Summer had finally arrived for the Three Tribes of the Moon.
It arrived with the sun and long, hot days that tempted both the tarr and the summer tribes to the valley. With them, the animals brought birds, eager for the fruit-laden trees that blossomed in the warmth. The forest that lined the lake had erupted into the chaos that came with life, and the water had warmed enough to encourage the children into its clear depths.
Sigurd Godsson, the shaman of the Tribe of the Half Moon, the oldest living person in the valley and blind for almost fifty winters, hated it.
It wasn't that he disliked every aspect of summer. Having enough food to survive was not something to be frowned upon, and the spirits that hovered close to him got chatty, allowing him to share their energy to soothe the ache in his old bones. However, the sun stung what remained of his vision, and the bugs that buzzed in his ears and landed in his hair were a constant bother – he was far too old to simply get up and move every few minutes. There were other niggling memories, too, but he didn't want to think about that.
By the Spinners, being old was even worse than summer.
However, disliking things had always been something that Sigurd was particularly good at, and as such, he continued hating summer with a fire that did not match his age.
The only thing he enjoyed about being as old as he was, Sigurd had long decided, was that he was allowed to make the younger tribe members do whatever he wanted.
"Tino!"
Tino Godsson was his apprentice, learning from Sigurd in preparation for when he would take over the role of shaman. His second name represented that – their family name was given up for Godsson, to show that they were family only to their gods from that moment on.
"Yes, Sigurd?" The soft tone of the boy he'd taken on almost seven winters ago distracted Sigurd from his thoughts, and he turned his head in the direction of Tino's voice. He'd never seen the boy, as he'd been blind for years, but one of his favourite pastimes was imagining what he looked like. Was he tall? Did he have dark hair and dark eyes, or neither of those features?
He had a feeling he knew, but he didn't want to think about that, either.
"I need you to write something down."
"Another story?" The note of delight that entered the voice Sigurd had come to know so well over the years amused him a little, and he gave a slow nod. When he'd first taken on Tino, he'd checked with Anders Gilbertsson, the leader of the tribe, as to whether the boy could write. With the confirmation that he could, Sigurd had begun telling Tino stories of his life, of the Spinners and the spirits. Tino would write them down, and that concept comforted Sigurd. Even when he was gone, to become a spirit, the stories would never be forgotten, and people would remember.
The shaman had only one story left. If he was honest, he was ashamed of it, but he had to tell it. Because of him, people had suffered, and because of human foolishness, the world had suffered. Sigurd did not intend to allow that to happen again.
"Mm. Sit down." Sigurd indicated the spot across from him, and there was a rustle as Tino settled down on the fur on the floor. "This began when I was only twenty winters old. The Lights were fading from the sky, and as my twenty first winter came upon me, they vanished entirely."
"The- the Lights vanished?" Tino had heard this part of the story before, by now a tale whispered around the fire, but the fact that the gods' very breath had stopped igniting the sky was scary, even years later.
"Yes, yes. They were being sucked away into a vessel."
"But aren't the Lights the breath of the gods, or, ah...?"
"You should know this." Sigurd rolled his milky, unseeing eyes as his apprentice trailed off, and waited for Tino to elaborate a little more. He didn't let Tino get away with much.
"Well, there are three Spinners. They created the universe that we exist in, and the universe the spirits live in." There was a pause as Tino flipped through the heavy book on his lap, the parchment crinkling in a way that gave Sigurd some sort of childish satisfaction, then continued. "The Spinners' breath are the Lights, and the Lights are what create the bridge between our world and the spirit world. Without the Lights, there is no way for the spirits to leave our world when they die. It's also impossible for 'new' spirits to enter this world and become a soul for someone."
"Better." Nodding slowly, Sigurd stretched, feeling his joints creak in protest at the movement. Taking a breath, he let himself continue. "The Lights where being taken, unwillingly, by a boy born of the Clan of No Moon. He was born on the longest day of the year, which was the last day the Lights appeared in all their fullness for a good eighteen years, and his eyes... they changed like the Lights the moment he was born. I wasn't blind then, of course." The second statement was added with some haste, simply to cut off the question he could already feel coming from his apprentice. "I can remember what they looked like." Quietly, he brushed his hand through his hair, feeling the bugs that had settled in it scatter, then took a breath. The wave of longing had come and passed in a mere moment, and he had to move on. "When I was almost twenty one winters, as I said, the Lights vanished."
"They just… disappeared?"
"Yes. At the time, of course, it was a complete disaster. It happened in the midst of winter, and we had nothing to light up the night other than the fires we constructed."
"How did you hunt?" His apprentice asked softly, and the shaman shrugged his shoulders, biting his thumb lightly.
"Badly. We lived off dried meat, and when we had the chance, fresh meat from the liufr." There was a long pause, and Tino touched Sigurd's arm gently.
"Is that why the only liufr in the valley is that spirit that follows you around?" He asked, voice heavy with caution. The words sent a shiver through the shaman, and he shook his head slowly, heaving himself up and grabbing the wall with a faint grunt. The spirit he spoke of was nearby, pacing by the entrance of the tent, and it quickly padded over to support Sigurd's other arm. He, like all shaman people, was gifted the ability to see the dark shapes that drifted over the landscape, the spirits of everything that had not yet moved on to the next world. Some, like the being under his arm, chose to stay in this world.
"No, no, we didn't eat them all. Something worse happened, but I'll get to that. Help me outside first." The trio struggled to the entrance of Sigurd's small home, and the sudden wave of heat made the shaman shiver in disapproval. The sweet smell of the blooming flowers was enough to encourage him to take another step forward, however, and he tilted his head upwards, feeling the wind brush his hair back. The spirit next to him nudged his hand as a silent reminder to keep talking, and Sigurd curled his fingers in the animal's fur. "So, one day the hunters started setting traps for this boy. We had to catch him, after all."
"What sort of traps?"
"Baer traps." Tino inhaled quite sharply at that, but then shifted around a bit, clearly thinking something through. Sigurd almost anticipated the question before it was asked, but it didn't change the thrill of fear that went through him when it was.
"Is it true you and him had a relationship? You... you were lovers?" Sigurd knew the word had long been whispered around all three tribes, and he sank down quietly onto the sun-warmed rock that had been pushed there for him to rest on.
"... You could say that. However, that's not important. Not yet." Turning, he eyed where he knew Tino was. "Anyway, one day, when there was a break in a blizzard, they found him and brought him into our camp."
A rustle as Tino opened the book, and Sigurd allowed himself to get lost in his story.
A/N:
Tarr: An animal similar to a caribou, these animals stand at around 1.5 metres at the shoulder, and possess antlers of up to 2 metres from tip to tip. They are usually a patchy white-brown colour, and graze primarily on grass. They migrate over frozen water every year to reach warmer climates, and return in summer via a land route to the hunting grounds of the tree tribes. Tarr make up an important food group for all three tribes, despite living mostly in the low-lying areas around water, which makes it difficult for any tribe other than the Tribe of the Full Moon to make use of them through the two seasons they are available.
Liufr: Large, dangerous predators, these animals resemble grey wolves. They are about 2 metres in length fully grown, and can come in almost any shade in the regions of white, black and brown. They usually hunt in massive packs of about thirty, but don't often attack humans. They prefer to stay in the mountainous regions, but with food scarce, they have been coming down to attack tarr. Their numbers have been dropping dramatically over the last twenty winters, and there is thought to be only one or two packs remaining in the tribe areas.
Baer: The baer are massive predators that linger on the south side of the tribe valley where the land meets the ocean, hunting on sea ice for selfee during the winter, and scavenge kills from other animals during the spring and summer. They also are known to eat berries and plants, and their furs are highly prized as coats. During the winter, their furs are white, and other seasons, a dark brown-grey.
Selfee: Similar to harp seals, these animals spend most of their lives underwater unless breeding.