia ago. He is used to being treated with deference and respect.”

  “You’d think he’d be ready to retire by now,” I muttered.

  Meuhlnir laughed, and Mothi grinned. “All of the Elders are ‘retired’ from the Priesthood of Tiwaz.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Grumpy old men, then.”

  “Well, yes,” said Meuhlnir. “Even so, I still say your impassioned speech was very nicely done. I think you won many allies with it.”

  I nodded. “Tell me about this Priesthood of Tiwaz. Will they help us?”

  “You’ve spoken to their core beliefs, so I’d imagine you will get something out of it.”

  “Good,” I said. We sat in companionable silence for a while and then we all turned in for the night.

  When I woke the next morning, I dressed and went into the main room of the house. Neither Meuhlnir or Mothi were there, but Freyr was sitting in one of the chairs. He looked me over with a baleful manner, I thought, and then waved his hand at one of the chairs.

  “The actions you are about to undertake are going to start a war,” he said without preamble. “Many will die.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said. “I’m only here to get my family back. What happens after that is not up to me.”

  The old Alf leaned his head back and looked at me over his steepled fingers, eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes,” he said. “That is often the justification for war. My people have lived in peace for eons. We have no wars in Alfhaym. We are dragged into wars in other realms by people like you, Hank Jensen.”

  I shrugged. “You say you have no wars, but your religion is centered around the idea of protecting others and your land. Your priests act as guardians of this realm, yes
?”

  Freyr nodded, his eyes shrouded.

  “Then tell me this: if your realm has no wars, why do you need protectors and guardians? Don’t tell me it is for protection from people across the preer. If not for the Isir, there would be no preer. Can you honestly say that before the Isir came here, your people did not think they were alone in the universe?”

  “Of course, we did,” he said. “I wish we still did.”

  “You aren’t,” I snapped. “Believe me, I wish my people were as well, but instead, we share the universe with people who think we are playthings and others who think they are superior to us because we are more honest than they.”

  He bristled with anger and slid forward to the edge of his chair. “There you go again, lecturing me, who could be older than your entire line of ancestors added together. Do you think you have seen more of this universe than I?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I said. “When trouble comes to my door, I don’t pretend it doesn’t affect me. I act. I’ve traveled through three different worlds counting yours. How many different suns have you seen?”

  “Irrelevant,” the old Alf snapped. “I’ve seen more in this realm during the years I’ve been alive than you will ever hope to see. I’ve seen brave Alfar go to fight in someone else’s battles, never to return to Alfhaym. Never to see the sacred trees again. Never more to serve Tiwaz as a guardian and protector of the ancient groves. When one of us dies, child-who-thinks-he-is-a-man, he gives up thousands and thousands of years of experience. Think of the lives he might touch during that time.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it is a large sacrifice, but not one I want anyone—man, Isir, or Alf—to make.”

  Freyr scoffed and sank back in his chair. “What you want makes no difference. What will be has already been woven into the skein of fate.”

  “Then why are we here arguing this? If it’s fate?”

  Freyr scoffed and waved his hand at me. “I won’t play word games with you, Isir.”