Chapter 18: Chapter 16: Choices and Reveals

The Norns retreated to the Hall to deliberate. The High Jarl candidates congregated outside as they waited for their answer. They were accompanied by their friends, family, and strongest warriors. Jarl Feldon had dragged Rael along to watch him pace about with his wife. Feldon had the same stony face as always, but his pace was not as measured as it always was. He wasn’t alone; the other Jarls picked at their nails, distracted themselves with food and drink, sharpened weapons…Jarl Moryn and Erikar were the only ones who seemed nonplussed. Moryn sat cross-legged on a bench, as serene and elegant as a swan. Erikar kept his eyes on the other Jarls, his gaze darting between them as he sneered at a few.

“You’re going to wear a circle into the road.” Edith was far more composed. She had her arms crossed, leaning back against a wall with a bored expression.

“We got fourth in the contest of might.” The Jarl huffed. “I’m not sure it’ll be enough.”

Despite Jarl Moryn’s enchanted weapons, Erikar’s men gained the most points thanks to a final push in the last few minutes. Moryn and Trygyve’s men scored so closely that they tied for second place. Feldon had indeed won fourth, even if his warriors never captured a zone above the eighth level, followed closely by Jarl Karl and Jarl Gilda, in fifth and sixth respectively. Jarls Venka, Enyrd, Carkud, and Aida picked up the rear.

         “Worrying about it now will do nothing.” Edith grabbed Feldon by the top of his head and pushed him to sit down next to Rael.

         “I can do nothing but worry.” He tried to get up, but the Shieldmaiden pushed him back into his seat.

         “How are they choosing, anyways?” Rael almost nudged Feldon, pausing when they thought it might be improper.

         “There was the crafter’s contest, which you participated in. We got second place there.” Feldon held up a finger and frowned. “You missed the regatta. The race was a fiasco.”

         “Foul play.” Edith growled from behind them. “Our lines snapped when we tacked.”

         “We can’t prove that.” Feldon shook his head and counted two more fingers. “When it came to the contest of magic, Shaman Bak debated with every one of the judges about theories and processes.”

         “Argued, more like. I told you he had too much to prove.” Edith slammed her fist against the wall.

         “With the battle, we’re somewhere below fifth place.” Feldon held up four fingers and leaned back on the bench. “But I don’t think it’d be that simple.”

         “It’s never that simple with the Norns.” Rael nearly jumped out of their skin when Derrol appeared from the alleyway to their right.

         “Derrol.” Feldon let out a relieved smile as he got up to clasp his arm. “Where were you?”

         “Tying up two Kip’s. Couldn’t tell which one was Skald Meayetti, so…” Derrol shrugged as his Jarl slapped his knee and laughed.

         “The lad was upset?” Feldon wiped a tear from his eye.

         “I could have let them fight to figure it out…but Kip would’ve gone overboard.” The captain patted Rael’s shoulder and leaned on the wall beside Edith. The Shieldmaiden squinted at him, but Derrol ignored her.

         “How do we know you’re not Meayetti?” Rael turned around to poke him in the stomach.

         “Smart response.” Captain Derrol smirked and leaned forwards, whispering so only Rael could hear. “Nobody else knows about that time I threw you so hard that you skipped on the water, losing your pants in the process.”

         The Dragonward groaned. It was him.

         Rael wanted to talk more, but the doors of the Hall opened. All the Jarls perked up, snapping their attention to the entrance. The Norns strolled out, the white guards following g them with chairs and tables. The undercurrent of whispered conversations surrounding the Hall fell silent.

         “Listen up, I’m only going to say it once.” Thorgrim didn’t bother raising his voice. He sat down as the chair was placed behind him, his fellow Norns following his lead in a wave. “We are deciding the last five candidates rather than choosing a High Jarl now because we don’t know how the Bergin knew where Hightown Trygyve was. Should we accidentally choose someone who worked with the Empire, we would be giving ourselves to them without a fight.”

Thorgrim paused to glare at all those gathered, causing Jarls and warriors who’ve fought hundreds of battles to shrink away. “If one of you did betray High Jarl Fraya…we will find you.” Rael was among the many that shivered, Norn Thorgrim’s presence choking them in an oppressive blanket.

“Now that that’s clear…” The one-handed man cleared his throat loudly of phlegm and spat a vivid glob onto the ground. He picked up a sheet of paper to read. “Jarl Aida, fail. Jarl Carkud, fail. Jarl Enyrd, fail. Jarl—” Thorgrim caught the apple Norn Arngunn threw at his face. “What?”

“Don’t you think you should give some praise?” Arngunn pointed at the three whose names he’d called out. Each of them were sulking, dejection clear on their faces. “We wrote their successes on the page as well.”

“What a waste of time.” Thorgrim grumbled and rolled his eye. He frowned when he looked over the page again. “And you spoil them with compliments. So be it. Jarl Aida Stormrender, while your ship was swift, Jarl Moryn’s was swifter. Take pride that your men could rival a crew with a better ship. Your exploits as a navigator are recognized throughout the Jarldoms.” The Jarl stood up straight, her chest swelling with pride. She deflated at his next comment. “A pity that you are lacking in other areas.”

“Jarl Carkud Goldtooth, your men fought well on the Omrad, and proved to be competent blacksmiths. Although you may not become High Jarl, your experience in raiding Bergin trade routes will help us during the war.” Carkud whooped happily, his men shaking him around.

“Mistake.” Derrol murmured and shook his head. “He hates that.”

True to his word, Thorgrim scowled.

“But compared to the others, it makes me wonder why the other Norns would even allow you the chance to become High Jarl.” Thorgrim tutted. “We must be desperate.”

Carkud looked as if Arafell himself had come down to tell him he wasn’t worthy of his name. His legs gave out from underneath him, collapsing into a pile of broken dreams. Thorgrim moved on.

“Jarl Enyrd Windbane. The weapon your smiths made was sharp, the ship you sailed was fast, and your shaman performed admirably. Not the best, but never the worst.” Jarl Enyrd bent his head in a low bow, hiding his smile.

 “Jarl Erikar. To no one’s surprise, you qualify.” Erikar’s men cheered quietly, cowed by the Norn’s piercing stare. Jarl Erikar nodded curtly, as if it was a given. “Your ship may have been slower than most, but your shaman proved himself knowledgeable, your smiths skilled, and your warriors bloodthirsty. Not to mention your long list of successful raids. You would be an acceptable High Jarl.” Norn Thorgrim squinted at the paper in his hands.

‘He skipped over the failure of the ax.’ Rael noted with a frown.

“My peers insisted that we move onto the obviously qualified for ‘dramatic effect’. Jarl Moryn Bloodruby, you qualify as well.” Moryn’s compatriots were quieter than Erikar’s but were just as giddy. “Although your shaman wasn’t as experienced as most others, your showing at the regatta and the crafting competition proved you and your men to be among the very best. Your history of trades spanning across all Galladia brings us great pride.” Jarl Moryn’s crew began to bubble with excitement, whispers growing into hushed exclamations of joy. “The fact that your subpar fighters could claim such a high place in battle is a testament to the effectiveness of their weapons.”

The building enthusiasm sank just as quickly as it came, most of the crew flinching away from the Thorgrim’s bite. The Norns at his sides shook their heads at Thorgrim’s comments. ‘He can’t help kicking people down.’ Rael found Derrol grinding his teeth and staring blankly into the distance. When he noticed Rael, he turned away abashedly. ‘What was that about?’

“Captain Brenwyn will be happy to learn that despite his absence, his half-brother qualifies. They have consistently placed high in the contests, never below third.” For a moment, it seemed as if Thorgrim’s baleful eye honed in on Derrol. But it was so quick Rael thought they might have imagined it. “The consistency of your placements may explain why the last High Jarl was so keen on Jarl Trygyve.”

The warriors shuffled uncomfortably from the last comment. Brenwyn looked away and pursed his lips. At Thorgrim’s sides, Astrid and Halbrand elbowed him. The one-eyed man ignored them, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth.

“Jarl Venka Evergreen, you did neither good nor bad in any of the contests. A middling performance. Despite your exemplary services hunting in and tending to more land than any Jarl before you, what we need now are warriors, sailors, and shamans.” Venka nodded as the Norn sighed. “Had these been more peaceful times, you would be a worthy contender. Especially after High Jarl Fraya. You will have an important part to play.”

“Pity. She’s one of the more reasonable ones.” Jarl Feldon grimaced.

“Did she actually have a chance?” Rael’s eyes widened when Derrol and Feldon nodded.

“Some of our history’s greatest High Jarls were once farmers and hunters.” Derrol explained quietly. “An overabundance of food and space is hard to nurture in our lands.”

“Jarl Gilda Stonecutter,” Gilda held a breath when her name was called. “Your shaman performed admirably in her contest. Your craftspeople made a weapon that cut deeply without breaking. Your warriors managed to hold a zone on every level of the omrad, which is an admirable feat. And although your airship lagged behind, Norns Laouig and Jaxxon insisted that it was because the wood hulls hasn’t been properly balanced. You qualify.” Gilda let out the breath she’d been holding and hid her smile.

The rest of the Jarls focused on Karl and Feldon. Only one of them could qualify. The older members of the audience shifted their attention not just between those two, but also between Derrol and Thorgrim. Cold fury danced behind Erikar’s eyes as he glared at Feldon. He nursed a mug of ale, bringing it up slowly to his mouth. Norn Thorgrim yawned and smacked his lips, basking in the tension.

“Jarl Karl and Jarl Feldon have done well for themselves. Karl Swordswallower came third in the regatta, but his blade was too brittle to even leave a good scratch. Feldon came in fourth for the omrad battle, but dead last in the race due to a catastrophic failure that occurred while tacking.”

“Of course he’s doing us last. He didn’t even use your title.” Derrol said in an exasperated tone as he rubbed his eyes. “Spiteful old man.”

“We knew he was like this.” Feldon stretched his arms. “He enjoys watching people squirm.”

 “Karl’s shaman answered promptly and knew most of what was asked of him. Feldon’s shaman was more interested in arguing with the judges than showing us what he knew.” A few people joined in as Thorgrim chuckled. “Karl’s men performed adequately during the Omrad battle, fighting brilliantly…although they had trouble holding zones long enough to matter. The only note-worthy event Feldon’s people managed in the contests was making wavesteel.”

Rael grit their teeth. ‘This is bullcrap. He’s ignored all the incredible fighting the captains did, as well as the strategies they used. ´ Rael wasn’t alone in their irritation.  Edith’s knuckles were clenched white around her elbows, her body tense with anger. Derrol and Feldon looked as if they were somewhere between resigned and in suspense. Even the Norns at the table were sending Thorgrim looks.

“But the position of High Jarl is not won through contests, but merit. Jarl Karl has shown aptitude in trade and war. Jarl Feldon has shown us…much more.” Thorgrim spat out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. “Jarl Feldon qualifies.”

         Before Rael had a chance to grab Feldon and cheer, the sound of a mug shattering broke through.

         “I contest it!” Jarl Erikar shouted, jumping to his feet.

         “Here we go.” Feldon sighed quietly and stood up.

         “Why do you contest Feldon’s candidacy?” Thorgrim leaned his chin on his stump. His voice darkened. “Are you questioning the judgement of the Norns?”

         “No.” Erikar grimaced and pointed a finger in Rael’s direction. “I contest the rights of a slave.”

         A pit burned in Rael’s stomach. They opened their mouth to shout but Feldon stood in front of them. Edith patted Rael’s head as she stepped over the bench to stand by Feldon’s side.

         “Former slave.” Feldon clarified as he stepped forwards. “My past has nothing to do with my competency.” The Dragonward’s simmering temper settled. Erikar wasn’t after them.

         “How can someone who has served as the lowest rule as the highest?” Erikar spat, scowling as he approached Feldon.

         “Jarl Feldon’s status was determined long ago.” Norn Halbrand cut in. “He has proven himself worthy.”

         “You are protecting the man who killed my father!” Erikar exploded into motion, his tome-warrior appearing behind him.

         He lunged towards Feldon, Shieldmaiden Edith jumping between the two. Just as the two titanic warriors were about to meet, a wall of force stopped Erikar in his tracks.

         THUMP!

         Jarl Erikar slowly slid down the invisible wall in a sound like wiping glass. The enraged Jarl backed away, smashing his fist into the wall again. His blow stopped a few centimeters from Edith’s unflinching face, his hand glowing with arcane energies that threatened to erupt at any moment. It pulsed with a soft orange light and faded away. Erikar grunted, letting his hand drop to his side. Shieldmaiden Edith kept her focus on him as he stepped away from the magical wall.

         “Jarl Erikar.” Norn Astrid had her staff extended towards them. “Do not attack your fellow candidates.”

         Erikar backed away from Feldon and Edith and let out a vicious snarl. His men, amassing by the stairs, thumbed the weapons in their hilts as they shuffled in place. Erikar shook his head slowly and took a deep breath, his anger melting away.

         “Apologies, Norns.” The tall Jarl faced the Norns with restraint. His glacial blue eyes darted to Feldon for a moment. “I do not like working with kin-killers. Nor would I want to serve one.”

         “Enough, Erikar.” Halbrand’s mustache ruffled. “Jarl Feldon was justified. Not just that, but Norn Thorgrim wasn’t very accurate in presenting Jarl Feldon’s qualifications.”

         “I could believe that.” Erikar barked out sarcastically. “Who else but his former Jarl would protect him?”

         “ERIKAR!” Norn Halbrand slammed his hands on the table. “You have embarrassed yourself enough! Questioning Norns. Needling Feldon about debts long repaid. And now, you call into question Norn Thorgrim’s integrity?”

         It felt as if everyone sucked in their breath at the words. Accusing a fellow Jarl was one thing, but to doubt one of the Norns? One as renowned as Thorgrim? It spat in the face of Faulk hierarchy. It cast doubt onto Thorgrim’s very position. For his part, Thorgrim grinned and shrugged.

         “I don’t care about a berserker’s opinions.” He got up, his crooked smile stretching eagerly across his face. “But if you want to fight…” Erikar immediately bowed and backed away. Thorgrim slowly sat back down, disappointed. “Now that we’re done with that, it’s time we discuss what will happen going forward.”

         The Norns had not spent the past few days just organizing contests but assessing the weaknesses and strengths of every crew. The next week would be spent upgrading the fleet. Every bit of scrap iron or steel would be melted down and reforged, every saggy sloop replaced with a pristine drakkar. The shamans would commune with the fae and brew potions. Farmers and hunters would raid their stores to donate rations. People would exchange spells. Every man, woman, and child would be working from dawn to dusk to ensure that the Faulk were ready for war.

         After a reasonable explanation of how each of the candidates would be chosen to complete specific missions against Bergin, Norns Halbrand and Arngunn made a few speeches about honor, duty, and the betterment of all Galladia. Rael heard enough. Their mistake was believing they left alone.

         “They’re both good at it.” Rael jumped away, already summoning their tome. They stumbled, their joints stiff and tome throbbing in pain. Jarl Erikar rose an eyebrow as he looked over them. He kept talking, gaze pinned on Rael’s tome-dagger. “Halbrand and Arngunn, I mean. They can speak well, but they lack the strength to back up their words. Halbrand did once, before he was Halbrand.”

         Rael eyed the Jarl, backing away from him slowly. ‘It always feels like someone is trying to strike up a conversation with me nowadays. Worse yet, so many of these conversations don’t make sense.’ Erikar kept following Rael, content of the distance between thew two.

         “I understand you don’t like me.” Erikar sighed, unbuckling his belt. The deepening pit in Rael’s stomach twisted in confusion when they realized he was removing his longsword and leaving it against the wall. “Feldon poisoned you against other Jarls, twisting words and scheming like always.”

         Rael relaxed but kept their tome in their hand, ready to summon any spell they could muster. They ran their free hand through their hair as they struggled to keep their composure. This was the man who insulted Feldon, set his attack dog on Rael, and tried to have Azmond kidnapped. Rael’s fist ached desperately with the need to lay into the Jarl, torn between aiming his yet-unbroken nose or between his legs. Rael took a few deep breaths, trying to let the anger pass through them as Astrid had taught them. It was difficult, but when they looked at Erikar, Rael could only see a man. A man who’d led a life of anger and violence, his face marred by scars of rage that dwarfed the pale physical blemishes.

         “The actions of your people tell me more about you than anything Feldon has ever said about you.” Rael hummed away their simmering angst. “Not that I’ve ever heard him talk of you much.”

         “You mean Captain Klai and Shaman Jexer.” Whether he clenched his jaw at Rael’s barb or thinking of his subordinates, they weren’t sure. “I first sent Klai to test your mettle. My warriors are the best of the Jarldoms and I wanted to see how you measured up. I had no idea he would take it so personally against you. I also questioned them thoroughly about whether they were responsible for your injury.”

         ‘Nope, that was my dumb idea.’

         “Are you sure it wasn’t because you wanted to embarrass Feldon?” Rael changed the subject and kept walking away.

         “I’ll admit, that played a part.” Erikar admitted easily. Rael paused in surprise before they continued their way. “But you were a foreigner to us. To have a shrinking violet as the Dragonward would have been…embarrassing.”

         “I’m glad I passed your tests.” Rael walked faster, but the Jarl kept up. “especially for one who was ‘among the lowest’, like me.”

         “There was only one test. Which brings me to my apology.” Erikar’s words stopped Rael in their tracks. They hadn’t expected that. “I am sorry Klai and Droll tried to take Azmond from you. I only requested that Droll bring him to me so I could talk to him. They have been punished.”

         “How convenient.” Rael scoffed but turned to face him again. “And if they brought him to you without me, would you have asked any questions?” Erikar frowned and pursed his lips. “I thought as much.” The Dragonward spun around (a bit awkwardly) and walked away.

         “When you see Feldon for who he truly is, you and Azmond are welcome to join me.” Jarl Erikar stopped following. “You have talent for battle. You would be wasted following a man who killed his kin.”

         Rael didn’t bother turning around as they flipped him off. Yet his voice still lingered.

         “We will speak again.”

         The youth didn’t let the foreboding claim get to them. They half-walked, half-limped to Bak’s hut, a dark cloud hanging over their head. As much as they didn’t like to admit it, Jarl Erikar didn’t seem too bad. His apology did seem genuine. Maybe his men really were over-enthusiastic. All in all, he was a man with a big chip on his shoulder against Feldon. And he had certain views regarding slaves… ‘Never mind, the guy’s just a self-righteous jackass.’

         Rael opened the door and found Norn Astrid sitting comfortably in Bak’s chair by the fireplace. Her three mute assistants were busy preparing tea in the kitchen, each involved in a separate task. The youngest ground tea leaves, her violet eyes sparkling with every turn of the mortar. The oldest held the teapot in her hands, her magic steadily heating it. The middle of the three assistants, the brunette with elaborate braid, passed her tome-staff over the teacups to clean them.

         They’d only ‘met’ them a few times, but Rael had grown accustomed to the Norn’s three followers, enough to recognize the sidelong glances, grunts, huffs, and subtle movement of their fingers as a language on its own. The two eldest trilled their fingers against table and teapot, a subtle clinking of their silver rings reminiscent of laughter. The youngest blushed and hid her head into the silk scarf she wore around her neck.

         “Ah, our Dragonward appears!” Norn Astrid pulled herself up and waved to her assistants. “Now you two, stop harassing poor Youngest, we have company.”

         “I was worried you’d forgotten about me.” Rael rolled their eyes and picked up the teacup Youngest offered them with a smile. “Thanks.”

         “Just the opposite, dearie.” Astrid ground her staff into the floor. “I’ve found myself quite busy these past few days. Took me a while to find some information on your condition, and with everything going on—"

         “I get it.” Rael sipped the brew, contently basking in the fragrance. “I saw you working the unity spell for the contest of might. Must have taken a lot out of you.”

         “Oh, for most people it comes down to a lifetime of practice.” Astrid was still standing, the graying Oldest holding her saucer. Astrid’s knowing smile was benign, but it still irked Rael on some level. “As for the spell I gave you recently, I was hoping you were in good enough form to cast it. It is nice you have your tome ready.” Rael blinked in surprise, realizing they were still holding onto the dagger from their conversation with Erikar. “The amazing thing about [Dreamwalk] is that it’s a spell that requires very little energy to use. Most spells with negligible effects on the physical world are like that. Go on, cast it.”

         Astrid’s smile was a bit too sweet. ‘One, two, three, four. Four of them, so not the skalds. Maybe.’ Rael bit their knuckle and put down their tea. They were paranoid, true, but they never got the sense that Norn Astrid would put them in any danger. Rael’s instincts told them Astrid was going to do something, but nothing harmful. ‘Might as well get this over with.’

         “[Dreamwalk].” Rael felt a small pull of magic. Although Rael’s weakest spells ached in their state, [Dreamwalk] had an almost negligible drain that was only a little uncomfortable. Though Rael also expected something to happen. “What now?”

         “Now, you go to [Sleep].” Astrid cackled as Rael’s eyes rolled backward.

         “Of friggin’ course…” Rael groaned, the waking world fading away.

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         ‘Hells, this guy is hard to look at’

         Ruen looked worse than when Rael had seen him last. Maybe there were a few new scars on his body, or pieces of flesh that had been torn off. It was more likely Rael hadn’t gotten as good a look at him. This was the first time they could see him from the outside. They could feel his feet slapping against the cobblestone as he ran through a city in flames, hear the thoughts racing in his mind, just as they had in their other dreams. The difference being that they flew alongside the mangled man rather than constrain themselves to his perspective.

         Thus, the difficulty looking at Ruen. Rael had more freedom to explore around the last Dragonward, but they were linked to him. Where he went, he pulled the ghost of Rael with him as if on a leash. Rael could choose to immerse themselves in his perspective, and they were sorely tempted. But Rael got the sense to do so would be to bind themselves to Ruen again. So they watched Ruen jump through the window of a burning building, avoiding flaming debris as he ran across the second floor and out another window. Rael’s heart jumped when a flaming support beam passed right through them. They looked over themselves, rolling their eyes at their reaction. It all looked and felt so real, Rael forgot they weren’t actually there.

         Ruen moved with the grace of a cat, his feet clenching onto the roof tiles as he bounded across the roofs. The sound of screaming and clashing metal echoed throughout the city. Rael was pulled alongside a child crying over the bloodied corpse of a woman, dead eyes fixed on the starry skies. Ruen only hesitated for a moment, turning away and closing his heart as the images of four children burned themselves in his mind.

         Theo, Andrea, Gill, and…Fenris. The memory of the children he’d saved all those years ago filled him with the strength to continue. The whip scars on his back prickled enough to quash the need to go help the child. His failure at opening the gates ten years ago still weighed on him heavily. Someone shouted on the streets below. Ruen scampered to hide behind a chimney, just in time to hear the shout erupt into a chorus of war cries from both ends of the street. Rael tried to peek over the side, but the figures outside of Ruen’s vision were hazy and indistinct.

         Ruen clicked his tongue and hugged his body tighter to the chimney. It seemed as if two opposing forces had met each other right beneath him. Last he knew, the Macepholians and the Beihars had attacked Klamdrexia at the same time. The small city-state was quickly breached, and now the three armies were fighting madly to loot, recover, or destroy whatever was left. Not for the first time, Ruen cursed the Jarl for bringing them into this mess.

         He needed to understand who was fighting. The Macepholians would either rush through on their cavalry or destroy nearby buildings with their destructive spells. The Beihars would be careful not to destroy too many buildings, more interested in looting one of the last vestiges of the ancient Klamfik empire. The Klamdrexian militia would be harder to predict. Some would be just as keen on saving their people and repelling invaders as they would be on settling old grudges. Ruen had witnessed a few militiamen looting with the same reckless abandon as the Beihars, no doubt believing the city was a lost cause.

         Ruen’s tome-child appeared next to him, his eyes closing as he silently cast two spells at once. [Unseen Tome] and [Share Tomesight]. Rael grimaced as their senses were pulled apart once more. They could see through the disappearing tome-child’s eyes as easily as they could through Ruen’s own. The tome crawled to the top of the chimney, the sight of a shivering chimneysweep inside surprising both Dragonwards. Ruen forced his tome to focus on the street below, nodding in satisfaction upon seeing the Beihars in their thick furs clashing against the larger contingent of Klamdrexian spearmen.

         For once, luck was on his side. He waited behind the chimney as the militia routed the Beihars, clearing the street as they chased after them. The chimneysweep breathed a sigh of relief. Ruen was tempted to leave then, but the nagging feeling of the child he left behind grated at him. When he looked up to the sky for answers, the stars drowned out by the fires below, all he could find were the twin moons staring back at him. Arafell’s gaze was a lonely one. Despite the legends, he was powerless to help the victims of the world below. The scars on his back prickled in warning. Ruen ignored them.

Quick as a snake, his long arm reached inside the chimney and pulled out a young man as he squawked in fear. He was barely more than a boy, shivering hard enough for the soot to shower from him like black snow. Ruen ignored the smell of urine as the young man looked at him, holding him up by his tunic so he could look him in the eyes.

“There is a child crying over his mother’s body over there.” Ruen pointed where he came from. “He is not the first orphan in Klamdrexia tonight, nor will he be the last. Someone needs to look after them. Can you do that?”

The chimneysweep blinked a few times in confusion. Ruen had neither the time nor the patience to wait for his mind to catch up. He shook the young man a few times and held him steady.

“Do you understand?!” Ruen hissed. The chimneysweep nodded wildly, tears gathering in his eyes. “Good.”

Ruen plopped the young man on the roof and ran to jump to the other side of the street. A part of him wanted to look back to see the chimneysweep do as he was told, but he couldn’t afford to stop. He flew swiftly across buildings, disturbing a flock of crows. Rael tried to look away from the pile of bodies, the stiff and soiled corpses of men and women, invader and citizen, joined together in a mass grave. The crows erupted into a flurry of flapping wings, settling back down once Ruen had passed, hiding the disturbing sight from Rael in a canvas of black wings. Yet one followed Ruen, probably thinking that the Faulk would lead it to another feast.

Rael hoped it wasn’t the case. They glided by Ruen, their gaze jumping between the silent crow, the shoreline, and Ruen. The scarred warrior slid down the side of a building, jumping from a balcony and pulling himself up the city wall. Just on the other side, hidden from the chaos within the city, was a drakkar and a rowboat. Ruen dived.

The water was refreshing, colder and saltier than the tepid shores of the Jarldoms. It enveloped Ruen completely, fresh injuries stinging him. He kicked once, twice, three times, gliding through the water until the shadow of the boat covered him. Only then did he swing back towards the surface, his hands grabbing onto the anchor line and pulling himself up faster. Ruen breached the surface of the water and scaled up the side of the boat.

“Dragonward Ruen.” His arm was taken in a strong grip and pulled onto the deck. “You made it.”

The deck was full of people milling about nervously, trying to keep themselves busy to ignore the smell of burning flesh coming from the city. Witnessing Ruen come aboard relieved some of their tension.

Ruen’s smirk caused most onlookers to shrink away from the sight, but not Captain Damian. The silver-haired captain embraced the lanky man tightly, his prickly beard digging into Ruen’s skin. The Dragonward’s smirk softened at his touch as he reciprocated the hug.

“Was there any doubt?” Ruen rasped, holding up the watertight leather bag he kept around his waist. Rael hadn’t noticed the bag until now, the leather sparkling with strange symbols. The crow from earlier landed on one of the lines connecting the sqaure sail to the hull, watching the bag and Ruen carefully.

“I knew we could count on you.” Captain Damian guffawed, signaling two men to approach.

Rael and Ruen narrowed their eyes when they saw a man in black furs and another Faulk make their way to them. Most of the crew kept an eye on the Beihar, but treated the Faulk with respect, moving aside to make way for the pair.

“Jarl Andras.” Captain Damian and Ruen nodded their heads.

“Your men lack the respect that your position deserves, Jarl.” The Beihar clasped his hands behind his back and ignored the two.

“Our customs are different, King Peter.” Captain Damian’s tone caused the Beihar king to bristle. “To bow our heads means to give up our lives as warriors and sailors. How can we serve the Jarldoms if we give up our identities?”

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“Maybe when I am High Jarl, things will be different.” Jarl Andras noted, holding out his hand. “Do you have them?”

Ruen hid his grimace with his bag, pulling out a ring, a yellowed scroll, and a key. He placed the three objects in the Jarl’s waiting hands. Ruen noted the spark of greed in their eyes. Jarl Andras licked his lips and passed the signet ring to the Beihar king.

“Lady Hectate’s signet ring. How folk can be deceived with such a thing is beyond me.” Andras chuckled and opened the scroll. “The Klamdrexia charter. Ironic that the laws of the land are bound to this centuries-old piece of paper.”

“Fools are often bound by paper promises.” King Peter joined in the Jarl’s mirth. “To such an extent that it becomes a symbol for them. Destroy that symbol in front of them, and they become like sheep without a shepherd.”

The Jarl unfurled the ancient document and looked over its contents. Rael floated over his shoulder, tryin to read the complicated scrawl. Yet no matter how hard they looked, the dreamer could not understand it. The script flowed and pulsed in incomprehensible patterns.

Andras gave Peter the scroll, but kept the key in his hand. The Jarl marveled it as he turned it over and over, rubbing his thumb over the neck of the key. The Beihar king’s gaze was locked on it, nervously palming the sword at his side. Jarl Andras delighted in Peter’s anxious gaze, flipping the key several times in his palm.

“They key to the Lord’s coffers.” Jarl Andras threw it in the air and caught it. “I’ll be honest with you, King Peter. We both want this. I have no doubt that you have some powerful spells. But I don’t think you could get away from this ship without my permission.”

The Beihar king clasped the sword at his side tightly, swiveling his head between the tense Faulk onboard. “You’d have to fight through three armies to get to the treasury.”

“We can wait.” Jarl Andras shrugged, catching the key and holding it tight. “Or we can avoid the fighting altogether. You can have the key. I just want your help.” King Peter eyed his surroundings for a few moments before his shoulders slumped and he released the grip of his sword. “I promise that I won’t force ridiculous conditions on you or your people.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s talk in my quarters.” Jarl Andras led the frowning Beihar to his quarters, his crew finally relaxing.

“Not even a thank you.” Damian stared daggers at his Jarl and the Beihar king. “Does he think what you do is easy?”

“He couldn’t show weakness to the king.” Ruen crossed his arms and blocked Damian’s glare. “We trust our Jarl. It is what separates Faulk from un-Faulk.”

“The Jarl should not be doing this, anyways.” The captain sighed and leaned against the mast. “Scheming with outsiders? Rejecting the elected High Jarl? And now refusing to give you the merit you deserve…”

“I must bear the weight of my mistakes.”

“You saved children.” Damian dug his finger into Ruen’s chest. “Took them as your own. All it cost was a bit of extra loot. That was not a mistake.” The sulking captain turned his gaze towards the burning city. “The destruction of a city that stood for centuries, however…”

Ruen opened his mouth to defend the Jarl but snapped it shut when he saw a messy mane of blond hair come from below deck. He shot Damien a look that promised to continue the old argument later and smiled as his oldest son saw him. Rael recognized him. It was the boy that witnessed Ruen kill the men at a granary. Theo, now a man grown, beamed when he saw his adoptive father. His smile faltered when he noticed Ruen pass a barrel to meet him, though the joy never left his eyes.

“Father!” He clasped Ruen’s arm in his own and brought him into an embrace, the rat’s nest he called his hair tickling what remained of Ruen’s nose.

“Why is everyone so surprised to see me?” Ruen mussed Theo’s hair, the young man struggling free. He stepped between Ruen and the barrel and tried pushing him away.

“It’s been a long couple days. Especially with the Beihar aboard.” Theo tried to pull Ruen away, but the Dragonward stood firm.

“Anything interesting happen?”

“Uh…no?” Theo smiled sheepishly, his gaze darting between Ruen and the barrel behind him.

The crow cawed and flapped atop the barrel, making a sound akin to laughter when it looked inside. For some reason, Ruen didn’t see the crow, instead focusing on the container. Rael floated over to look inside and nearly jumped out of their skin. At first glance, it seemed as if it was full of plums, but upon careful inspection, Rael could see the shadowy figure of a girl hiding within.

“You are a terrible liar.” Ruen hacked out a chortle, leaning into the barrel. He squinted until he could see the girl and his smile turned into a frown. Ruen reached inside, and for the second time that day, pulled someone out of a hole. “Fen.”

The child of dragons looked into her father’s eyes, unflinching under his ugly scowl. Her long purple hair was slick with plum juice, a particularly ripe one impaled on one of her violet horns.

“Father.” Fenris nodded, ignoring her older brother as he tried to make his escape.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Ruen caught Theo by the shoulder. “Was this Theo’s idea?”

“He only found me yesterday.” Fenris shook her head.

“Fen…”

“Is what Captain Damian said true?” The child of dragons interrupted Ruen, staring pointedly at the quarters where the Jarl and Beihar secluded themselves. “About the Jarl?”

‘It seems that sensitive ears aren’t the only things the scaled share.’ Rael chuckled. ‘They love asking hard questions.’

“Jarl Andras has a lot to do and not much to work with. He needs allies against the High Jarl.” Ruen pulled the plum off Fenris’ horn and popped it in his mouth. “By allying with the southern lands, the High Jarl has made raiding for the southern Jarls near impossible. Jarl Andras has no choice.”

Rael thought that response sounded rehearsed. From Fenris’ expression, so did she. The crow cawed loudly, hopping from out of the barrel and onto the girl’s head. Neither she nor Ruen reacted. Rael floated by the crow curiously. And stopped.

It was looking right at them.

“What the…?” Rael moved to touch the crow, half expecting their hand to go right through it.

“Boo!”

Rael jumped back in surprise, the dream fading into a sepia tone. A familiar cackling laughter erupted from the crow, and it erupted into feathers. Perched in its place was a willowy woman with an explosion of frizzy red hair and freckles around her clear blue eyes.

“Norn Astrid?”

         The woman somersaulted and sent a wink Rael’s way.

         “You got it!” Astrid clapped her hands. The colors of the dream faded away until there was nothing left but a white void. “Welcome to the dreamscape.”

         Astrid snapped her fingers and the world shifted around them, Rael finding themselves in a cozy velvet chair in the middle of a massive chamber. All around them were tapestries of gold and crimson, depicting warriors and drakkars raiding, flying, talking. Each tapestry was connected to another, sometimes by tiny red threads, other times by entire embroideries sewn to connect others. It wasn’t uncommon to see several of the wall-hangings split apart to form their own, or to join into a larger piece. The textiles covered every wall, reaching heights beyond Rael’s sight.

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         “Long, long ago, the Faulk lands were covered in ice and snow.” The young Astrid floated lazily overhead, laying her head in her hands and kicking her feet to swim slowly on her back. “We wove our stories in wool and wood so they could last beyond our limited lifespans. After the collapse, our lands changed. To preserve everything we’d made, the first shamans made this place. They founded a refuge that would not decay, fade, nor burn. In a place where no script can be read, but limitless stories can be found. The Illiterate Library.”

         Rael’s jaw dropped in awe. There must have been tapestries that extended beyond the history of the oldest kingdoms in the world. They reached to touch one of the closer ones and the world started to change around them, the walls melting away and the figures on the tapestries casting long shadows that become more and more real. Rael quickly pulled their hand away. They’d almost been pulled into another memory.

         “But…how?” The Dragonward only just noticed there were doors leading into other rooms. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Every shaman who learns the [Dreamweave] spell maintains it.”

Astrid cranked her hand and the room shifted around the two, pushing the walls down at a blinding speed until they reached an area with grayed embroideries, frayed and fluttering in an imaginary breeze. A few scenes were familiar to Rael. One of the reoccurring figures was a man molted with imperfections. He appeared most frequently on a tapestry that grew larger as it hung past them, starting at an image where he held up a swaddled child with horns. Ruen. Rael craned their neck down, following the tattered remains of the story grow into a massive embroidery of a women with long, violet hair and horns, her eyes sparking with arcane might. In her hands was a map of the Faulkie Jarldoms, sewn together with a thread.

“Every now and then, a disaster would prevent them from doing their duties.” Astrid’s frizzy red hair drooped and grayed as her tone fell. “We had no way of knowing how much was lost. Until you came along.”

The Norn ran her fingers through Rael’s hair and slowly pulled down to their glabella. When she pulled her hand away, a midnight blue thread was entwined around her hands. She twisted her hands around to make a cat’s cradle, then a spiderweb, and finally a quilt. The motions caused Astrid to brighten up again, her hair springing up into a poofy mess once more. Rael watched on, enraptured, as the redhead spun her fingers around and around, the quilt growing larger and more elaborate until the scene of Ruen, Fenris, Jarl Andras, and King Peter unfolded before them. The tapestry flapped from Astrid’s arms and melded into the others.

“I think it’s poetic.” Astrid hummed as she looked over the new artwork. “This is one of the only accounts we have of the people the north-eastern mountain range is named after. And it’s about them destroying a piece of history.”

“Is that why you wanted me to learn [Dreamwalk]?” Rael grunted and crossed their arms.

“Pft! No, silly!” Astrid giggled as she flipped upside down to meet Rael’s glare. “That was just a small bonus.” She tapped Rael sending them flying back into the chair. “The dreamscape is special because as of now, only five people can access it. Three of whom are mute.”

‘Me. Astrid. Her three assistants. Doesn’t that make this place ideal for secrets?’ Rael narrowed their eyes and stood up. The chair moved to follow them. Rael pushed it backwards with a leg, but it just hopped after them like an eager puppy.

“You have something you want to keep quiet about.” Rael ignored the chair, even as Astrid watched on amusedly.

“The Illiterate Library is already a secret to most. Being here is a great privilege. Teaching someone how to navigate it, even more so.” Norn Astrid shrugged and swiveled right side up again. “But you’re partly right. Though it is not my secrets we are here to discuss.”

Rael straightened, freezing in place. She knew.

Astrid’s blue eyes bore into Rael’s, as if she peeled away the layers of their soul to find the part of themselves Rael hid so deep they had thought it gone. They thought they could build a new life elsewhere, away from the stigma and abuse. One where they may have once been a slave, but they were still normal. Where they were more than just a resource for the powerful.  The Norn’s knowing gaze threatened to tear that life away from them.

Rael was all too aware of the depths of her power. She was the oldest, most experienced shaman in the Jarldoms, who could manage a complex, city-sized spell for nothing more than a game. To try and fight would be hopeless.

‘Deny it.’

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rael gritted their teeth and turned away.

“Trying to find someone’s history in the dreamscape normally takes a lot of work. To parse through their dreams and the shared knowledge of the fae is difficult and time-consuming. But you and Azmond…it is as if you are open books.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” The Dragonward slammed their foot on the ground, scaring the yipping chair away.

“Rael. Look at me.” Astrid said softly. “I’m not here to threaten you or use this against you. I want to help you.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Shut. Up.”

“You are not less a person for being what you are.”

“SHUT UP!” Rael screamed, tears in their eyes. They stomped about the room, careful to avoid getting too close to any of the tapestries. They tried to summon their tome, but it refused to appear. Rael ran to the walls, punching them wildly in the hope that the pain would wake them. They even considered marching right up to Astrid and shaking her, but the little sense they had kept them from acting.

 “How do I wake up?!” Rael pleaded. “Let me out!”

Rael moved through the room like a cornered animal, desperately looking away from Astrid. Their stomping faded into panicked jogging, then a full-on run. They ran from room to room, passing by innumerable tapestries reaching high into the heavens. Yet at each turn, Astrid was there. Sorrowful and quiet. Rael ran. It felt like it could have been days. Or weeks. Or years. Until Rael collapsed on the ground, arms and legs splayed out. Despite all the running, their lungs did not burn, their muscles never grew sore, and they did not hunger or thirst. The dream had become a prison.

         Astrid stood over Rael. She looked into the youth’s teary eyes and kneeled by their side. Rael averted their gaze, turning over stubbornly.

         “We can talk about it later if you would like.” Astrid ran her hands through Rael’s hair again, gently and carefully, much like how Rael ran their own hands through Az’s hair. “You cannot run from who you are forever.”

         Rael kept quiet.

         “How about this.” Norn Astrid leaned back. “It’s unfair that I know your secrets and you know none of mine. Not even the ones everyone else pretends to be ignorant of. I’ll give you three secrets. Then, I’ll tell you how to get out. You’re welcome to come back afterwards.”

         “Don’t count on it.” Rael grumbled, keeping their back to Astrid.

         “We will see.” Astrid cleared her throat, more a reflex than anything else, and began. “My first secret is one that everyone knows, but nobody speaks about. It should shed some light on the Norns for you.” She twisted her hand and the room shifted until a lone tapestry hung above them. “This is the story of Aljeia’s death.”

         Depicted in cloth was a redheaded woman surrounded by people taking up a bowl of water to her lips. Rael found themselves pulled into the tapestry. Or did the textile simply come closer until it swallowed them like an ocean? It was difficult to tell, but either way, Rael found themselves laying at the feet of a frizzy redhead.

They were in a cave surrounded by roots, brightly lit despite no source of light being visible. A few streaks of gray ran in her hair, freckles not yet completely faded. The crow’s feet on her face hid the deep pain she felt as she looked forwards. Flanking her was a skinny man with deep black hair entwined around twigs and flowers.

         ‘Bak? And Astrid, obviously. But where’s Aljeia?’

         “Shaman Aljeia, please.” Bak pulled at Astrid’s arm. “You don’t need to do this.”

         “But I do.” Astrid, or Aljeia apparently, pulled her arm away.

         “What of your daughter?”

         “The village will provide.” Aljeia said softly. Yet her arms trembled and her breath hitched. “There are things that a Norn must maintain. It is my duty to take up the mantle.”

         Aljeia walked forwards, straining not to look back. She reached a stone pulpit, upon which an embalmed body held a bowl of water. Every few seconds, a drop of shining white liquid would leak from the tip of the stalactite above, landing in the bowl without a sound. When the shaman looked at the corpse, she winced at the sight of the man’s face.

 Aljeia looked into the bowl and took a few deep breaths. She took it into her hands and brough it to her lips. Aljeia shut her eyes tightly and chugged down the liquid, every swallow sickeningly sweet. She placed the empty bowl down on the corpse, watching impassively as the corpse crumbled to dust.

“Norn Belfrost, voice of the wilds, the fae, the shaman, is no more. Shaman Aljeia has drunk the Lethian waters to join him.” She turned around and met Bak’s trembling gaze with the demeanor of a stranger. “I am Norn Astrid.”

“Is it true, then?” Bak sobbed. “You feel…”

“Nothing.” Norn Astrid nodded. “All the emotions Aljeia felt towards you, her apprentice. Towards her daughter. Towards all the people she’s ever met, ever known…they are gone.”

Bak wiped tears and snot from his face, a morose smile stretching across his lips.

“I suppose it’s nice to meet you, Norn Astrid. I believe you will do great things.” He held out his hand.

Astrid returned his smile and shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you too, Shaman Bak.”

         The scene faded away, leaving Rael sitting on the floor. Norn Astrid hummed from behind them, sitting in the chair as it merrily walked in circles. Rael didn’t know what to say.

         “Do all the Norns have to—”

         “Yes.” Astrid said immediately. “To leave the Norns with emotional bonds would make us vulnerable and biased.”

         Rael couldn’t wrap their head around it. They tried to think what it would be like to have all their memories stripped of their emotional weight. Would they be the same person if they weren’t grateful to Felt? Angry at their family? Afraid of their identity? ‘It’d be like having all the knowledge my life has given me, but not of the beliefs, passions, and desires. I’d be a living shadow.’ And a small, traitorous voice spoke up in the back of their mind. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier?’ Rael trembled at the thought, pushing it away. They couldn’t go down that path, no matter how tempting it was to just wash away their fears and traumas. How would Azmond feel?

         “But you and Bak have such a good relationship.” Rael whispered pleadingly.

         “We are allowed to form new bonds. Even then, building them takes time and are laden with pitfalls.” Astrid explained. “Though it is taboo to keep a relationship with your blood. Which leads me to my next secret.”

         Norn Astrid clapped her hands, and another roll of cloth appeared from nowhere, wrapping around them wildly until a disoriented Rael found themselves watching an older Astrid embalming a woman’s body. Whereas in the last vision she couldn’t be more than forty, she must have been well into her sixties now. Much closer to what the present Astrid looked like, save for a single sprig of red hair in a sea of gray. A beam of light followed her head around the inside of the hut, illuminating scores of unlit candles surrounding the body every time the Norn looked around for one of her tools. The light passed over the corpse. Rael sucked in a cold breath. ‘Is that…?’ The corpse looked like a younger version of Astrid, covered in gaping wounds. The dream Astrid stitched together the woman’s flesh and cleaned the mortal injuries without creasing an eyebrow.

         “Do you know who she is?” Rael recognized the smooth voice.

         “Captain Feldon.” Astrid didn’t look up from her duties, choosing instead to place silver coins on the eyes of the corpse. “Is there a reason you insisted I perform the rites?”

         The beam of light angled up to reveal a young Feldon, his widow’s peak beginning to recede, but his eyes as stern as ever. He led a young girl by the hand into the room, a long scarf wrapped around her neck. Rael got to their feet to look over the strange girl. She seemed a bit younger than Azmond. She was a bit off. A normal child would be looking around curiously or fidgeting nervously. But the girl was ambivalent to her surroundings, as if not completely aware of what was happening, content to be puled along by Feldon.

         “This is Lily.” Feldon angled his head towards the girl, who blinked away from the light intensifying on her face. “She’s the daughter of my first mate, Selene Clearsight. And the only witness to her murder.”

         “Selene…” Astrid focused on the body. “No wonder she seemed familiar.”

         Silence dominated the room. Astrid held a hand to the corpse’s face, tracing her features. As if she was trying to capture a long-gone spark, she caressed the woman’s cheeks almost robotically. She sighed and sat up.

         “I know you, Feldon.” The light focused on the captain’s stoic figure. “You are not the wild kin-killer some fools claim you are. You aren’t the type to try to appeal to the emotions of the dead. What do you want?”

         Feldon unwrapped the scarf, revealing a jagged pink scar trailing from beneath Lily’s jaw all the way to her clavicle. Rael and Astrid balked at the scar. Nobody should have been able to survive that.

         “She was lucky. Very lucky. A travelling Spellmaster saved her.” Feldon grunted and covered her scar back up. “But she’s catatonic. She won’t be able to identify the murderer.”

         “Unless I help.” Astrid sighed heavily. “Does she have any family?”

         The captain shook his head. Astrid kneeled to meet the girl’s similar blue eyes. They almost sparked with a trace of something, but Lily’s gaze remained dull and lifeless as her mother’s.

         “Very well.”

         The surroundings turned gray and faded to dust, blown away in a ghostly wind. The real Astrid, or the younger version she presented herself as, appeared in front of Rael. Her hair moved about as if she was underwater and her body was tinted blue. She puffed out her cheeks and silver bubbles streamed from her mouth and nose, gathering and coalescing until both of them with in a silver bubble together.

         “I was expecting something with more…impact.” Rael bit their lip.

         “It was for me.” Astrid’s wry smile spoke volumes. The bubble shrunk around them until it lapped around Rael’s ankles. 

         A torrent of emotions crawled up their legs. A pit of someone else’s loss dug itself into their bones, a stranger’s tears running down their cheeks. Astrid’s emotions poured into Rael. The helplessness. The shame. The melancholy. The shadow of mourning something she could never feel, but knew she should, twisted their insides in a corkscrew. To feel as if there needs to be someone to feel such sadness…as if a piece of your soul was missing and you never knew until you ran your awareness over the wound. It reminded Rael of stories of warriors who’d lost their limbs. The pain would never leave them, only fade into the background. Until it would crop up vibrantly when they tried to use a hand that wasn’t there.

         “These emotions…I fear that I could be the only Norn who feels them.” Astrid’s features aged rapidly, even further than her real age. The withered old crone stood before Rael, patches of hair on paper-thin scalp, eyes once clear, now faded gray, and tall frame beaten into a hunch by the rigors of time. “Such a small fear in the grand scheme of things.”

         The bubble around them popped. The pair stood in a dark void, a ball of blue and green hovering right below their feet. Astrid rejuvenated most of her body, yet her eyes were still gray and murky. It grew larger and larger, until Rael could recognize the shapes. Most of the sphere was still obscured in shadow. What Rael could see clearly was all Galladia.

         Skirting around the southern Edge was Marnesia, resembling a bit like a bird’s wing. Rael recognized Gulass from the Velos Sea near the western tip, and the deserts that dusted the underside of the ‘wing’. North, across numerous archipelagos, was the larger continent shared by the Faulkie Jarldoms and the Bergin Empire, the titanic Serpent’s Sea splitting the Beihar mountains in the north from the vibrant green lands in the south. The Dragonward had seen maps before, but something about witnessing Galladia from so high up made it all seem so…delicate.

         “I have told you a secret everyone knows. A secret about my doubts and fears. And now I will tell you a secret that will affect how you see the world.”

Astrid leaned closer to Rael, nearly whispering in their ear.

“It is about the essence of alchemy, the truth behind the fae, and a hint to the depths of the dragons’ power.”

         The youth couldn’t help but lean closer to the woman, their curiosity pulling their attention away from their fading fears. Astrid took a deep breath. Looked from side-to-side. And she whispered:

         “Fae beliefs shape their magic. It’s mostly bullshit.”

         Rael blinked.

         “What?”

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