When she grew old, Queen Ruana dreamed of the north. Around her she
had caused a great hall to be raised up over the scorched bones of
the old. The beams were hewn from the black oaks of the forest and
the roof overhead was raised high, so that when the fires blazed the
smoke lay in the air like storm clouds high above the heads of the
feasters. Around the hall she had forged a kingdom with the strokes
of her great spear. Giants guarded her throne, and her word was the
law as far as a man could sail for a week in any direction. From the
jagged coastlines of the southland to the deep forest in the eastern
hills to the stormy seas in the west, Ruana was Queen, and she
reigned for fifty years and some believed she would reign forever.
She knew she would not. Her hair had changed to an iron gray, and
when she wore it in coiled braids it looked like pattern-forged
steel. She still wore her heavy wolfskin cloak over the bright mail
and the polished brazen bosses, but the mail was new. Her old armor,
many times rent and torn, hung above her throne beside her splintered
shield. She had earned those marks in battle against gods, and she
bore them on her body as well.
Always close by her right hand was the spear that made her more than
mortal. The straight haft darkened by time, the bronze blade
transformed gold by power and by myth. Some whispered it must be a
false spear, for nothing of bronze could shine so, and nothing gold
could cut or pierce and yet take no mark. It was her sword and her
scepter, and she had worn a place in the floor beside her throne
where she was accustomed to set the spike as she held it and passed
her judgments.
The war, that dark war that had almost sundered the lands of men
apart, was now so far in the past that few lived who had seen it,
save as children. Those who still bore the marks were gray and
long-bearded, and they told the tales of that time with a darkness in
their faces. War was still war, and men still shed one another’s
blood, but that war had been unlike any other. That had been a war
driven by dark powers, and now those powers were gone.
All save one, for Ruana herself more and more wondered at the source
of her power, at the springs of her strength that still flowed. When
she grasped the spear she felt a might in her, as though she might in
truth live forever, and she began to doubt that the power that walked
within her was any different from the dark ones she had cast down.
She had begun to feel, with time, that all such energies must emanate
from a single source, and that she, herself, might become a blight
upon the world.
For now she was old, and she dreamed of the northlands, whence came
her giants and where the Speargod had once vanished, to await another
time of need. She brooded upon that now, when she woke in the dark
to the simmering coals of her fire and the close, cold dreams of the
ice-rimed seas. The Speargod had taken his power and his victory and
then abandoned them to walk away into the uttermost north, and he was
never seen again. Now she wondered why.
o0o
He was old, in those days, his beard grown white and long, his
flesh drawing away from his muscles and his bones, until he seemed a
man of sinew and cord. He had been a giant, in his youth, but his
youth was past him. All who had come against him lay fallow in
earthen graves. All save the gods themselves. The Undergods.
With the fire in his hand he
had driven them away, the light that blazed from his spear. Sceatha,
Marrow, Thurr, and the other, lesser gods. He had defeated their
powers, and then by the light of his spear and the power ascendant
within him, he had forbidden them to return to the light. He bade
them crawl down into the earth, to hide themselves beneath the sea,
and to remain so. He had made a promise to them, that if they dared
to break his command, he would return and strike them down, and he
would not be merciful again.
But he had not been merciful this time. He had been weak. Now he
brooded on his throne, a fading titan, robed in gray furs and iron
armor, always beside him the spear that was his companion and his
law. Now he felt the weaknesses of age, and the lure of new life. A
dark, new life.
o0o
Ruana sent for Umun, her wise man, and she saw that he was grown
older as well, though the giants of the Azora could bear more weight
of time upon their shoulders than men. His beard reached to his
knees, and his hands were as gnarled and as hard as wood. He bowed
to her, and she held out her hand and clasped his, feeling comfort in
his presence.
He looked at her, into her eyes, and then he nodded. “You have
begun to understand,” he said.
She was surprised, but also not surprised. “I have begun to
wonder,” she said.
“And
that is how understanding begins,” he said. “In the asking of
questions.”
“Your
kind did not always dwell in the north,” she said.
“No,
not the utterest north. We lived in the black forests to the
northeast. There we lived as monsters and killers, coming forth by
night to devour men. We were a base and evil people.” He closed
his eyes. “Thurr was one of our blood. One who would not give way
when the Speargod came.”
“He
forged you into something new,” she said.
“Yes,
he saw our strength, and he gave it a purpose. He called upon us to
live as greater beings, and he taught us to forge and to sew and to
write, and so we became the Azora, and we are ever loyal to his
memory.” Umun inclined his head. “And so we have followed you.”
“Because
I have his power,” she said. “Because It came to light a flame
in me, and you saw it.”
“Yes,”
he said. “We had been waiting for it. For you.”
“But
where does that power come from?” she said. “From what does it
arise?”
“Ahhh,”
he said. “That is the first question, indeed.”
o0o
He remembered when he first felt the power. When the storm came
and covered the lands, and he wandered in the white haze, blinded and
alone. The wind was biting and cold, and he gripped his fur around
himself and hunted for shelter, seeking a way to survive. The world
was aflame with war, and armies marched over field and pasture, and
blood stained the land beneath their feet. New gods walked the
world, and men lived in fear and worship of them.
He was only a boy then. A towering young man, full of strength of
limb but not of spirit, and when the battle ended and his fellows lay
slain, he fled into the wilderness, and into the cold storm. He
wandered, lost, feeling warmth seep away from him.
It was a fire he saw, at last. Light blazed through the driving
ice, and he no longer cared what fire it was, only that it offered
shelter from death. He fought towards it, wading through the deep
snow, hearing voices howling in the wind and knowing them for spirits
in this night where wolves walked like men, and men fed like wolves.
He found a hollow sheltered from the wind, and there burned a fire
made of heaped wood cast up from the sea, white and washed like
bleached bone. He found warriors gathered around it as before an
altar, hands outstretched, reaching for the flames, and every one of
them dead and frozen like iron. He saw the white frost in their eyes
and the sunken black flesh and knew they had been dead a very long
time, and he did not know how that could be.
Howling came again, and when he looked into the dark forest he saw
the lights of eyes among the trees. Feral yellow gleamed where it
reflected the fire, and he saw shadows move with hunger. He stepped
back into the circle of light from the flames, and he felt the heat
against his back, giving him strength.
One of the dead warriors held a spear clutched in his frozen
hands, and he took the cold haft in his grip and wrenched it free.
He put the bronze spearhead into the fire, and when he drew it forth,
it shone.
o0o
Ruana went into the forest to breathe the free air, and she stood
with her spear in hands and looked out into the hills while the night
drew down. She remembered another winter, when she had fled into the
wilderness, hunted and alone, under a sentence of death. She had
slain her husband, the king, so that the usurper could not take his
life. She had taken his head and his sword both, and nothing else.
She remembered that season of fear. Hiding in hollows by night,
afraid to make a fire, shivering with the cold. When she came to a
hall she dared not go within, she only huddled against the walls
outside, feeling the warmth that seeped through the wood. She had
hunted birds with stones she hurled with her hands, and eaten their
flesh raw and bloody. She had fished beneath the ice in streams,
chopping through with the sword of kings and then grasping the sleepy
fish with her cold hands.
She could not say, now, what had sustained her. When she flung the
king’s head into the sea, she almost chose to follow him. To cast
herself down into the waves and drown, be taken away, apart from
privation and pain. It would have been the easier path, and Ruana
had never been one to choose the harder way. But something had
driven her on, something had made her decide to live, and then to
avenge.
Now, as the daylight faded, she thought on the Speargod. She thought
she understood, now, what he had been. Someone like her, someone
touched by a power that reached through from some other part of the
earth. He had become a hero, and then a god. But a man cannot be a
god on earth, and remain a god. If he lives among men, their
adulation and their need will come to weigh on him, as they did upon
a king, only heavier. How many kings remained good men, once they
were crowned? The hunger for crown and throne had driven more than
one man to unhallowed deeds. The power of a god was more, and more
dangerous. A king has dominion over men’s lives. A god has power
over men’s souls, and that is too much power for anyone to wield.
She looked at the blazing spear in her hand and understood, then,
what she could become, and what the old Speargod could have become,
had he remained. Instead of becoming what he despised, he took
himself away from the places of men, and became legend, rather than
tyrant. And as he had done, so must she do as well.
Ruana called for her guards, and they gathered and followed her back
into the hall. Now she knew why she dreamed of the far northern
lands, of the frozen seas and the skies that flamed with colored
fire. That was where her heart was called now, because that was
where she must go. She must leave the world of men behind, before
the temptations of power twisted and changed her, she must go while
she was still herself. Her legend she would leave behind, and for
men that would have to be enough.
o0o
When he was growing old, he
slew a man. The power of the spear drew some ambitious men like
beasts drawn to flame. They wanted to kill him, and take it. Many
of them, most of them, saw the fire in his eyes and in his hand, and
lost their courage. He saw the light die in their eyes, and they
turned and fled from him, and no blood was shed.
But one of them was of harsher make than that, and he drew his
bright sword and did battle. The bright spear pierced his mail and
his breast, and clove his heart asunder. The fire reaved through his
body, and it smoked in his eyes and from the tips of his fingers,
smoke coiled from his mouth as though his spirit were escaping, and
then he fell shriveled and destroyed.
And in that moment, he felt the power warm him, felt the fire that
burned inside the man kindle in the currents of his blood and make
him stronger. The tide of his age and frailty drew back a little,
and he felt the pull for more. That was the secret of the power, the
hidden face of the bright fire. It consumed, and in consuming, it
would give him new life, and new strength.
He saw what he could become. There in his king’s hall he
brooded on it, knowing then that this was the fate of one who wielded
such a power. It would tempt him as he grew older, and weaker. It
would dream in the light of the fire, offering him a respite from old
age and from pain, and a shield against death. The power would make
him immortal, if he was willing to kill to take it. And then he
understood what he must do, lest he become what he had fought.
o0o
Ruana knew she could not simply slip away. Her departure must be a
part of her legend, and so she called on her men to raise the mast of
her warship, and she took only volunteers to the oar benches. It was
the edge of winter, and the sea ice would be growing heavy, but she
would not delay. There was no shortage of those who would accompany
her, who would brave the dark and the grinding ice to sail with the
Spear Queen, and she was glad of it. Her legend must sustain them
now, like a fire kindled and left to burn through the night.
Many of the giants joined her, for they knew they would be returning
to their homeland, but others remained behind, and she saw they would
thread their bloodlines into the hearts of men, and make for a great
race to arise in a future age. That could be for good or for ill, it
was not for her to decide, or demand it.
The men and the oarsmen gathered and lined the path that led down
from the hall to where her great ship was anchored, and she walked
beside them, and they all bowed, one by one, and each one who bent
his head, she touched upon the shoulder with the point of her spear,
and she left a fire in them no eye could see, nor any cold
extinguish.
She climbed to the deck of her ship, looking on the stout oaken deck
planks and the tall stepped masts, and she watched as the oars were
shipped and the great sail unfurled. The sign of the spear blazed
upon the white cloth, stitched with thread of gold and gleaming even
in the winter light. It caught the wind, and as the oarmaster beat
the cadence, they left the lands of men, and sailed away into the
dark sea. They sailed for the utter and legendary north.
o0o
He went alone, taking no one, and he seemed to have vanished into
the darkness itself. He walked the lonely roads, he traveled through
the endless black forests and the jagged hills. He crossed the
wilderlands, and when he came to the black sea, he camped upon the
cold shore and hewed for himself a simple boat to carry him across
the waters.
He saw no one, and not even the howls of the wolves came close.
He felt, in the dark nights, the presence of that other world, hidden
within and beneath. The places where the Undergods slumbered, and
would return someday. He knew they would return, for he had not
possessed the will to slay them, and now he knew why. So long as he
remained, they could return, but if he did not await them, there
would be no one to stop them when they slithered forth from the dark
once more.
So he carved himself a boat, and he struck out over the heaving
seas of winter. He fought through towering waves and jagged ice; he
fought cold and hunger and weariness, and always the blazing spear he
held before him lit his way in the dark, and guided him like a star
toward his destination. Toward the land that lay under an almost
perpetual night, where the sky burned with fire and the cold was
endless. There he would lay down his burdens and sleep. There he
would await the coming age.
o0o
It was a deep evening when they came to the other shore, and Ruana
looked upon it as she had once, many years gone. It was a dark land,
not buried under snow, but a land of black hills and jagged stone.
Deep green forests that clung to the land like fur, and beyond it all
mountains reared high against the star-jeweled sky, white-tipped and
absolute.
Ruana stood upon the prow of her ship and looked upon this place, and
then she turned and looked on all those gathered on the deck. “Here
I leave you. Remain, or return home, as you wish. But build your
long halls upon this shore, and seek no further to the north. Do not
look for me, for I will not be found. Only when I am needed, in
another age, may I come again. You will not live to see it.”
She saw tears in some of their eyes, and she knew some would remain
here, as the giants had lived for an age before her. But most would
go back to their warmer lands, to their hearths and their families,
and they would tell the tale. That was what would preserve them
against the dark. They would tell the story, and her legend would
follow them like a fire.
She said no more, only climbed down from the ship and waded to the
stony shore, and then she left them, using her spear as a walking
stick, the light glowing through the mist as she left the sea and the
ship behind and climbed up into the dark lands of the last forest
that girdled the mountain realm. She knew the way to follow, it
seemed to be burned into her mind.
The day died, and night came with a sky afire with many colors.
Ruana did not feel the cold, nor did she tire. She walked the paths
of the deep forest where no man had ever walked, save one. She
climbed among the ancient roots and the jagged stones, seeing no mark
of any human hand. Here was a land that had been untouched since the
ancient and primordial dawn-age of the earth, and it breathed and
slumbered like a great beast.
She followed a trail made by the tread of animals, and she climbed
high above layers of mist, until snow began to fall, dusting her fur
cloak and her steel-gray hair. She reached a small vale marked by
upthrust white stones, like the ones the giants used to mark their
paths, and at the far end was a cavern, the opening a black rift into
the dark. This was what she had come to seek. The spear flamed like
a star in her hand as she crossed the stony hollow and entered into
the cave.
Here the walls were armored with ice that never thawed, and her
breath came forth in a mist. The light blazed as though she had
brought the sun beneath the earth, and she followed it until it led
her to a vast black chamber, and upon a bier of stone lay a giant of
a man, cold and sheathed in ice, and in his folded hands was a spear
with a brazen blade, the metal black with years.
She held forth her own spear, and his frozen eyes opened, and he
moved, stirring from a sleep of ages. She watched as the ice cracked
from his body, and he stirred muscles that had not moved in
centuries. He rose to tower over her, and his eyes flamed with azure
fire.
“Long
have I slumbered,” he said, and his voice was breaking stone. “Who
are you that bears a light to my cave?” He looked at her, and she
saw the light of the spear reflect in his eyes.
“Another,”
he said. “The age came, and I did not awaken. Another was
called.”
“I
was. And I have destroyed the Undergods. I have burned their
darkness from the world, and now all that remains is you, and I.”
“So
you have learned,” he said. “That we are given this power, and
we may use it to destroy, but also to live.” He held up his black
spear. “I turned away from the destruction of the Undergods. I
let them live, that I might live. For I saw that to destroy them
would leave me to become like them. I would be doomed, eventually,
to give way to the temptation of immortality. I thought to escape
that here.” He breathed out a cloud of mist like smoke. “I was
a fool.”
“You
were,” she said. “You should have slain them then. Uncounted
more lie dead now because you lacked the courage to destroy them.
Now I have come to put an end to all of it.”
“You
will not,” he said. “I was not ready when I was young. I am
ready now. Long have I dreamed. I have seen the ages of the world
in my visions, and I know the world needs a ruler. I will take the
power I spurned before. I will be the god the race of men requires.”
Ruana held up her weapon, the fire in it bleeding like molten iron.
“You will not.”
He lifted his black spear to match hers. “As it must be.”
There, in the dark of the frozen cave, the clashed, unseen. The
Speargod was a giant, his muscles like iron, and his flesh seeming
hard as stone beneath his flowing beard. Yet Ruana was not weak, and
years had not robbed her of her strength. Their spears clashed
together, striking sparks, and the light flared there in the dark.
She struck at him, her blade scoring his flesh, leaving red-hot scars
that did not bleed. He was not so quick as she, but his skill was
great, and he tore her mail again and again, the edge of the ancient
spear sharp and deadly. They battled in the darkness, striking again
and again, until the ice upon the walls began to crack and sing from
the force of it. Ruana gave back from his terrible assault, and then
she slipped to the side so his deadly stroke cut across her ribs and
pierced the wall, and in the moment when it was fixed there she
brought her blade down and shattered the haft of his spear.
He staggered back, and in that moment she struck him through and felt
the blade bite deep. He groaned and clutched at the flame, his
fingers turning black from the heat. He opened his mouth and
breathed out fire, and she ripped the spear free and let him fall.
The fire ran through him, unmaking him, burning away his flesh and
his skin, until there was only a blackened skeleton, smoking in the
cold air. As she watched, it began to turn to ash, and the Speargod
was dead.
Weary and wounded, Ruana lifted her spear and struck at the frozen
walls of the cavern until the ice broke loose and fell all around
her. Stones splintered and collapsed the entrance, burying her in
the cold earth, from which she never wished to rise again. She was
done. She went to the place where he had lain, and she stretched
upon the cold stone, lying the spear upon her chest, folding her
hands around it. It flamed there in the dark, slowly fading, until
it was only a spark.
o0o
The seasons went on. Winter became spring, and then summer again.
Men went on with their lives. They tilled fields, herded their
beasts, hunted and fished and loved and died. Women bore children
and spun thread and told stories. And when the winters came down
hard they all huddled by the fire within their halls, and they told
the story that became a legend, and then a myth. The Spear Queen who
came from the north with an army of giants. Who drove out evil and
slew the usurper. Who cast down the dark gods and made the world a
place for life again.
They forgot where she had come from, forgot who she had been; they
even forgot her name. But the sign of the spear they never forgot.
They marked it upon walls and doors, on altars and standing stones.
They gave reverence to the mark of the Spear Queen, and they said
that there would come a time when she would be needed once again, and
that on that day she would awaken and come down from the north. She
would live again.
Beautiful epilogue. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteOh hey, thank you :)
Delete