The Second Redemption of the Foulde
Book 1 – The Foulde
Chapter 1
It was early summer in the Foulde, and the rich, clean aromas of the deep pine forest permeated the small clearing in which a lone figure sat, comfortable but erect, on the forest floor, relishing each steady, deep breath. The man appeared every bit the warrior, despite his meditative posture. He was easily over six feet tall, with incredibly broad shoulders and hard muscles hidden beneath metal-plated leather armor, the top third of which was covered in his long blond locks. His face, only visible through the close plaits of hair, was placid for all its square hardness and masculine lines. His sword lay on the ground before him, its hues matching those of the armor plates. The handle was fashioned after a raven, with its wings forming the crosspiece, and the blade protruded from the birds beak. Its eyes glittered with the deep green tones of emeralds, and it’s feet gripped giant rubies to form the pommel.
Another deep breath settled his body and expression a degree further, and he forced his thoughts deeper than the enjoyment of the scents of the forest, for likewise, his journey to this remote place held deeper purpose than to delight in his beloved homeland. He was a mystic, or mystic ranger in the long form. The latter explaining his warrior appearance and deep knowledge of survival and combat in the forest, the former his intimacy with it on a much deeper level; even with the Spirit of the forest, the Fouscht-Flaund in his tongue, the second part of which is literally “bird” in ours. It was on that bird, the raven, that he now focused. The Foulden were not a pagan people, and he was not worshipping the bird itself, but used the image to force his thoughts upon what it symbolized, what he was truly seeking and knew to be there: his beloved Spirit.
This was his sixth pilgrimage, and it had been four years since his first. Then, he was an eager fledgling in the ways of the Spirit, more concerned with how powerful the spells the Spirit might reveal to him would be than real intimacy with it. His grandfathers’ tutelage in the mystic ways quickly matured him though, and now he sought the Spirit not for more magical power, but with an increasing desire for true knowledge of its ways and that real intimacy he saw so clearly in his mentor.
It was this desire that consumed him now as he left his mind open to what the Spirit might have for him. Or rather, his heart. More and more he was learning that it was far more a part of the ways of the Spirit than his mind, and it longed like never before to know them.
All at once his body went nearly slack, and an involuntary smile lifted the corners of his lips. He felt as one does upon waking from a wonderfully comfortable sleep, feeling as though they could lie forever in that blissful state of near numbness, with the hints of pleasant dreams on the fringes of their mind. Except for this man, the dream was coming into greater focus. The hazy image of the raven took more solid form as its perch of a pine wreath materialized around it. Joy and peace washed over him at the knowledge of being in the Spirits presence, along with reverence and submission, and he sensed the Spirits pleasure within his heart.
The moment ended, and though the peace did not depart, he sensed a drastic change in the Spirit and knew then that this would not be another conveying of a spell, or instruction in its ways. There came over him a heavy sobriety and powerful authority, and if not for the preceding experience he would likely have run in fear or groveled in submission. As it was, he was able to remain still as his anticipation for whatever the Spirit had for him increased from the change, and he found himself in sober suspense. Finally, as he wondered if his heart might burst from the tension, the Spirit spoke. He was relieved that this newly revealed aspect of the Spirit had not affected the familiar strong and soothing qualities of its voice, though it carried more authority, but somehow seemed subdued, as if it were a reluctant messenger or wanted to gently deal a heavy blow.
“The time is nearly full for the renewal of the pure from its defilement, though the pure will be defiled in the renewal. And you, Gormund, Son of the Foulde, shall be the redeemer. An outcast will follow the last, but his mark will be for the redemption of his people’s honor, as it has been defiled by all those before, and by it the hope of mercy shall be revealed to all the world. Have courage, and seek me where you think I cannot be found. Do not fear, and hold to your honor, for as you know me now, you shall also redeem me.”
It was too much to take in, and Gormund struggled to fit the fleeting phrases into his memory, but he was interrupted as the pine wreath suddenly burst into flame, and his interest in the Spirits message was quickly replaced by horror as the bird was consumed as well. Though the raven met its decimation in silence, Gormund cried out in anguish as the flames began to take shape into a hideous human-like shape, but with the face in the likeness of a beast Gormund would never forget, despite the lack of definition caused by the swirling flames. The fiery monster stood erect and laughed in his face. Gormund tried to fight the beast, but found his body still in that horrible peace that defied his will. As the demon reached it’s right arm back to strike, Gormund realized he would also be unable to deflect the coming blow, and anger returned to horror as the fist of fire drove towards his temple, his entire body consumed by the heat of the conflagration, yet stubbornly remaining in its blissful state. As the blow struck, Gormund could only hope in the words of the Spirit before its demise: “Do not fear…redeem me.” There was a flash of fire and pain as the burning fist struck the left side of his head, and all he could do was cry out again in pain and anger.
***
Melrainne knew she was getting close after a week of tracking her brother. She wasn’t looking forward to completing the errand their father had sent her on, but always jumped at any chance to get away into the forest herself. In just a few weeks, she wold go on a sojourn of her own, though it would hold a very different meaning for her than Gormund. For now, it took all of her concentration to make her way quietly through the woods and follow his subtle signs she knew only she could read; the lay of a few fallen pine cones here, the peel of a length of bark there, an overturned rotting branch, all left as clues for her to point the way. It was a system worked out over almost two decades of exploration of the forest together. Of course, that was with the help of Grommish...
The thought of her younger brother came just as she found her elder, and she was glad for the excuse to put it out of her mind. She could see Gormund was beginning some kind of meditation, so she made her way as quietly as he had taught her to around the clearing. It was a beautiful day, the warm Summer sun dappling the forest floor and the flowers there, creating little bastions of light and vibrancy in a world of perpetual shadows. How she wished on days like these to be one of them, basking in life-giving light, reaching for it with every fiber of her being, radiating beauty in its warm embrace and delighting all who saw her glow.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a murmur from Gormund, whom she could now see had gone almost limp like one who had fallen asleep while reading, and appeared to be in some kind of trance. A little concerned now, she moved more quickly to her brother and sat a couple yards in front of him. He appeared very relaxed, and his face was nearly slack. At least he was breathing regularly, and she could make out variations in the tension of his forehead, as though troubling thoughts were causing him various levels of distress.
Suddenly he cried out in anguish, frightening Melrainne into standing and taking a cautious step back. Unsure of what to do, she scanned the clearing to at least make sure nothing had been attracted by the outburst. Seeing nothing, she returned her attention to Gormund who was now breathing rapidly and looked terrified, sweat quickly forming on his now deeply furrowed brow. Still unsure of what to do, she slowly approached him, stretching out her hand and tentatively calling his name. He didn't respond, and now wore a look of utter despair, something she never dreamed she would see in her stalwart, ever-hopeful brother. Now truly afraid for him, she called louder and reached for his face. As she leaned down to touch him, he let out another cry.
"Gormund!" she cried herself as she touched his face, her fingers first touching his left temple.
***
As the monsters blow landed, Gormund found himself freed from his trance. Something was indeed hitting his head, and he turned his cry into a howl of rage as he reached down for his sword. He turned to his right as he grasped it, bringing it around in a low arc and leaning forward on his knees for reach. Melrainne was in motion as soon as his fingers were on the weapon, seeing his spin coming. She launched up and back, flipping over and away from the strike and rolled backwards once when she landed, ending in a crouched position with her short sword drawn defensively in front, dagger held behind. The threat from her brother, however, had passed. Gormund knelt on one knee, leaning on his sword and holding his head, which he shook repeatedly. Pain and confusion clouded his face, and he struggled to control his heavy breathing. Melrainne, remaining cautiously armed, stood and took a slow step forward.
"Gormund? Are you alright?"
With a couple steadying deep breaths, Gormund sat back down with his elbows on his knees, pressing his palms into his eyes. Melrainne relaxed a little, but kept her weapons drawn.
"Mel," Gormund addressed her with her familiar shortened nickname, half out of exhaustion that drove him to save breath. "I'm sorry. You startled me." He lifted and shook his head one more time before looking at her. She had on her usual foresting gear; hard leather armor strapped over a light shirt and green hose; her short sword on her left hip, dagger on her right, short bow and quiver over her shoulder along with a light pack. Her long black hair was held back in a braid bound with a leather thong that ran across her forehead. She was tall and beautiful, her dark hair and deep brown eyes contrasting with her light skin, still smooth and fair with youth over a narrow chin and high, curved cheekbones. Gormund couldn't help but be calmed at the sight of his beloved sister, and even managed a concerned smile coming out of his disorientation. "are you alright?"
"Besides having my wits scared out of me, I'm fine." Finally feeling the unusual danger from her brother past, she sheathed her weapons and resumed her place sitting in front of him. "What in the world was all that about? You looked awful, and even cried out. I've never seen you in such a state, especially when...meditating, or whatever it is."
Gormund wasn't sure how to answer. Melrainne was as much of a believer in the Spirit as most of the Foulden people, which is to say she exclaimed in its name and invoked its blessing as much as any, but had no real idea of what it really was or how to know it like Gormund did. Even if she did, Gormund was unsure of how she or anyone would receive his vision...Except maybe one.
"I don't really know myself. I think I need to talk to Grandfather about it. You sure you're OK?"
"Yeah. You sure you are?"
"Not really." He sighed and leaned back on his elbows, taking in the clearing again. At least there weren't any fiery beasts lurking in the forest. Maybe he would be. "I take it you're not just here for that spectacle, though. What brings you?"
Melrainne willingly accepted Gormunds reluctance to talk about what had just happened, herself deeply affected by having to draw her weapons on him. Before showing too much relief and drawing his suspicion, so skilled was he at reading her, she put on the apprehension she honestly felt at her answer. “I know you hate the interruption, but Father sends for you.”
She was right; Gormund was not happy. He let his head fall back with and exasperated sigh. He still had several days left on his sojourn, but his father had never respected his own fathers faith, and barely tolerated his sons.
“To what do I owe the honor of being hastened back into his ever-practical and prudent tutelage?” The sarcasm was overly heavy, but Gormund was now perturbed by his father on top of being bewildered and exhausted by his vision. In truth, he loved and respected his father immensely, and had always received the same from him. Just this one subject divided them, and sometimes bitterly. Father had resisted Grandfathers teaching in the Spirit, and he hated seeing his son embracing the “worthless” pursuit. Now that he thought about it though, the nature of Gormund’s vision may require that it be brought up with his father as well if it had the implications for the Foulde it seemed to. Maybe when it came to pass the old skeptic would be convinced.
“Be nice. I don’t know why he wants you.” Managing her own smile, Melrainne added, “thanks for at least not shooting the messenger.”
“Well, after how I greeted you that would just be overkill.”
Only a little amused, Melrainne was nonetheless glad for the levity her brother was attempting. She knew he was always concerned for her and would be quick to put this incident behind them for the harm he had nearly caused instead of the usual protection he proffered.
“Well, I for one am thankful that it would still only be metaphorically so.”
That drew a grimace. “I’m really sorry, Mel. I wish I could explain more what happened. Let’s just say there has never been a worse time to interrupt a man...’meditating, or whatever it is.’”
“Well, what do you call it then?”
“Communing.”
“Ah. Well, has your communing ever turned up any food? I’ve been eating light on my way and could use a good dinner today.”
“No, but you’re right. If I am to entertain a princess I should serve better than week-old salted pork.” Gormund began to rise but could only get half-past bent over before almost blacking out and going again to his knees.
Melrainne was there quickly to aid him back to a sitting position. “Maybe I should take care of you for a change. Stay here and rest.”
Making sure Gormund had some water handy, Melrainne set out for a quick hunt. Staying close to the clearing, she made short work of it, coming back well before dusk with a couple of rabbits and wild vegetables, all of which were quickly roasted over a modest fire. It was dangerous to have a fire burning into dark this far into the forest, as she had well learned. By the time dinner was finished Gormund was feeling much better and night fell with soft conversation over tidings from home. They slept on bedrolls just outside the clearing, sheltered by the thick pine boughs of the forest and away from the fire pit that was sure to attract at least some attention from unwelcome company in the night.
None came by their way at least, and the pair rested well. The morning passed in nearly silent preparation for the journey back home, to Ravenhölm.
***
The seat of the Foulden ruling council was built in the center of the forest, at the base of a hundreds-feet high granite cliff, which are common in those lands. The forest has slowly eaten away the Barrier Mountain range since Derland’s beginning, leaving such monuments to their previous dominance of the entire northern edge of the world. This particular cliff side featured a gigantic cavern in which the first generations of Foulden settlers built the Council Hall; essentially a castle set within the edifices gaping maw, with a stairway as long as the building itself leading up to it, doubling back half-way up at a large platform from which public addresses were given, trials adjudicated and events MC’d. The castle itself featured a long, low southern wing which housed the six council members and their staffs of servants and advisers, the throne room and council chamber, which was open to the outside with a long, cross-braced window along the buildings eastern wall. The most striking feature of the citadel was above this window: a huge silver raven, wings spread wide, with a sword and two arrows held in one foot and an open book in the other. This is the official seal of the Foulde to this day. The remaining third of the castle was evenly divided between the entry and dining halls, behind which lay the kitchen to the left, and the royal chambers to the right, which reached three stories high and featured a large study, formal dining room, armory and space for the small castle guard detail. The building was made entirely of stone, furnished with rough wood and furs, warmed by large fireplaces and coal braziers, and lit by torches, candles and more braziers. The castle, like the land and people it’s inhabitants ruled, was rough and utilitarian.
The city of Ravenhölm spread out in the forest before the cliff, loosely organized by status as most cities are. The homes nearest the castle were larger and housed what could be considered the nobility of the realm; the families of and heirs to the council seats and extended royal family. Immediately east of these was the huge market square. Ravenhölm, being in the thick of the forest had no farmland to speak of, and food had to be brought in from Schtüeldale, the Foulde’s primary farming community on the Eastern edge of the forest. The square hosted the vendors from there and the storehouses they lived in, as well as all other common market fare. Of less importance substantively, but no less significant to the Foulden people were the many festivals and ceremonies held in the square throughout the year. The left over banners, streamers and flags from these celebrations both large and small lent a continual festive atmosphere to the market, livening up the otherwise dark and oppressive forest. From the square the common housing and workshops spread to the north, south and east. All of the structures in the city were constructed from the trees that were cleared to provide space for them, the split-log roofs uniformly covered with thick moss, softening the character of the otherwise blunt and bare abodes.
All of the Foulden people were proud and loved their home, forest and brethren, but the people of the Foulden capital were and did exceptionally so. The great silver raven on the castle could be seen from anywhere in the city, and their regular exposure to the Macht, literally “father”, their patriarch, gave them an extraordinary national pride and devotion to their home.
These sentiments were shared by Gormund and Melrainne as they returned to their home and again beheld the greatest city of their land, the sight of the “Fouscht”, the Raven, the symbol of their nation and the spirit Gormund so loved lifting their hearts just a touch more than the rest of Ravenhölm’s citizens. For the great bird was also the symbol of their family, the Macht their grandfather, and the great castle in the cavern their home.
The journey home had been easy but quiet, as the two always did their best to pass unnoticed through their beloved but still dangerous forest. Now with the city before them they felt free to relax. Gormund felt a little of his disappointment from having to cut his sojourn short lift, and he found himself grinning.
“Interruption or no, I guess it’s always good to come home.”
“It is,” Melrainne replied, catching Gormund’s easy enthusiasm and grinning herself. A smile quickly followed when a familiar figure approached and warmly embraced her. He was almost as tall as Gormund and just as stocky, with short black hair and gentle light blue eyes which contrasted with the otherwise hard features of his face.
Gormund watched his sister melt into her husband’s arms and found yet another reason to smile. Rashkin was his life-long best friend. They had shared mischief as boys, trained together as young men and fought side-by-side as soldiers. Through it all, Melrainne had always been there to taunt, then tease and flirt, and finally to pine for Rashkin. Their marriage was a foregone conclusion long before they had any idea what their youthful play would lead to. Gormund couldn’t have chosen better for her. Rashkin had been, and would now forever be the protector she cryptically never allowed Gormund to be.
When their kisses began to get a little longer than Gormund was comfortable witnessing, he loudly cleared his throat.
“Oh, I’m sorry Gor, did you want one too?” Rashkin chided as he let go of Melrainne and spread his arms to her brother.
“Thanks, I think I’ll pass. I like my face attached to my skull; somehow you two find it enjoyable to see who can detach the other’s first.”
Rashkin laughed. “You should start taking bets, then,” he said as he leaned into Melrainne again.
“Come on.” Gormund grabbed his shoulder and pulled the giggling couple along hand-in-hand toward the city’s center.
“How was your excursion?”
“It was, um...interesting.” Gormund looked up again at the silver sculpture as he recalled the fate of it’s cousin in his vision.
“Really? How interesting can sleeping sitting up get? Were you attacked by orcs from the Spur as you passively roamed the cosmos?” Worse than Melrainne’s nominal belief, Rashkin was at best sceptical and regularly mocked Gormund’s devotion to the spirit.
Gormund shot him a glare of warning. “Not now, Rash. Not after what I...” He frowned and shook his head in frustration. Why was he only close with one person who shared his faith? One person he could really talk to?
Melrainne came to his aid. “Something did happen to him out there, Rashkin. You wouldn’t be making fun if you had found him as I did.” At his inquiring look she mouthed, “later.”
“Alright then, I apologize. I promise to be nicer if you want to tell me about it,” he offered with a conciliatory look.
Gormund knew his friend was sincere but didn’t commit. “Any clue why I’ve been called back?”
“Yes, actually.” Gormund saw the familiar shift in Rashkin from friendly to official conversation, one he often made in Gormund’s presence as captain of the guard. “Not long after you left there was a major raid on the Gomme.”
Gormund frowned once more. The Gomme, or Gnomes in the common tongue, were diminutive creatures that lived in the foothills of the Barrier Mountain Range to the west of the Foulde, and were regular targets of the monsters that inhabited The Spur, an offshoot of the range that extended south from it’s eastern side. The Foulden people had been their sworn protectors since they had settled in the forest. They generally fulfilled their oath well, but once in a while the goblins showed some intelligence in their planning and made off with a good plunder and some slaves, though always at a heavy loss, retreating deep into the mountains where even the Gommes valorous guardians dared not tread.
Gormund looked seriously at Rashkin. “That’s unfortunate, but hardly reason to recall me.” The only action ever taken in the case of these rare attacks was to provide some restitution to the Gomme community, and some extra for those who had lost someone in their family.
Gormund caught a gleam in Rashkins eye as he answered, “Normally you’d be right but your father is handling things differently this time.” His voice lowered conspiratorially, “we’re going after them.”
Rashkins face was beaming. Gormund knew he had aways been eager for a fight, even voiced his desire to do this very thing. Previously, Gormund had reluctantly agreed with his companion and counselor. Why not go rescue these helpless creatures? The Foulden soldiers were more than a match for the smaller, weaker, less organized goblins that took them, even in grossly imbalanced numbers. His grandfather had always resisted his advisers and kin in urging him to do so, however. But Rash had said his father was handling this...
Laithe, his grandfather, had been relinquishing small amounts of control to his son Gormush over the last few years as he aged past seventy. For him to allow such a retaliatory strike on the Spur was a major step towards his succession.
“We’re going into the Spur?” Gormund hadn’t realized he had stopped in his tracks at the realization. He resumed walking as Rashkin resumed his revelations.
“You and I are to lead the expedition. We’ll even be taking some of the Gomme with us.”
Gormund again came to a halt. Surely Rash was mistaken. The Gomme were amazing craftsman and engineers, and had once defended the Foulde against an amazing force of evil from the Spur, but that was an age ago. Their affinity with the Spirit was all but lost, only one of their number still held to those ancient and powerful ways which had granted them that victory. And as far as Gormund knew, they were incapable of bearing arms and fighting.
His father taking such a bold step combined with this news of the Gomme’s involvement caused Gormund deep trouble, and it must of shown as he continued on, now near to the stairs leading up to the castle. He Looked up again at the silver raven which was partially obscured by one of the braziers lighting the stairway. The fiery imposition caused his vision to come fully back into the forefront of his mind, and he winced as he looked away from it.
“Gor? Are you alright?” Melrainne asked.
Gormund just shook his head and pressed on toward the castle stairs. He had to speak to his father and the Macht. Now.
Normally, he would share Rashkins enthusiasm for such a mission; for the Gomme they would rescue, for the show of strength of the Foulden people, and for the honor of his family. But he could not deny the weight it brought to his heart.
Something about it all was not right.
***
Gormund and Melrainne met with their father in his chambers after cleaning up and changing into more domestic attire. Gormush’s antechamber was heavily carpeted with furs, the walls lined with heavy green drapes between which were interspersed over a dozen hunting trophies. The furniture was sparse and heavy, made of thick lumber and upholstered with the same green velvet as the drapes. The three were seated at a small table that barely accommodated their dinner of boar, fresh bread, wild vegetables, fruit and berry wine. Gormund found another reason for gladness at being home early as he reclined in his chair. The comfort of home and kef state brought on by the food took the earlier edge off a bit, though he found it hard to relax. His vision and the strange news from Rashkin plagued whatever peace he found in these familiar emolients.
Gormund was the spitting image of his father, though Gormush’s visage and posture showed the burdens of leadership that Gormund had yet to bear. His cape seemed to drag his shoulders into a slump, his forehead had a permanent crease, and his eyebrows always seemed heavy. In contrast, Gormund still had all the vigor of youth about him, and none of the cares of late prince-hood that weighed on his father. Seeing him in this state made Gormund wonder how he would look after just one year of leading their people as the Macht, the position still held, if only in little more than title, by his grandfather.
“I’m glad to see you both home safely,” Gormush opened at the conclusion of their meal. Gormund had been both glad for and impatient in the silence they had shared over dinner, since it allowed him to satisfy the hunger always brought on by any excursion of length, but deprived his curiosity and concern of satisfaction. “I trust your journey went well.”
“It did, Father.”
“No doubt you have heard some of the reason I have called you back prematurely?”
“I have heard of a retaliatory raid on the Spur, yes. Is there some essential element of planning you need my assistance in? I am home only three days early, after all. Surely-”
His father silenced him with a raised hand. “That is not all, Gormund.”
Gormund sat back in his chair again, having become animated in his build up to demanding to know why his sacred pursuits had been curtailed. “Very well.”
“The raid is indeed part of why I called you back early, but the reason for the timing of the raid is what matters.” Gormush now leaned forward and sighed before continuing. “The Macht has declared the rite of succession to take place in one month’s time.”
Melrainne rose to embrace Gormush. “Congratulations, Father! May your reign be blessed!”
“My dear Melrainne, thank you. If only your mother were here, but your touch and blessing are to me messages from her, as well as precious simply for being from your heart. While the expedition is underway I need you to prepare the ceremony and festival that will follow.”
Gormund, however, stiffened with concern at the pronouncement. “Indeed, Father, congratulations. Spirit guide you...I’m sorry, but...is the Macht alright?”
“Yes, son, he’s fine, and thank you. As you know, he has been delegating more and more authority to me over the past couple years, and has told me that the time is simply right.” With raised eyebrows he qualified, “though I admit I don’t understand his reasons completely, and I feel he isn’t telling me all of his motivations.” Gormund knew he was referring to the omission of his grandfathers faith from the conversation. Gormush would have scoffed at any spiritually guided decisions by Laithe, his father. “In any case, his health is not the reason for his handing down of the Macht-hood, so rest easy about it.
“Getting back to how it relates to the raid and your early return, I need you here now because you will set out in three days time for the Gomme Hills, where you will liaise with their contingent concerning the location of the raid and their role in it. I need you to prepare the men, get to the Gomme Hills, complete the rescue and be back in time for the ceremony. In policy matters, this was the greatest point of disagreement between the Macht and I, and the success of this mission will be the initiation of it’s reform. It will also be a tribute to him and the might of our people achieved under his reign.” He reached to place a hand on Gormund’s shoulder, an eager expression lighting up his face. “We’re finally going, son. We’re finally going to stand up the Spur. How long have we argued for this against the old man? Those filthy, weak little knaves won’t dare pester us once we’ve put them back on their heels in their own stinking dens! Ha!” His exclamation was punctuated by a hearty slap on Gormund’s shoulder and a grand gesture to match his victorious look. Gormund tried to, but didn’t quite match his enthusiasm. “Does this not please you, Gormund?”
Gormund looked uneasily between his father and sister, torn between genuine pleasure at the development and that nagging concern he had concerning his vision. What if this raid was to be the very thing that brought on whatever calamity it portended? Could it be that a counter-attack of any magnitude could be made by the spur? The old histories of the Gomme featured such a tale of giants, orcs and worse falling upon the forest in massive numbers, laying nearly all of it to ruin in a matter of days. Could such a thing happen now when his people, surely of much greater stature and prowess than the diminutive Gomme, held the Foulde? What’s more at the moment, how does he broach the subject of his vision with his disbelieving father? He desperately wished for the council of his grandfather, but would have to attempt an explanation without it.
“It does, Father, truly. We have fought for this very thing for a long time, as you said. For all my love of the Macht, this was the one thing I never understood...So yes, I am pleased at the progress toward better securing our home, and would normally eagerly agree with your prediction of the outcome, but I...”
Gormush was perplexed and a little amused at his sons difficulty explaining himself. “What’s this? My ever-eager and equable son sits before me stammering like a boy caught with stolen sweets? What troubles you, Gormund? It must be serious to cause you such distress.”
Seeing Gormund’s uncertainty, and knowing that somehow his unease since finding him in the forest was related to whatever was happening when she had, Melrainne offered her own assessment of his state. “Father, Gormund, if I may...” Gormush nodded, and Gormund lowered his gaze and sighed, but also gestured his consent.
“When I found Gormund in the forest, he appeared entranced. I had seen him meditate before, but this time he became more distressed than I have ever seen him. He even cried out-” Wondering if this was saying too much of her proud brothers condition in the forest, she gave him an apologetic look. Hut appeared unoffended, though more distraught by the memory. “I could tell he has been disturbed about it ever since, often deeply so.”
Gormush’s disposition instantly changed at the idea of Gormund being so affected by what he saw as utter foolishness. “Is this hesitation in you due to some...Spirit nonsense?”
Gormund bristled at the assessment of his faith, as he always did under his fathers harsh treatment of it. “It is not nonsense, Father. I had a vision that truly terrified me-”
“You had a dream!” Gormush bellowed, even rising to his feet in anger. “That’s all! A nation cannot be ruled by such fancies, Gormund, and I will not be swayed by them. We have reality to reckon with, Son, and I suggest you base your decisions on it, not some nightmare you had while sleeping on your knees in the forest!” He took a deep breath to calm himself. Still standing, he went on. “You set out in three days. I know you can handle the details. Come to the Council if you need anything, as usual.” Finally softening, he tried to console his son. “Gormund, you bring me great pride in so many ways. You are unmatched in leadership and strategy. You are one of the greatest fighters of the Foulde, and will be a great man of your time. But I will never understand this occupation with the Spirit you cling to. In this, you are too much like your grandfather. For all my love of both of you, I’m afraid this will always be between us.” Turning to the door to his room, Gormush paused as he opened it. “Go, discuss your vision with him.” With that, he disappeared into his room and closed the door.
***
Gormund excused himself before Melrainne could react to the altercation between her father and brother. It wasn’t the first she’d witnessed, but Gormush seemed particularly upset at Gormund tonight. The two had always loved and deeply respected one another, and she was concerned for them. Gormund’s religion seemed to be the cause for their fathers splenetic response, but even that had never caused such a reaction with him before. Was this harshness in their father brought on by the obvious stress that his increased leadership was causing? Or was it because this mission was so important to him that it was not subject to questioning by any, even his beloved son? Clearly he had expected Gormund’s support. She had to admit herself that her brothers wary response had surprised her, even considering his odd behavior since she had met him in the forest.
She had wondered what was happening to him that day, and had her suspicions, but today he confirmed them. He openly admitted to having a vision. It was true Melrainne didn’t think much of her brother’s faith but she had her own feelings concerning the forest it endeared to him, and her own reasons for them. If what he had said was true, if this vision truly did strike terror into him, then it must concern the forest. If that was so, then she must know what this vision foretold. Besides, she was genuinely concerned for Gormund and her father, but the latter had just sequestered himself from any comfort or counsel she could offer.
Her mind thus made up for her, she left the prince’s chambers for the king’s. Melrainne knew Gormund would waste no time in following his father’s dismissive admonition. She also remembered Gormund had mentioned needing to speak to the Macht about what she now knew to be his vision, and so was certain to find him in their grandfather’s chambers. Yet she couldn’t help hesitating as she went up the stairs to them. Louthe had a way of seeing things that made her most uncomfortable. There were things she must ensure no-one ever knew, but under his gentle, loving and soul-piercing gaze she knew nothing was hidden from him. She was certain he knew....everything. His inaction in the face of such knowledge baffled her and caused her to doubt it, but she couldn’t deny how her soul ached with shame under his tender and compassionate stare. He willed her continually to unload her burden with those wizened eyes. He had to know. But he couldn’t know, for all their sakes, so she kept her secrets from him as she had from everyone else.
Nearing the top of the stairs, she was startled by the sight of the guard posted there beside her grandfather’s door. Of course he showed no reaction to her arrival or her small jump, but she felt foolish for letting her paranoid thoughts get the best of her to such a degree. Even though the eyes beneath his heavy helm never wavered from their stare, she couldn’t help but think he was judging her for a silly girl-princess, scared of the dark in this old, dank castle. Maybe it was better to be thought of that way in the end.
Her grandfather’s chambers were furnished much like his son’s, all thick wood and rich greens. The difference was in the added opulence that came with the crown. The tea set on the table was silver, decked with rubies. The candlesticks likewise with emeralds. All the furniture’s cushions were adorned with silver embroidered ravens. The crown itself rested on it’s pillow atop a pedestal opposite the fireplace. It glimmered and sparkled in the dancing light of the fire, the raven perched atop a single huge emerald at the fore reflected the orange hues of the flames.
Melrainne was surprised to find the room empty, and a little relieved that she didn’t have to withstand Louthe’s withering stare. As she decided weather to wait or leave, she heard a rustle of paper coming from his private study, the door to which was open in the corner adjacent to the his room.
“Gormund?” She called quietly as she crossed the room.
“I’m here,” came his reply from the dimly lit chamber.
The tiny room was lined with bookshelves stocked to the brim with hundreds of books and scrolls of various ages and conditions except where Gormund sat at a small desk, lit only by a small lamp. He was bent over a scroll which was unrolled to a depiction of a group of serene gomme standing before an oncoming horde of terrible monsters. in the midst of the gomme was some kind of bubble, from which a great dragon was emerging.
“Do you know this story, Mel?”
Melrainne grinned at the memory of her grandfather reading it to her as a child. “Of course. It’s the gomme’s great redemption of the Foulde. Grandfather’s favorite story.”
“Yes,” he whispered, not seeming to be cheered by the same evocations as his sister. “It tells of thousands of the most terrible creatures from the Spur devastating the land and the gomme, until only these few were left.” He touched the picture and closed his eyes for a moment before turning to his sister. “Do you think such a thing could happen again?”
Melrainne’s brow furrowed with concern at the look on her brother’s desperate face. Sitting on the edge of the desk, she reached a comforting hand to it, brushing his hair back. “I don’t know. I don’t think any creatures from the Spur would have it as easy as they did then. The gomme were ignorant to the ways of war. You can hardly say that about us.”
He nodded in consent and sighed, his features softening a bit. “True...”
“Gormund...” Melrainne slid off the desk and onto the other chair in front of it, taking Gormund’s hand and looking into his eyes with all the tenderness he loved so much to see in her. “What did you see?”
He tensed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Not yet.” He returned her gaze with resolution. “Not until I’ve spoken to grandfather.”
“You didn’t see him?”
“No. He was already in bed when I got here.”
“Hmm. Gormund, this vision of yours seems to be causing you so much trouble...what can I do?”
He looks gratefully at her, smiling for the first time that evening, however slightly. “You’re doing it, Mel. You know how just being with you puts me at ease.” He squeezed her hand in grateful affection, but the tension quickly returned. “It’s more this mission in combination with my vision that troubles me.” He turned back to the illustration on the scroll. “What if in going into the Spur we trigger something worse than a raid on the gomme? Who knows what we’ll find there? What we could rouse against us? We’ve never ventured there...the goblins may be the least of our concerns once we do.”
“You weren’t so cautious when you and Rashkin pressed the case on grandfather to go there.”
He grimaced and nodded. “I know. Now, though...” He huffed in frustration, running his own fingers through his hair. “I need to speak to Louthe.”
“Well, it looks like you’ll have to wait ‘till tomorrow for that.” Melrainne rose from her seat, pulling Gormund up by the hand. “Come. Looking through these old scrolls isn’t going to relieve your worries. Our patriarchs are asleep, you need your rest, and I have a husband to get home to.”
***
All was quiet in the woods atop Ravenhölm cliff, the great edifice that housed the Foulden Council Hall. The morning mists clung to the undergrowth, yet to be dispersed by the sun’s warmth. The trees were unusually still this morning, resting in the absence of the wind that normally agitated them continually at such heights. Louthe stood at the precipice overlooking his city as it slowly came to life for a new day, the buildings tiny from here and obscured by that same fog, thicker down there, being trapped by the cliff. His heavy cloak warded off the morning’s chill, and he leaned on his staff as he considered the events about to transpire on him, his progeny and people.
Such peace, he thought in silent prayer, referring to the stillness all around him as well as in his heart, considering what he knew. How can you grant such peace when so much is to go awry, amidst such obscurity?
Your land will know greater peace in the end, came the silent response. He knew it only in his heart, something even Gormund had yet to understand. And so will you, before the troubles come.
“Before...Yes,” he whispered, just before a familiar and beloved voice sounded gently from behind him.
“Grandfather?”
Without turning, the Macht greeted his grandson. “Welcome home, son.”
Gormund approached and stood beside Louthe. “Thank you.”
“I know you are troubled, Gormund. You are disappointed at being called home early.”
“I was at first, thinking Father had simply disregarded the importance of my sojourn.”
“Yes. My son is as respectful of your faith as he was receptive of mine. Still, the reason is justifiable for him to recall you, yes?”
“Yes.”
“In the matter of our faith and your father, let me advise you to do as I have and keep it to yourself. As often as the Spirit has guided my decisions, I have kept such direction to myself. Even in the case of this raid, and the...ceremony to follow.” His conclusion inflected more than he had intended, but Gormund was too distracted by all that was still weighing on his mind and heart to notice.
“You directed the rescue?” Gormund asked in surprise.
“Well...I’m allowing it, aren’t I?” Louthe responded with a smirk.
Gormund narrowed his look at his grandfather’s mischievous response. “Very well, then. I though you had to keep your motives secret from my father, not from me.”
“Yes, but to share it all with you would destroy the mystique I’ve worked so hard to build up all these years.”
Gormund nodded with a smirk of his own. “I was concerned for you when Father first mentioned the succession.”
Louthe chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure. Let me assure you though, there’s no frailty in these old bones.” He looked distantly out over the city below. “But what the Spirit directs, the servant must obey.”
Gormund nodded with understanding, though he had yet to receive such direct instructions from the Spirit. He had received something else. “It is about such matters I would like to speak...I have had a vision, and what it portends is causing me great concern for the rescue.”
Louthe listened patiently and passively as his grandson described what he heard and saw, nodding gravely at the disturbing parts of both, and at Gormund’s concerns about the possible consequences of the mission.
“I fear for the Foulde, Grandfather. Even for the Spirit itself. What am I to do?”
Louthe finally turned to the young prince and embraced him. “I’m proud of you, my son in the Spirit. To have had a vision is a significant sign of your strong faith. I am greatly encouraged...” He cut himself off and released Gormund, offering him his hand. “Walk with me.”
Gormund crooked his elbow for the Macht to place his hand in and let him lead their way into the now dissipating mist, away from the cliff.
“I’m afraid I can only caution you against taking any action because of this vision. Compulsion is one thing, because of which I am allowing the raid and holding the ceremony. Visions however, as I have found, are for preparation. Difficult and troubling as it may be, meditate upon your vision. Seek understanding of it. Be careful of basing decisions on it, but know...” He stopped to look Gormund in the eye with more intensity than he had ever seen, “know that whatever it reveals, you are to be a part of.”
Gormund nodded stiffly, unsure and afraid of what he had just heard. They continued walking in silence for some time, Louthe allowing what he had said time to sink in. Eventually, Gormund indicated it had a bit by relaxing enough to communicate it. The mist had finally cleared away, and the morning sun shone brightly through the trunks of the trees from the horizon over Ravenhölm. In it’s light, Louthe’s white hair glowed and the lines of his aged face stood out like the grooves in the rough bark on the trees around them.
“Speaking of being a part of things, you have an expedition to plan. You really should be about it.” He released Gormund and embraced him once more. “As for me, I have one more sojourn of my own to take before the ceremony.”
Gormund startled out of his reverie. “I thought you said there was no frailty in your old bones.”
Louthe’s eyes again narrowed mischievously. “There isn’t. But I too have had a vision.”
