CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CHALLENGES
Suffer not the witch to live, nor any abomination abide. The power of the Holy knows His own, and neither purge of fire nor water will scathe the righteous.
-The Northstar Bible, Canto 3:35
Thea sank to the water, past duckweed and lake grass, to the soft and pebble-strewn bed at the bottom of Lake Charnel. It was deep, but not too deep. Erik Wyrlock's wooden raft was visible perhaps twenty feet above her head. Twenty feet wasn't so far, but it was a lot farther from air than she wanted to be. The Charnel waters were going to do what they'd failed to do thirty-five years before - Thea was going to drown.
Matthias touched bottom a second or two after her, only vaguely visible in the murky depth, silt lake grass, and a few small fish flowing between them. Already, Thea could feel the need for air building in her chest, a pressure slowly building around her collarbone and at her temples. She pulled at the shackles and found them quite firmly in place. Matthias shot her an alarmed look, little bubbles trailing up from the tips of his hot-coal dreadlocks. More were flowing up from his hands as he tried to melt his own shackles away. The iron glowed ruddy, but it didn't melt - the waters of the lake cooled it too quickly. Thea shuffled over to him, kicking up clouds of silt and nearly exhausting what little air remained in her. Her hair was everywhere, a great dark halo that waved around her like a living mantle. Thea's vision wavered, the darkness beginning to close in. She shared one last, anguished look with Matthias before she screamed, bellowing out bubbles and then taking in a great gulp of water in its place...
And she breathed it in, and it was cold and smelled of leaves and rotting vegetation - and she was breathing it. She looked over to Matthias, who had just gone unconscious, unable to breathe the water and destined to die in mere moments. She embraced him, and might have been crying - it was hard to tell underwater. Then a trio of Jenny O' Fens swam out of the gloom from deeper in the lake, circling around them, running their strange, pale fingers along the fabric and metal of Thea's armor. She gestured toward Matthias, and they seemed to understand. Each of the fae women kissed him on the lips, their lips thin and broad and pale, their tiny shimmering scales billowing about them like the white lace of wedding dresses. And each kiss seemed to rouse Matthias a bit. Then the jennies looked to Thea expectantly. She leaned over, pulling against her shackles, and kissed him on the lips.
Matthias's eyes shot open and he looked about with wild alarm. He looked to the jennies circling them and then to Thea, mouthing: how?
Thea gestured about her head in the shape of a tiara. The Jenny O' Fens had crowned her in the wetlands. Rank hath its privileges, it would seem. Thea could breathe the water, and so could Matthias - at least for the moment. Thea intuited that this wasn't a permanent blessing for him, so they'd best get going.
Removing their shackles was an exercise in futility – they'd be difficult enough to get off, let alone in the dim, mucky visibility of the lake bed. The jennies sensed the problem and tried to chew at them with their needle-sharp teeth, earning nothing for their efforts but a few chipped fangs. So Thea and Matthias shuffled toward shore, parting the weeds, their weighted feet keeping them from slipping over the algae. The hardest part was the steep and slippery slope near the shore, where the lake went from four yards deep to one yard over the course of the same distance. There were probably easier ascents, but they were nowhere nearby, so Matthias helped push Thea up, and then she steadied herself against a boulder while he pulled himself up using her iron shackles. They slogged to the shore after perhaps five minutes down, just as the crowd was dispersing.
"Thea wasn't a witch..." Rorik muttered to the sorcerer. "Neither of them was... what have we done?"
"They were still mired in wickedness, my lord," Erik Wyrlock said, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I know you were fond on the girl, but beauty can mask deep corruption in the soul. In the end, the gods will see to it that justice is done."
"G..." Thea said. She bent over and coughed out lungfuls of murky, yellowish water, gulping in air, and then belching loudly. She spat out a clump of algae and cleared her throat. "Good. I take it, then, that you're satisfied with the trial, Master Wyrlock?"
"Witchcraft!" Erik shouted, casting an accusatory finger toward them. Matthias was on his hands and knees, still coughing up water.
Thea shuffled toward them, the weighted iron ball of her shackles dragging a track through the mud and clinking off of the shore's smooth stones. "It's witchcraft if I don't sink. It's witchcraft if I do sink. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted me dead. Correct me if I'm not mistaken, but since I sank and stayed sunk, that makes me not-a-witch, and since I wasn't claimed by the waters, that means Thielsklas failed to pass judgment over me. Either justice has been met or your gods are weak and need men to see to their justice."
"The gods are not weak!" the sorcerer snapped, gesturing for the Runed Men to take them.
"Good, then we agree," Thea said. "I wonder if Lord Rorik will permit me a private audience now."
Rorik nodded. "Wyrlock, please consult with whatever forces will hear you to clarify the meaning of this. In the meanwhile, I'll speak with Thea alone."
The sorcerer frowned. "Lord Rorik, I..."
"Do as I command. The gods have had their say in the matter, and now it's time for mortals."
+++++
Rorik wasn't determined to kill Thea, but that could change at any moment - he still wasn't happy. For a moment, he considered keeping their weighted shackles on out of spite but decided that was too petty when there were matters of actual import to consider. The two of them went into his little cabin, with Matthias protesting a bit before agreeing to wait outside with the Runed Men.
"I'm not a guard," he said.
"You're not," Thea agreed, stretching up to kiss his cheek. "You're a scion and these are Runed Men... if Rorik tries anything, I'll need you to protect me... and if the Soenmen look like they're going to march, you need to rush back to Rouentz and get Maddie and Svilga and as many people as you can to safety. But Rorik still likes me, and without you sitting next to me, he may forget that he isn't to be sweet on me."
It was hard to argue with that logic, and so he didn't bother to. Thea went in with Rorik and helped herself to the wicker seat before he offered one. She wrung the water from her dripping hair and onto the floorboards. Her armor was soaked through but, being vaguely magical, it was drying out much more quickly than might be expected... it wouldn't do to let Astrilla’s scion stew in lake water for hours and hours. Rorik poured himself a cup of mead and clunked another cup onto the table, should Thea want to help herself. He peered over his cup, regarding Thea with smoky gray eyes.
"If you aren't a witch, then what in Shivlheim are you?" He said. "I saw you coughing up water, woman. I know you drowned, and yet you sit before me, as beautiful as ever. Help me to understand. Give me one reason not to march on your town and destroy it to avenge Igna Jarl and my father or to spite the wickedness you’ve admitted to."
"You’re not a child, so don’t pretend to have the understanding of one: I’m not wicked, Rorik. Igna died when he tried to rape me and Rurik was stabbed by two scared girls when he sacrificed their father," Thea said. She met his gaze, and neither of them looked away.
Rorik shrugged. "These things happen in war..."
Thea snorted. "They do. And comeuppance happens, as well - you may not like it, but don't pretend that neither of those actions was justified. Do not apply one standard to yourself and another to us. Your father was stabbed, and he may not live." Thea copied his shrug. "These things happen in war."
"You mock me."
Thea nodded. "Because you're too bright not to see through this sophistry, and too ambitious not to grasp an opportunity greater than petty vengeance upon a poor farming town."
"Blood must be paid..."
"Blood has been paid," Thea said. "Now let’s let the embers of vengeance die. None but us and Erik Wyrlock know that Bestel Myrdon didn't kill Igna and wasn't behind the desecration of Purgistok, and I suggest that it stays that way. Because the man is evil and unspeakably powerful. Unstoppable against the sort of might you wield – no army of men can face him in open battle and survive. Once his attention to the north is slaked, where do you think he'll turn to next? The threat to the south would be my guess – you Soenmen – and whether he'll conquer your fortresses and villages or simply drive you back to the sea and raze every trace of your presence to the ground, I cannot guess. Neither bodes well for you. So long as he lives, you can consider yourself the king of nothing but misery and ashes."
"No man is that powerful..."
"He's no mere man any more than you are, with your tattoos..."
"I'm scarcely tattooed... hardly a Runed Man. The process is taxing and takes a decade to complete. But I'm strong enough."
Thea took him in - as tall as Matthias and lankier, but strong enough for a young man. Strong enough that nobody would take him lightly. What body markings Thea could see were sparse and recent.
"Imagine the power imbued upon a Runed Man, paid in blood and bestowed by your god. Imagine it multiplied a hundred times over, and you may grasp the power we deal with. A power not borne of savagery and battle, but of dark magics and the ability to warp men's minds. And, should you not believe me, I'll provide a demonstration that none will be able to deny."
Rorik finished his cup. "What demonstration?"
"Name me Jarl over Rouentz and its surroundings and I'll show you."
Rorik laughed. "You? A woman? Jarl? Clearly, you don't understand our ways – I'm surprised anybody ever mistook you for a Soenwoman. A jarldom isn't simply given. It must be defended against challenges."
"Indeed," Thea said. "And who wouldn't challenge a pretty woman jarl? If you doubt me, then you have nothing to lose. Maybe the challenger will kill me and remove my burr from your boot. Maybe he'll spare me, offer me bloodied and bruised to you, and you can take me as a pleasure-thrall. And maybe everything I've told you is true... in which case, you'd be a fool to deny me. What do you say?"
Rorik said yes – he'd already seen that Thea and Matthias had strange powers beyond what could be easily explained. He'd already seen that she'd speak the plain truth, even if it meant her own trial and possible death. It was hardly a risk to offer her one more noose to hang herself on. If he named Thea jarl over a territory he didn't yet possess and with authority that rightly belonged to his father, there would be grumbling, and there would be challenges. And whether Erik Wyrlock was amenable to Thea's plan hardly mattered - they could always claim he misunderstood what had transpired, that he was rheumy-eyed from his vapors and his visions, as sorcerers sometimes were. Rorik’s word would stand above his. There were no other witnesses to support Thea's admissions of guilt, and a very public trial suggesting she wasn't guilty.
+++++
Shortly after their discussion, Thea and Rorik emerged from the cabin. Matthias was visibly relieved for all of about thirty seconds, before Rorik told his yeoman to blow the assembly horn, and all of the men began to gather around them. There were quite a few men - twelve or thirteen hundred by Thea's estimate - so it took a few minutes, and many of the men were barely within earshot. Rorik climbed atop his horse to give himself some height and shouted to the assembled men:
"Having been found innocent of all charges, the Battle-Maiden, Thea Ever-Blessed, has proven herself blameless and unsullied. She has declared her loyalty to me, and therefore to my father-koenig, and I have named her Jarl of Rountzhelm in recognition of her conquest of the city. Let any who would challenge her claim or legitimacy for this post come forward."
Erik Wyrlock was none too amused by this pronouncement. He sputtered and pushed his way through the crowd, standing before Rorik and craning his neck way up to meet his eyes. "My lord, this woman has you under her spell! Do you forget what she's admitted to?"
"You propose to challenge her, then?"
Erik looked to Thea - armored and armed, her crystal-blue eyes regarding him without a hint of fear. "Don't be preposterous, she..."
"She has been found innocent in the eyes of the gods, and those eyes are good enough for me. Thea assures me that she will bear no ill will to challengers - though she will kill whoever does. Is that right, milady?"
"It is, my lord," Thea said, making eye contact with the sorcerer. "After an unexpected swim, I'm in poor spirits and in no mood for mercy. But honor must be satisfied. Let any man challenge me - any woman, too, though I see that you have only a few women thralls among your number and no shield-maidens. Challenge me, and your descendants, if you have them, might proudly proclaim that you were slain by none other than Jarl Thea Ever-Blessed, the Battle-Maiden of Rouentz."
Thea tried to look imperious and confident. Her face leant itself to imperiousness, so that wasn't too hard to pull off. Even so, her heart fluttered like a partridge in a trap - she'd grown pretty decent at fighting, but the dozen or so Runed Men in attendance had at least six or seven stone on her and lots of strength and battle experience. She'd killed Runed Men before, but only under the sway of Astrilla's grace... whether she could do so without her glowing, annihilating power was a huge gamble. Her pronouncement earned some laughter and some grumbling, some muttered conversation and lots of pointing. Eventually, one of the Runed Men pushed through the crowd, ambling up to Erik Wyrlock, absolutely towering over the short sorcerer.
"I, Varga Chainbreaker, challenge. Few men can best me, and no women. If you survive, my lord may keep you as a gift... if not, I will weep the destruction of such beauty... but not for long. Renounce your title, and we need not fight."
Thea shrugged. "I'll not renounce anything. But I am protected by the gods. Any power you turn against me will become mine and your life will be forfeit. All understand that this is the price of a challenge set against a sorceress. The gods and I welcome your challenge, Varga Chainbreaker."
Rorik dismounted his horse and walked out between them, gesturing his men back so the two would have room to fight. "This challenge is well-made," he stated. "I declare no restrictions - do whatever you think best. Do you have any objections, Master Wyrlock?"
Erik Wyrlock chewed at his beard. He looked to Varga, who reassured him with a nod - if the big man fell to Thea, however improbably, he could always find another few to challenge. "I approve this challenge," he said. “No restrictions.”
Rorik nodded and stepped back. His whole army looked on, watching with bated breath. Varga was a large man, as tall as Rorik and half again as heavy, much of it muscle. He was also heavily runed, his chest bared, his black beard forked, his dark eyes cold and calculating. He was nicked with numerous small scars, but none had ever come close to killing him. He unsheathed his sword and Thea barely stifled a gasp - the Soenmen rarely wielded swords, but when they did, they didn't fool around. It was a massive bastard sword. A sword he easily wielded with one hand before even activating his tattoos. Thea was deceptively strong, but that only meant she could swing an axe meant for a run-of-the-mill soldier without being at a disadvantage. Against a runed man with such a weapon, she was at an insurmountable disadvantage. Or so it must have seemed.
Varga took a few playful slashes at her, clearly not taking Thea seriously. Thea backed up and, on the third slash, diagonal and down, she hooked the sword with her axe and yanked. Varga was surprised, and he pulled back, drawing Thea toward him. She kicked at his leg, barely missing his knee and gashing him along the shin with her greaves. Varga grunted and snagged her by the shirt, tossing Thea to the ground before she could disengage with her axe. The axe fell to the ground and she scrambled to retrieve it, diving to avoid a sword strike and then grasping the haft just as Varga yanked it away. He grinned, holding his sword in his right hand and her axe in his left.
"Your weapon has good balance, girl. I think I'll keep it."
While he was still gloating, Thea kicked him between the legs and then danced out of the way. The kick had landed pretty well, and she'd hoped it might disable the big man, but it only seemed to make him madder. With only the slightest hint of a limp, he stormed toward her, thrusting with his sword, slashing with the axe right after, and then body-checking her as she dodged, sending Thea stumbling away. She maintained her balance, bumping into a wall of men, who jeered and pushed her back toward Varga. He'd sheathed his sword, and then caught Thea by the throat with his free hand, lifting her right off the ground. She kicked against him, hitting his thighs and his belly, but doing absolutely no damage. She pounded at his fist and his forearm, struggling to breathe.
"All that dirty fighting, and you still can't beat a Runed Man with no runes lit," he chuckled. "And still you won't yield? Why don't I show you what the runes of Soenim can do?"
Varga's tattooed runes pulsed to life and Thea felt the strength of his grip increase several-fold. With that strength, he could toss her like a doll or simply crush her throat - perhaps that's what he intended to do. And Thea didn't intend to find out. The moment those runes activated, she felt the terrible power of distant Soenim and, her memory being what it was, she remembered exactly how Astrilla had gone about co-opting that power. Varga's tattoos pulsed brighter, far brighter, and started to slide from his body.
Thea felt the grip around her throat wavering. She felt the pulsing of power flooding into her, flooding into her womb, swirling in that crucible of life, and then infusing every fiber of her body. She saw the million million stars of Astrilla and understood some fraction of that power in the pattern they created. At some point, Varga had collapsed, cold and dead, the tattoos leached from his body - but Thea remained in her spot, floating half a yard off the ground. She let herself touch down and drew the energy into herself, the glow of Astrilla's power waning to a faint aura and an above-average level of glittering in her hair. She still felt it there, roiling and stewing in shapes she couldn't quite comprehend, writhing like a living being.
"Varga fought well," she said. "Let his challenge be remembered. Who else seeks to challenge Ast... Thea Ever-Blessed?"
Every one of Rorik's men was speechless. Many, including Erik Wyrlock, stood with mouths agape, not quite able to comprehend what they'd just seen. Even Matthias, who'd seen her go full-on Astrilla the one time, was shocked. And, notably, nobody was foolish enough to step forward and challenge her - and that was wise, for no amount of runecraft or fighting skill could have saved them from the power swirling within her at that moment.
"Hail Thea Ever-Blessed, Jarl of Rountzhelm!" Matthias shouted, stepping up beside her.
"Hail Thea Ever-Blessed!" A few men shouted back.
"Hail Thea Jarl!" Rorik shouted.
"Hail Thea Jarl! Hail Thea Jarl!" the men roared.
Rorik mounted his horse again and lifted his axe. "I command a burial celebration for Varga Chainbreaker, who fought honorably," he said. Thea had a serious disagreement with that assessment, but now wasn't the time to broach it. "Moreover, I declare Rountzhelm open to trade and settlement - one hundred freeholders to supplement those that have been abandoned and those on the frontier yet to be built, and five yeomen to supplement those lieutenants Thea Jarl trusts already! I..."
There was a murmur from the gathered men. It took a moment for Thea to see what could be so important to disturb Rorik's edict: a rider from the south with an urgent message. They all watched in silence as they paced their way through the parting crowd, a youngish, red-bearded man on a dappled stallion. Horse and rider alike were mud-spattered from galloping through the wetlands. The man recognized Rorik, paced over, and whispered to him, though Thea and the five or ten nearest men had no trouble hearing the message:
"Terrible news, cousin," the man said. "Your father-koenig has died, and Ulfar Allshield has declared himself koenig."
+++++
It was expected that Rorik would eventually become koenig in some years' time, after he'd received all of his runes and when his father had grown old. Either the old man would relinquish the crown and retire to the countryside or Rorik would challenge him, should he cling to power longer than he ought to. In the Soenmen way, either option happened about a third of the time, with upstarts challenging the existing ruler the remaining third. While the usurper’s claim wasn’t unusual, the timing was unfortunate...
Having just been named jarl, Thea had no hope of being recognized by Ulfar. As a woman, a foreign-born (read: local), and now an ally or Rorik, all of these things counted against her, and even one of them would have prevented a new and unsteady Koenig from recognizing her. Rorik had hoped that a decisive victory against Bestel Myrdon might build his own reputation and earn him favor, but his father had died before that could happen, and Ulfar now had snapped at Rorik’s weak claim.
"He comes from the old country," Rorik said. "Exiled for killing his brother in an honorless brawl, he's developed a following among those who desire a return to the old ways. My father named him jarl of Black Shoal to quiet him… and to keep him as far away as possible."
"He doesn't sound like a pleasant man," Thea said.
"He honors the gods, at least," Erik Wyrlock replied. "Which is more than can be said for present company."
"Which gods?" Matthias said. "It might be we simply have different gods in mind."
"The proper gods, not these fae demons worshiped by the native folk. Gods with real power."
Thea regarded the small man, wondering what he could have possibly meant. She'd called upon the power of Astrilla and stripped the power right out of one of the most powerful and Soenim-blessed warriors among the Soenmen. Wyrlock had a front-row spot to watch things unfold. "I hope to see their power someday," she said eventually.
After Erik Wyrlock left to cast runes for insight into their next move, Thea and Matthias stayed behind to consult with Rorik. He'd finished his first mug of mead, had just poured his second, and looked to be well on his way to a drunken night of self-pity. Thea pried the mug from his hand and helped herself to a sip, meeting his eyes, a bit surprised by her impertinence. The mead was dry, with just a touch of honeyed sweetness and the tart aroma of country wine.
"If you are not koenig, I need not respect you. Are you koenig, Rorik, son of Rurik Ogre-Fisted?"
"I want to be," he said and, realizing how petulant that sounded, squared his jaw and stated: "I am koenig. I'll challenge Ulfar."
"Ulfar, who has all his runes and an army much larger than yours?"
"That Ulfar," Rorik agreed. His gray eyes took her in, took in Thea's beauty and the slight shimmering in the air about her, the barely-constrained power she'd absorbed from Varga Chainbreaker. "My situation isn’t enviable… but I sense you have a plan," he stated.
"You've not yet come into your power - aren't yet a fully-runed thrall to Soenim. There are other gods you might yet ally yourself with. More forgiving gods – and some are more powerful in this land. Tell me, Rorik, do the Soenmen have a god of thunder?"
"We do."
Thea nodded. Matthias, intuiting her plan, put his hand on her wrist and looked at her, his golden eyes pleading. "This is a bad plan, Thea," he said. "This man is an enemy."
"If we make him king, this man will be our strongest ally against Bestel Myrdon, the man who killed your father and your brother, who took your home. We defended ourselves against one of his lieutenants and a mid-sized detachment of his army. We'll not defend ourselves against his full might without a lot of help," Thea said. She unclasped Lysander Quill's necklace from around her neck and pulled the black jewel from beneath her armor, where it had found purchase between her breasts. "This necklace belongs to the god of thunder, and with it comes great power. I'll give it to you and the power it contains will be enough to defeat this Ulfar Allshield many times over, but you'll have to renounce your fealty to Soenim. You'll need to swear allegiance to Astrilla."
Rorik held the black gem in his hand, awe playing across his young face as he percieved the flickering light deep within it. "Who's Astrilla?" he asked.
"Me," Thea said. "Or at least I'm her conduit in this world. Unlike Soenim, she doesn't live in a mountain. She exists beyond our world and her essence pervades all these lands, and she is weak after having lain dormant for a thousand years... but her power is growing, and it will grow more still if you pledge yourself - unlike Soenim, Astrilla takes only what is freely offered, and she always offers recompense."
"I... I cannot forsake Soenim," Rorik said eventually. "I've prayed to him since I was a little boy... I've had his rune inked into my flesh..."
"Astrilla doesn't care. Soenim won't make you king, but she will. So I'll make this offer one more time, Rorik Koenig - and if you refuse me, then Matthias and I are riding to Rouentz to prepare the place to be besieged and you can ride to challenge Ulfar and become a footnote in your father's legacy. I am your only conduit to victory."
Rorik stood an took a swig of mead right out of the bottle. "How? How can I possibly rebuke Soenim? Having seen his power, having felt it, how can you?" He looked to Thea, his eyes pleading for an answer, but she said nothing. She'd given him her final ultimatum, and he'd have to take it or reject her. Rorik's shoulders sagged. "Fine... I'll do it. Fine. What do I have to do?"
"Activate your runes and open your heart to me."
Rorik did so, stripping his leather jerkin and tight-woven shirt from his body and tossing them to the floor. He only had four or five runes on his flesh, with a large jagged Rune of Soenim prominently over his chest in blue-green ink. Runed Men typically had twenty or so, but Rorik was still seven or eight years from completing his collection. The runes pulsed to life, ghostly blue in the dark of the room.
Thea felt their energy, felt the Rune of Soenim, bilious like a corruption. She reached out and pulled at the patterns with her power - she pulled gently, not wanting to suck the life right out of Rorik. And as she pulled, she also gave. She gave from the reserve of energy she'd stored, transforming Soenim's corruptive power and pushing it back into Rorik. The tattoos slipped off his body and, still glowing, they found themselves consumed by Thea, their energy pooling deep in her womb. And, at the same time, new patterns slid back over his body, shapes of all colors, faintly sparkling with the light of a thousand stars. And upon his chest, the final tattoo slid into place: the wending, many-colored starry crown of Astrilla, a symbol unspeakably older than any clan that had spilt blood and uttered the name, 'Soenim'.
Rorik groaned and collapsed, saved from a nasty tumble only by Matthias's quick reflexes. He caught the young man and set him in the wicker chair. He tapped Rorik against the cheek to rouse him.
"I thought you'd killed him for a moment... I kind of hoped you had..."
Thea rolled her eyes. "Yes, fine, you still think it's a mistake. Have you got a better idea?"
Matthias admitted that he didn't and gestured vaguely toward Rorik before stalking from the room. That was fine - when he got like this, Thea didn't want to talk to him, either. He'd get over it within a few hours and would be contrite and, until then, talking about it would only rile him up more. She walked over to the slowly-rousing Rorik, the necklace dangling from a slim finger.
"H... how?" he asked, looking at the drastically changed symbology of his bare chest. Where he'd only had a few tattoos before, he was now marked as thoroughly as any Runed Man - only, it was in the ancient sigils predating Astrillas rather than the crude runes of the Soenmen. He tapped at the crown symbol. "What... this is Astrilla?"
"It is. And when you accept this token from me and don it, you'll be her god of thunder."
Rorik did so with only a moment's hesitation, taking the necklace, marveling at its pendant one more time, and then sliding it over his neck. "Goddess," Rorik said.
"What?"
"We Soenmen have a goddess of thunder, not a god - Valkiyr, the Shieldmaiden of Sturmborg, goddess of the storm, enemy to Thielsklas and fleet-footed messenger of the gods." He shuddered momentarily, shivering at the necklace's power. "This... this is real, isn't it... I've just paid allegiance to some foreign god for simple want of a kingdom..."
Thea laughed - she couldn't help herself. "I'm afraid it's more complicated than that. If I'm not mistaken, you've just bound Valkiyr's allegiance to Astrilla and rooted her power into yourself... I've never done this before, but I suspect that Astrilla is a bit promiscuous when it comes to pantheons. After all, Matthias is scion to Matu, god of the unquenched flame, shepherd of the dead, and lord of the deep desert. I'm pretty sure that's some long-dead god of the north-men, and not anybody ever worshiped in Astrillas. And it may be relevant to note, I regret to tell you, that Matthias was maybe one quarter north-man before I anointed him... and I was a forty year-old mute named Theo - a forty year-old man named Theo."
Rorik squinted, slowly processing that information. "You're... you're a man?"
"No," Thea said. "Was. Past tense."
"Ah."
+++++
Thea wasn't sure that she had things right. The gods could be mercurial and the logic of their powers often escaped mortal comprehension. But she was pretty sure there were two options:
First: the artifact was a conduit to a specific god of lightning, and Rorik might become the scion of whatever white-haired god Lysander Quill had been channeling. That had a certain logic to it, but it was flawed... after all, the little rites and spells that people made to the spirits of the forest, of the waters, or of the land seldom made their offerings to a specific spirit. They just sent their request in the general direction of the spirits and hoped the right sort heard them. And, if Thea wasn't mistaken, the gods were a lot like supercharged versions of those spirits, meaning...
Second: the artifact was a conduit to a general type of god or goddess, and whichever one the person had the most affinity for was the one most likely to come calling. Given that Rorik was a Soenmen and clearly had been thinking of Valkiyr, that made her the most likely option. And, so far as Thea was aware, for whatever reason, the gods and goddesses never tolerated a differently-gendered scion.
Rorik flew into a panic and, overhearing Thea trying to calm him, Matthias stormed back into Rorik's headquarters to protect Thea. Then, when Thea and Rorik explained the complication to him, he thought it was uproariously funny. So funny that he couldn't stop laughing, and his howling guffaws induced Erik Wyrlock to storm in to make sure Rorik was safe and, seeing Rorik's changed tattoos, he gasped, muttered incomprehensibly, and fainted, saved from a nasty tumble only by Thea's quick reflexes..
"It's not funny, Matthias," Thea pouted, dragging the unconscious sorcerer to the wicker chair.
Matthias took a deep breath. "Not even a little?" He visibly fought to control his laughter.
"Maybe a little," Thea allowed.
"When will we know?" Rorik said. "Whether I'm changing to be like Valkiyr?"
Thea approached him, feeling sorry for Rorik, but admitting to herself that it was amusing. She ran her fingers through Rorik's blond hair and bent down, inspecting the roots. A tiny follicle of faintly-glowing cerulean blue traced its way up his scalp, replacing a flaxen-blonde hair. The first of many to come.
"Tell me, what does Valkiyr's hair look like?"
Rorik shrugged. He didn't know. But Erik did: "It's..." he struggled to sit upright. "It's brilliant blue, the color of the lights across the Faragid Sea. It shines with the energy of the storm..."
Thea patted him on the shoulder. "Rejoice, then, Erik Wyrlock, for your lord has not renounced the gods. He's simply changed his allegiance from Soenim to Valkiyr - not so bad, right? - and he'll be expressing a very close association with her soon enough."
Rorik examined his sigil tattoos again. He took a deep breath and set his jaw. "Tell me, Master Wyrlock, what are our laws for having a woman koenig?"
As it turned out, the Soenmen had no real strictures on leadership or the division of labor. Most warriors were men, most herbalists and seamstresses were women, and sorcerers and priestesses were essentially the same thing. It wasn't uncommon for young women to go on raids - especially not if they were sweet on one of the boys in the war parties. But, young men and women being young men and women, the ladies usually got pregnant and were out of the fighting game after a few years. However, an occasional woman stayed in the fighting game, and two had even become Runed Women, though that was very rare. Only one woman had ever been Jarl, though.
"Me?" Thea asked.
"Two, then," Erik corrected. "Garilga Yronshield three centuries ago. Her husband died, and her yeomen, and many from afar, arrived at her door to woo her. And when she spurned them, several of the men named themselves jarl - and, after several of them offed one another in challenges, Garilga named herself jarl and challenged those that remained - successfully. She had been an acolyte in her younger days and had nearly become a priestess, so she was knowledgeable in the mystical ways as well as combat. There is nothing to prevent a woman from being jarl or koenig, provided she has standing to make the claim and can defend it in the same manner that a man might."
"You seem... less opposed to this than I feared you might be," Rorik said. "I hope you aren't planning to betray me? Us."
The sorcerer shrugged. "I won't apologize for putting your new friends on trial - that was justice. Think of me what you will, my lord, I let the gods guide me and I read the signs they send. When you sent me off to consult with the gods, I moped out into the wood and came across a wild turkey so tame that it let me walk right up to it and wring its neck. I cut the creature open and examined its innards for signs. The dark of the liver told me events to happen before the new moon in two days' time." He looked to Rorik. "The coil of the intestines whispered that I should expect a sudden and unpredictable change. And then I cut open the animal's stomach... usually there's just food in there, but sometimes..." Erik reached into his pouch and tapped two hard objects against the table: a small golden coin and a pea-sized turquoise gem streaked through with sparkling black. "It doesn't get much clearer than that. I'm to follow the example of the man with the golden eyes and the woman with bright blue eyes and dark and shimmering hair."
"In that case," Thea said, "we are in allegiance. Go and defend your claim. And when you return, I'll be very disappointed if my 'thank you' present isn't a Soenmen army that can defeat a mad god."
This is dope
Thanks!
It is, very, funny