Prologue/Sworn
The snow showed no signs of abating, and Svengr paused in his monotonous trudge through its depths. If anything, the snowfall seemed to be getting heavier, and he sighed. What else should he expect this far north? It had long since obliterated the path he had been following, and that had been faint miles ago. Only his innate sense of direction kept him pressing steadily forwards, deeper into the valleys of the majestic Shiverpeak range.
Again, he sensed eyes on him, and he gave the solemn ranks of trees another cautious stare. There was something out there. And there had been something out there for over a mile. A bear? No, he'd hear that, and they weren't the type to subtly course like this. Wolf, or leopard, one of the two. He tightened his grasp on his staff and frowned. Like all of his people, he had been an accomplished hunter in his youth, and his heart had beat with the same rhythm as these very peaks. But that had been decades past, he was a scholar now.
"Who goes there?" He demanded of the trees, expecting no answer, but he got one anyway.
"I'm behind you." A voice, scratchy on the rise of manhood, answered him, and he spun on the speaker. And the youth behind him fit the voice, not quite a man, tall and lanky, a powdering of snowflakes camouflaging his coal black hair. The youth had the eyes he'd been expecting, however, pale as wolves' eyes, as leopards' eyes, as ravens' eyes. Watchful, contemplative eyes.
"Ah, right. I'm looking for Volun's steading..."
"And you've almost found it. I'm Sworn Volunson." There was the edge of a chill in the young man's response, and Svengr forced a more jovial expression onto his face. Those who still clung to the far ranges were stubborn, locked in their refusal to give up any more land than they had to. They could be volatile sorts, and Svengr wasn't here for a fight, especially not with this strapping example of sober young norn male.
"I am Svengr Dalgaard, arcanist of the Durmand Priory." Hopefully this one had at least heard of the Priory, or this would get long.
Both of the boy's thick brows jumped at the introduction, much of the threat dissipating from his stance. He looked suddenly younger, Svengr realized he had misjudged his age by a couple of years, towards older. Maybe fourteen, caught in the most awkward of ages. "The skaalds? Those who teach the books?"
Close enough. Svengr nodded in barely concealed relief. "Yes." He agreed, that was indeed his charge from the Priory... Tyria would be literate, even this deeply into the mountains. Only then did her people have the tools to use the information that the Priory so zealously gathered and protected...
"This way." The youth beckoned, and headed into the trees. Svengr was heartened to see that yes, he had almost found it. The steading was small, hunkered deep into a cut, shrouded in the mists that threw the deepest of snowfalls. Four dolyak stood in the yard, hills of wool this late in the season, protected from all but the most treacherous of weather. The nearest of them was the bull, and it make a fine show of threatening Svengr with a shake of its four horns, but its heart obviously wasn't in it. It had the complacent ease of a long tamed beast.
"The others are south. Hunting." The boy moved to open the steading door, stepping inside.
"And they left you?" Odd. This was the age at which a family should be forging a great hunter out of this one. He hinted at a massive heft, he was going to be a stellar example of a norn...
"Somebody's got to keep an eye on the dolyak." The boy noted, stamping the packed snow from his leggings. Svengr gave a nod, even if he did not agree, stepping into the lodge's shelter. Yes, someone. But not this one. That duty usually fell to an elder, or a mother, but a boy standing on the precipice of manhood? No. "Make yourself to home." The youth continued, either oblivious to, or uncaring of, Svengr's lack of agreement. "There's food."
There was, Svengr could smell it, a rich stew simmering. "The weather will worsen when the sun falls."
"Yes. Nothing I can do about it." The boy gave a half shrug, stripping off his parka and snow pants, hanging them them next to the fire. He had the beginnings of his adult tattoos already marked out on his flesh, an encouraging sight. Someone thought enough of him to start that...even if they left him guarding dolyak. "You bring books?" There was a baited hope in that small sentence, and Svengr blinked. His people were not known for a love of books, their stories were passed down in songs, in sagas, on the lips of skaalds. The Priory dealt in tomes, facts, histories, while Norn songs were fraught with boastful embroideries. But there was no hiding the desire in that question.
"I do. You read?"
"Yes. My mother taught us all...she hails from the Foothills south of Hoelbrak."
Svengr didn't bother to rein in his surprised snort. Half the time that area was snow free, as far from this place as it was possible to be, and still be within norn lands. To most up here, those lands were barely fit to be considered theirs, the home to soft people who didn't strive for the challenge that their very lands tempered them with. The youth's lips twisted in agreement. "Yes, yes. But she fell for my father, and that was the end of that."
And any pairing that threw offspring, especially offspring like this one, was blessed by the spirits. "You have siblings. How many?"
"There are seven of us. I'm the sixth born, four boys, three girls. The spirits of the wild blessed my parents well. Children of wolf, children of bear...and me."
Svengr glanced at the swirling foundation of the elaborate tattoo marked into the youth's pale back. Even at this stage, he could clearly see what it was going to be. "A child of Raven, no shame there." It might put him one step off of the rhythm of a family called to the more forthright of spirits, but Raven was an honored calling. "But yes, I have books, and you are welcome to read them..." He pulled his battered pack onto the long plank table and pulled out his most prized bundle. If all of the members of this steading already knew how to read, then he would not be staying long, especially if this was indeed one of the family's younger children. Their mother had already done what he was here for. That was good.
"Thank you." The boy took the bundle reverently, and settled to read immediately, obviously pushing the very fact of Svengr's proximity completely out of his mind. The arcanist smiled, recognizing a kindred soul.
Sworn was better than halfway through the stack of books when the family returned, and Svengr understood all too well the badly hidden flicker of irritation when the winds carried the babble of raucous norn voices. A vast male was the first through the door, the beginnings of silver growing in the black hair at his temples. He paused for only a split moment when he saw Svengr, then bellowed a greeting that shattered the calm of the lodge. "Stranger!" He crowed, as if one of those in his home was the finest occurrence that could be conceived of.
On his heels was a woman, the source of the youth's pale eyes and lean face. She had light brown hair, tied up in a matron's braid, and bright intelligence shone through her gaze. "Stranger." She lacked the edge of thrill...she was also the wellspring of her child's caution and distance. This was the woman from the hills south of Hoelbrak? "Sworn?" She looked to her son, her blood, for answers, not from Svengr himself. A definite lack of trust...
The son in question glanced over the edge of the book he'd been ensconced in and gave her a half shrug in answer. "One of the skaalds from the southlands. Those who teach reading..."
Her eyes fell back on Svengr, taking him in. "Priory." She identified. "This far north?"
"Our charge is simple, all the children of Tyria should be literate..."
"And all of my children are literate." Pride and indignation shone through those eyes, and Svengr opened his hands in calming supplication.
"Gudrun!" Her spouse snapped, and she trained that stare on him. Svengr was happy that it was no longer unleashed on him, and apparently her husband was well accustomed to it because he didn't flinch. "We have a guest."
"So we do... Tyra!"
"Yes, mother, I heard." A young woman emerged from behind, her hair less tightly constrained, and she wore the clothing of an unmarried adult. She was older than Sworn, Svengr would guess she was the child born just ahead of him. "I can only guess that Sworn has not managed the hospitality he should have..." Her stare fell on her brother, who blithely ignored it as only a younger sibling could manage.
"Sworn has been a gracious host." Svengr chuckled. Actually, he'd found the time in warm silence to be exactly what he needed to catch his breath and center his soul. As much as he loved his people, they could wear on him.
"There's a first." If Sworn's voice hovered around breaking, this voice had fallen off of a cliff a long time ago. It ground together like two boulders in a glacier, and Svengr sighed. No, Sworn wasn't a big one, that form that just barely fit through the door was. Child of bear indeed, and about as big as one. "Hallir Volunson! Well met, stranger... why do I not smell beer?"
"Because I haven't tapped a keg." Sworn muttered, the silence after that statement punctuated by the flick of vellum pages through his fingers.
"You what?" The mountain was dumbfounded, nothing feigned about his gaping mouth. "Sworn! Where are your manners?!"
"I've misplaced them somewhere, Hallir. Anyway, I've been told I'm not old enough to tap a keg..."
"That was three years ago!" The mountain moved into the light, and Svengr nodded to himself, unsurprised. As expected, it was a larger version of Sworn, rolling with muscle and bulk. The same black hair, the same eyes, but completely without the indifference and distance of the younger male. "You were ten!"
"No one's told me otherwise since then."
Volun sighed, shaking his head. "Forgive my son, stranger. He's the odd chick out, he has a good heart but..."
A fourth newcomer sidled in the door, and Svengr nodded a greeting at the youngest, a girl, the very mirror of her mother. "As I said, Sworn has been a gracious host." He repeated slowly. "I wanted for nothing."
"Sworn should get along well with one from the Priory." Gudrun said, following the older girl towards the hearth. She lifted the lid off of the pot that Sworn had set earlier that morning and nodded in approval. "Much the same. You do realize that the paths out of here are closed until this blows itself out?"
"I do." Ordinarily that would be no problem, but Svengr sensed that Sworn came by his distance honestly. This was no usual norn, she had deliberately chosen to leave civilization to come out here with this man.
"So he stays with us. It isn't as if we don't have the room, Gudrun. With the older ones gone..." Volun looked downcast for just a heartbeat, before he shrugged it off and grinned. "New tales are always welcomed, stranger?"
"Svengr Dalgaard, arcanist of the Durmand Priory." Svengr gave the expected grin...but knew, deep in his heart, that it was going to be a long few days. Maybe it was time to head south again, return to the Priory and let someone else take this task up for awhile. He hadn't really noticed, until given the gift of silent contemplation again, just how much he was missing it.
A keg was brought up, and Svengr accepted a foaming mug full, his glance still on the young male. He understood all too well the majority of the family, they were fine examples of norn... loud, proud, strong, joyous, loving, free with their hospitality and grace. They were his people, but they'd never be a part of his chosen life now. The mother might have been, but he understood that she had made her choices. But Sworn was different.
"You watch my son." Gudrun's voice from behind him, low beneath the din of her family's voices.
"And you watch me." He returned mildly. The beer was good. The food was good. The company should have been. "Is he a good hunter?" If he was abysmal at it, it would make this easier. But life was never easy.
"He is, as long as he's alone. In a group, no." She glanced at Svengr, then across at her husband. "If, and only if, he does not grow out of this, I will suggest he go to Hoelbrak and contact the Priory. It will break his father's heart."
Svengr dropped his chin into the cup of his throat and took a deep breath. He had no argument for that, he never had, he never would. For a people that marked their lives and accomplishments in the sagas sung about them, becoming a historian was akin to death without children. His own life would pass, unsung, unnoticed except in those books his brothers and sisters guarded and cultivated. How to explain the value of being a part of something like the Priory?
"But." She continued, biting her bottom lip, "I will not see one of my children's souls crushed trying to be something it is not. I've given Volun sons that we will sing of. That should be enough..." Her gaze fell on Hallir, and she nodded sharply. "But he loves them all so much."
"Of course he does. He's a good man." Of that, Svengr had little doubt. A lesser man would have not handled even what little of Sworn's behavior that he'd been privy to. "And perhaps you're right. Perhaps he'll grow out of this." Probably not, but Svengr had seen a great many odd things in his life, and read about a million more. Young men changed, the regard of their people became important, and the sway of young women could not be denied. For all he knew, Sworn Volunson could shed his odd ways like a dolyak shed wool in the spring. The Priory would miss out, but the norn people would gain. It was all equal in the end.