XXIV – Of the Beasts Skin Am I #2

Feeling more at ease, the Raven Prince of the East told them he had come to them because he had no doubt his father was involved.

In the few hours since Windar had left him in charge of the throne and they had been captured, when he had got hold of Maltón’s diary, plus the suspicious movement of Alfredo’s statue, he had managed to piece together the events.

'My people say that my father reigned in an exemplary manner from his coronation, at the age of fourteen, until he turned thirty-three.'

What had transpired twenty years ago had wounded Lerg’s ego, for when Narg inherited Korkolat—upon the demise of his grandfather Nork’s brother, the king—it left him as the sole successor. That marked the beginning of a senseless rivalry.

'He goeth on and on about manhood, but it is well known that he begot me with the help of a young wandering sorcerer.

Years later, when I was about seven, he summoned him again and sought to buy his loyalty to seize the throne of Old Minister, but what a commotion there was at court when the redhead refused. '

Lerg, who would not take no for an answer to any of his demands, tried to have him executed, but before fleeing, the sorcerer had prophesied: 'You are doomed to perish in Old Minister, but not by your cousin’s steel, but by the iron of the heir to his crown.'

Those words bound Lerg’s hands and will, and instead of moving his troops into the southern lands of Móntria, he resorted to persuasion.

Cloet averred that, in his eagerness to find a remedy to his realm’s economic woes, he had perused the accounts and discovered that Lerg had financed the revolt of the lords of Kerkion when they launched their assault upon Lepontia.

And that his latest stratagem had been with Jorlaft upon learning that the latter would besiege Old Minister alongside Ubberia.

'He has summoned the troops of Welst, Wolest and Weftein. We must resolve this within less than two days, for if Móntria does not fall to the darkness, it shall fall into the hands of Tloston, and, believe me, I would choose the darkness.'

Gregor observed the bewildered expressions upon everyone’s faces and endeavoured to devise a theory.

'He might have found out about Maltón’s investigation and planned all this.'

'And how do you explain that this man slayeth bears with his bare hands,' quoth Arwel, pointing contemptuously at Gwion, 'or that Windar hath set him upon the throne?'

The eldest of the Gerinsons rolled his eyes, but Owin, who was shivering with cold, spoke first:

'The grandmother queen may be under some sort of spell, and Lerg could be the "blood of Alfredo" mentioned in the manuscript.'

'I thought so,' declared Cloet, 'but Windar is not in her bedchamber.'

'Nor was she last night, nor the night before,' added Gregor. 'Besides, Tregor’s attack ceased as soon as you arrived.'

Owin bowed his head and, knowing not what to say, sat upon the floor, against the wall, beneath the skylight.

Arwel and Gwion observed the prince and his countenance.

Yet they did so from divergent viewpoints.

The commander doubted that he desired to aid.

Gwion, for his part, was convinced that he sought to seize the realm.

'Could it be that you are siding with Hugnork so that, with his host, you may depose your father?' he reproached him.

'If Celtión’s letter be true, I seek only to save my father’s life. Odín knoweth how little I desire to inherit that ruined realm. For the present, I shall endeavour to set them free, lest Narg fall into the snare that surely awaiteth him at the border.'

Cloet’s speech sounded convincing, and even more so after he laid down two conditions. The first was that no blood of his compatriots should be shed.

'Furthermore, if the beast ends up in Narg’s skin, I desire to be able to count upon you standing at my side to vanquish him.

I do not believe in men who swear loyalty to other men; any one may be purchased.

Your loyalty must lie with your folk and in watching over them,' he said, being fully aware that they would be indispensable should he ever have to rule the realm.

'I promise not to raise my sword against you, but neither will I aid him. Death suits me better than disobeying my king,' said Arwel with the utmost solemn sincerity.

'Then I shall take charge of the troops and fight by your side to defeat the darkness, so that we may both keep our appointment in the arena,' said Gwion, his chin raised, and the prince clenched his jaw.

Cloet planned to prove that Windar was not within the castle and would frame his father.

Arwel bade him request the presence of the leader of the Right Wing troop, a loyal warrior who might aid him whilst they sought to repose.

What they were about to confront would undoubtedly require them to be at their very best.

Arwel took up position by the door to stand guard, convinced he would sleep when he was dead.

Cheas helped Miar lie down upon Owin’s cot and then sat there to watch over her.

Upon the ground, Gregor leaned his back against Cheas’s legs to try and sleep, but Gwion went to Owin and, in silence, they waited.

Silence had once again taken hold of the library until one of the elders from the north entered, holding incense in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Kuopio watched him as the rumbling of his empty stomach made itself heard, and had to settle for filling his cup with water.

'Do you know why he hesitates?' said Farfal at last. 'Because his ego will not let him acknowledge his shadow. If he did, he would know just how far he is capable of going, and no one could convince him of what he is not.'

A wave of nausea filled Narg’s mouth, forcing him to cough to catch his breath. Ego —that accursed word—summoned the memory of that nightmare, when Farfal snatched the cup from Kuopio who was holding it out to him, and dashed the water in the king’s face to bring him round.

'Understand that he is not the beast if he hath thy father’s eyes and thy mother’s smile,' he said, sensing the anger in Narg.

'This is what I mean,' interrupted Celtión, drawing closer to Maed. 'Tell me if I err, but he could be working for the Night. Because what a marvellous coincidence that he was present at his birth.'

'All doubts, I think, this would dispel,' said Tobert, cutting short the sarcasm of the endless cycle of suspicion.

He rose from the corner where he had placed himself in punishment and took a glass sphere filled with silvery liquid from his rucksack.

'A few years ago, a wandering sorcerer my master helped escape from those who sought to slay him, and with something I do not think even he knew the value of, the sorcerer paid.'

'Water from Mimir’s Well!' exclaimed Milkron excitedly as he patted the blind old man on the shoulder; the old man smiled at his enthusiasm.

With his index finger raised, Milkron pointed towards the shelves and halted where he remembered it to be. He walked down the aisle and, as he held it in his hand and drew nearer, he read:

'In the darkest cave, situated in the darkest corner, of the darkest world, Angerboda gave birth to her first son.

Wrapped in a reddish placenta of Mhairtum, he struggled to emerge. Desperate, his father Loki used his hands, but it was useless. Then he used his spear Lævateinn, and that did not work either. So he used his magic, but it only bounced off the tissue and made the cave shake.

His mother, in despair, called upon Surt, who first tried with his hands, but to no avail. Then, with his Elderstahl swords, and that failed too. So he used his fiery breath, but it only bounced off the tissue and made the cave shake.

Even though he was aware of the grudge she bore him, Loki, in desperation, called upon Thor, the mightiest of the Aesir, who first tried with his bare hands, but to no avail.

Then he tried with his hammer Mjölnir, but that failed as well.

Thereupon, in a rage, he struck the ground, and from the ensuing tremor a stalactite of transparent rock fell.

The keen edge of the stone rent the placenta, and from the wound there emerged the head of Fenrir. Yet, instead of seeking refuge in his mother’s arms, famished, he bit into the rock and swallowed the fragment that remained within his mouth.

He uttered his first howl, not for life, but for pain, as if the two were one and the same to him. The rock made a nest in his stomach. That was his first food and the only one he needed.

Shortly thereafter, the cub explored the world and came upon Mimir’s Well. Thirsty, he raised his head to drink from the silvery waters. The Norns, the guardians, did not stay his course; they knew what would befall him, not as punishment, but as duty, as if the two were not one and the same.

His long, purple tongue emerged from his mouth. Like a bowl, its tip curved, but as he dipped it into the spring of knowledge, the water around him solidified.

In desperation, he struck the rock that was hardening his tongue against the earth again and again, but it was in vain.

Then he used his paws, with their titanium claws, pulling and pulling, but to no avail.

So he closed his jaws; his steel fangs pierced the silvery rock, and it, reduced to ashes, flew away on the wind.

Knowledge turned to dust scattered across the fields, and the air pollinated the crops and fed the beasts. Knowledge turned to dust wandered through nothingness and clung to the whole.'

'Suicide it would be for any mortal to drink from it,' said Tobert, handing the sphere to Farfal, who would do the honours. 'But a drop of his saliva, I think, will suffice.'

If Narg truly possessed half the beast’s soul, if that shadow he faced was the ruin of the universe, the moment his saliva touched the water, it would turn to stone like molten steel.

Farfal poured the contents into the cup and, with the drops that remained within, closed it again and delivered it unto Celtión, who had requested it curiously.