Winter of Our Discontent Read online

  A silence followed, and I took a deep breath. “That’s okay. You didn’t know.”

  “What happened to her?” He spoke softly, and I could feel him mentally casting one of those Dark Elven spells. Probably to calm me down. Instead, it pissed me off.

  “She died when I was born. Kari hired a wet-nurse to take care of me. Or so I’ve been told.” I took a swig of the awful tea, and wished it were mead at the moment. “I never knew her.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But it doesn’t tell me who has been beating you. Certainly not the punks you wasted.”

  “No, but Trugar and his band have tried.” I nodded. “They were just the final insult.” I stared at the tea in the mug. “Are you sure you don’t have any mead around here?”

  “Positive. I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “Why is Kari beating you?”

  I sighed, giving up the pretense. Galdor didn’t believe me, so lying to him wouldn’t cut it. To be honest, I had been lying to myself for a long time. “Kari hates me because I can do magic.”

  “I would think he would be pleased you have Jotun powers.”

  “It reminds him of his inadequacies. I need to find my uncles and ask for protection.”

  Galdor swirled the tea in his mug. “Will they give it to you?”

  “I don’t know. I could go vargr, but it would be better to find family elsewhere. Maybe Ægir or Logi would take me in. In that case, I’d not only have kindred, but also have protection against Kari. That makes the most sense.”

  “Wait a second. Your uncles are Ægir and Logi?”

  “Yeah.”

  Galdor whistled.

  “What?” I looked at him curiously.

  “I didn’t realize you were so well connected.” Galdor shook his head. “You realize you’re practically Aesir.”

  “You mean like Thor and Odin? Don’t insult me. I’d never aspire to that egotistical level.” I frowned. “I don’t think they’re even close to being gods. Ægir and Ran are Jotun.”

  “Friendly Jotun, which makes them almost gods.” Galdor grinned.

  “Look, if you’re going to keep insulting me and my kin, I’ll leave and find someone else to help me.”

  “Geez, you’re awfully sensitive about that.” Galdor considered me thoughtfully. “Kari was trying to limit you so that you wouldn’t take over his fiefdom.”

  “I don’t want his lands, and I don’t want to rule,” I said, rubbing the bruise on my face. “I just want to live in peace with my kindred, and practice my magic. Is that so hard?”

  At that moment, Ulf woke up and whined at me. I petted him gently. He playfully nipped at my fingers and looked forlornly at the empty milk bowl. Galdor got up and scratched the little guy under the chin. “I think he needs more milk, and maybe some meat.”

  “And you don’t have meat.” I sighed in exasperation. “I’ll have to kill a stag out there.”

  “I do have eggs.” Galdor walked out of the house, probably to go to an outbuilding where he kept his foodstuffs.

  I looked down at my charge. “Eggs are good, but you and I need meat to survive. I wish I had brought by bow with me, but it was a spur of the moment decision.”

  Ulf looked up and cocked his head. He’d be with his pack right now if those idiots hadn’t stolen him. There was no sense in bringing him back. Wolves were known to kill outsiders, and his pack might not even recognize him with all the Jotun scent on him. I sighed and scratched behind his ear, and he leaned in, his little back leg trying to scratch the area I was scratching. His foot and toenails made little taps and clicks on the wooden floor.

  Galdor came back in with a jug of milk and a handful of eggs. “These should get him by for the night.” He poured the milk into the bowl and cracked a couple of eggs and added them, shell and all. Ulf leapt up and slurped the contents merrily.

  “Do you have an extra bow and axe?” I looked at Galdor curiously. He might be a vegetarian, but I knew he had fought against the Light Elves before.

  Galdor gazed at me thoughtfully. “You’re not going to go back, are you?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ve got to go find my relatives, and plead my case to them.”

  “Why don’t you stay here a while until you figure out what you really want to do? The mead benches along the wall can serve as a decent bed if I bring out a mat, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you care to.”

  I sighed. “Until I’m accepted into a kindred, I’m vargr—that’s something I really don’t want to be. It’s too damn dangerous to be out on my own.”

  Galdor chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m vargr.” The Dark Elf leaned back and drank his now lukewarm tea.

  “No you’re not—you chose to live this way.”

  “Yes, but my kindred consists of part Humans, including myself. The Isernspells are renegades, even among Dark Elves. And I chose to live here in Midgard, where I was born, instead of Svartalfheim. I don’t even know if my kindred would take me back.”

  “Yeah, but my situation is different.”

  “I don’t see how.” Galdor shrugged. “Anyway, you need to at least control your magic before we leave to visit your uncles.”

  “We?” I stared at him in disbelief.

  “Yes, I think you could use some help. And anyway, I haven’t traveled in ages. It’d be good for me to get out.”

  I sighed in exasperation. Like it or not, I knew the Dark Elf was going with me.

  Chapter Three

  Galdor lied. He said it would only take a few days to get ready to see Ægir and Ran, but the days quickly stretched into weeks. It seemed he always had another spell to teach me, which was both annoying and interesting at the same time. Annoying, because each new spell took me one more day away from seeking my relatives. Interesting, because I was learning magic I didn’t know existed. Human magic, for example. Galdor didn’t only teach me the basics of Jotun magic, but also Elven magic, and Human magic.

  “Most magic has similar roots,” Galdor explained, one particularly cold and blustery night on Yule or Winter Solstice. I was cooking a haunch of venison over the firepit while Galdor was nibbling on bread, cheese, and some dried fruit. Ulf had grown quite a bit and was gnawing on the deer’s lower leg; he held the morsel between his two paws and tore off strips of skin and meat with his very sharp teeth. “You’ll see similarities between Aesir and Jotun magic, for example.”

  “Just like there are similarities between Human and Elven magic?” I mused.

  “Just so, only Light Elven magic is tied to the land the Elf was born in.”

  “Not the Drow?” I wondered.

  “Dark Elves.” Galdor glared at me. “That’s an insult to my kind. You don’t like being called an Ogre, do you?”

  “I’m not an Ogre,” I pointed out. “I’m a Frost Giant. A Jotun. You’re clearly a Drow.”

  “No, I’m not. Drow is a term concocted for those darker minions who scuttle in the shadows of Humans. Most of them with the intent of doing evil on mortals. Neither I nor my family wish ill will upon our cousins.”

  I blinked. “So being a Drow is based on intent?”

  “Mostly, just as being a Jotun versus being a god is largely a matter of intent.”

  “What is the intent of a Jotun?”

  “You don’t know?” Galdor looked amused. “What is your intent?”

  “To go find my relatives, instead of wasting time here,” I grumbled. I pulled out a big knife and carved out a piece of meat. Hot, but still dripping blood, the way I liked it. I popped the piece in my mouth and savored the juices.

  “Do you think you’re wasting time here?”

  I bit my lip, seeing his stern expression. “Well, no. I’m just impatient to see my relatives.”

  “And if you showed up ill-prepared?”

  I shook my head. “They’ll find me inadequate. Just like Kari did.” I stared at the floor. Maybe it was time to accept I wasn’t cut out to be a proper Jotun. I didn’t voice my thoughts to Galdor, but I didn’t have to. The damn Elf was a mind-reader—even if he denied it.

  “Your father put you at a serious disadvantage.” Galdor picked up a bread crust to examine it in the dim light. “He wanted you weak, which is why I’ve spent so much time training you.”

  I scratched my head, using my wrist, while still holding a bit of the hot meat in my hand. “Why did you agree to train me?”

  “Other than I think you’re worthy of it?” Galdor shrugged. “I like you, but my original intent was to give you enough control over your magic to help you rule, should you become chieftain of the Jotun in this area.”

  “You mean, should Kari die?”

  He nodded. “I wasn’t expecting you to be more…well,…Aesir in your outlook.”

  “Don’t insult me.” I stared at him. “I am definitely not Aesir.”

  “Well, a Jotun would challenge Kari for his title.”

  “This Jotun isn’t interested. Why would you expect that?”

  Galdor shrugged. “That is how Jotun usually behave.” He held up a finger. “But then, I realized you were a decent fellow. That’s why I continued training you. To give you an edge against those who would despise you for who you are.” He paused. “And because I consider you a good friend.”

  I stared speechlessly at the Dark Elf. Of course he would’ve thought I was like the other Jotun, only to find out I wasn’t into wreaking havoc on everything and everyone. Did that make me special? I doubted it.

  The wind whipped along the eaves of the cabin and pelted us with snow from the open hole in the roof above the firepit. Something ancient stirred in me, wanting to go outside and revel in the cold. I closed my eyes and let a fierce smile cross my face, as I felt the storm wind whip around us.

&n
bsp; The wind died just a little bit, and Galdor was staring at me. “I love the storm,” I said simply. “It speaks to me.”

  “Not surprising.” Galdor nodded. “These are your elements. Which reminds me, since it is Yule, I have a present for you.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t get or make you anything.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I know you left without armor or weapons. I cleaned up some armor I think will fit you.” He picked up a package I didn’t remember seeing and handed it to me.

  I untied the cloth that surrounded a mail hauberk which looked oversized for an Elf, but perfect for a Jotun. I recognized the material as being adamantine instead of steel or cold iron. I held it up, almost dropping the second present in the bundle—a war axe. “This is incredible. Where did you get a Jotun-sized hauberk?”

  Galdor smiled slyly. “Let me say that it’s been in my war room for some time.”

  I looked it over and could see that Galdor had repaired a rent with some extra links. The hole had been in the chest and was a big enough cut to tear through the wearer’s heart. The Jotun who had owned this was very dead.

  Yes, even immortals can die with enough magic or weaponry. Case-in-point: Trugar and his ilk. I didn’t bother to ask Galdor if he had dealt the final blow. If he had killed the Jotun himself, chances were very good the former wearer deserved it. Still, I looked at the armor in wonder. Adamantine was the strongest metal anywhere. For something to tear through this armor, it had to be imbued with magic, like a Vorpal blade or Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir. Or the spell had to be very powerful.

  “Wow, this is a marvelous hauberk.” I grinned enthusiastically. I then studied the war axe.

  “Glad you like it. The axe isn’t anything special, but I’ll teach you to enchant it with runes to give it power.”

  “Runes?” I gasped. “You’ll teach me to cast ward runes and battle runes?”

  “You’ll need them if you insist on going on this adventure of yours.”

  “Well, since I don’t have a present for you, you can have some of my venison.” I snickered as I took a couple of test swings with the axe.”

  “Pass.” Galdor looked queasy at the thought.

  “Suit yourself.” I shrugged.

  ~ * ~

  The rest of Yule and most of January passed without much of note. The most interesting part was learning the ward runes, which I suspected would be the case. Most of it was study, and not actual casting. The casting was easy, so learning the runes and their bindrunes took precedence.

  Galdor walked in one day with two pine staffs, devoid of bark, and laid them down on one of the mead benches. We had been practicing illusions and shapeshifting most of the day. Most Jotun are excellent at both. I had gotten pretty good at shapeshifting. I could change into a Human, Elf, Troll, wolf, tree, rock, and just about any animal. I could also create some impressive illusions of flames, snow, and even conceal things that were right out in the open. I had played a joke on Galdor, much to his chagrin by hiding his house after he went to the nearby village to pick up some supplies.

  The Elf had no sense of humor.

  I was sitting on a bench with a table beside me, turning the pages on an old musty tome that Galdor must have gotten from the south, where humans had enough technology to bind books. Ulf lay at my feet, asleep and bored out of his mind.

  With the exception of simple technology, such as forging weapons and armor, raising livestock, or woodworking and stone masonry to build homes, Jotun traded for—or more often, stole—anything of higher technology. We didn’t invent writing—most Jotun stayed illiterate, except for nobility. We used Aesir, Elven, or Human writing for our monuments, and any books or paper writings, we obtained from those races.

  Kari allowed a private instructor to teach me writing. Even so, my education stopped when I became a teen because Kari thought I didn’t need to know how to write anything clever. After all, I wasn’t going to be the next bestselling writer of the time. Assuming there was a bestselling writer in the Northern lands.

  “What are the sticks for?” I asked.

  “They’re for your ward rune lessons. Let’s start with a bindrune you know for strength.” He tossed a stick at me.

  I caught it and looked at the staff. Ulf raised his head, and grumbled a low growl at being disturbed. “Do you have a preference for bindrunes?” I arched my eyebrow at him.

  He shook his head. “Choose one I’ve taught you. Don’t deviate.”

  “Okay.” I stared hard at the stick and tried to imagine what bindrunes would work best with this stick. Something with Uruz, certainly. Uruz bound to several different runes to mean strength. I chose the second rune, Teiwas. Together the two bound together meant focused strength, or a blow that would land true. I did the simple cast and drew the bindrunes. They glowed and I could feel the magic along the staff. I held the pine branch as the spell took effect, and the wood felt heavier and somehow stronger. I ran my hands over the grain, and it felt tighter. It felt less like pine and more like hardwood. Like oak, or maybe hickory.

  “Nicely done.” Galdor nodded. “Now, put that one down, and take up the other staff. I want you to choose runes that I haven’t taught you. Make them up—don’t use runes that you know might work well…”

  I cocked my head. “You want me to create false bindrunes? But I read that choosing the wrong runes is tantamount to disaster—screw up a rune, and you could weaken your armor, dull your blade, or even turn your weapon against you.”

  “True—and with a staff, it shouldn’t cause much harm. I want you to see for yourself what a bad runecasting can do.”

  “Hmm.” I looked at the stick skeptically. I had already read plenty of stories how mages had messed up a casting and ruined whatever it was they were trying to protect or enhance. I didn’t see how purposefully screwing up a runecasting would teach me anything new. But, I decided to humor Galdor. “Okay. Do they train aspiring wizards to do this as well?”

  “Mages—the word is ‘mage,’ not wizard.” The Dark Elf looked annoyed.

  “Sorry. Do they train mages this way?” I grinned, showing I wasn’t at all sorry.

  “Actually, other mages do train their apprentices that way.”

  “Oh, so that makes me your apprentice?”

  “Just create some new runes.” He turned his back to me and wandered off, muttering about getting some more tea.

  I chuckled, and shook my head. Then I stared at the piece of wood. Something odd about it caught my attention. True, it was an ordinary piece of pine, but in my hands, it seemed so much more. Tracing my hand along the grain, I could feel the echoes of the tree’s life force in this denuded branch. It seemed to talk to me it its own language.

  I was ready to dismiss the entire experience as being cooped up with a Dark Elf for more than two months, but I recalled Dark Elven magic was with metal, rock, and earth, not trees, per se. Those green leafy things were the purview of Light Elves. But the staffs he gave me were from pines, not deciduous plants.

  And pines were the winter lords of the forest, along with other coniferous trees. And Jotun were lords of winter. I glanced up at Galdor, who was setting a kettle above the firepit, presumably for more hot water. Did the Elf know this? I wondered.

  As I said, nothing of Jotun magic is written down, except by those Jotun renegades who have crossed over into becoming Aesir. And even then, writing is more for Elves and mortals. Elves, because they think of themselves as the repositories of knowledge and wisdom. That’s incredibly egotistical—and that’s coming from a Jotun. Mortals, because they’d lose their knowledge, if there wasn’t a way to pass it on to the next generation. Sure, humans had come up with oral traditions before writing, but oral traditions relied on human memory—a tricky thing, at best. Plus, intention and facts tend to get lost in oral traditions. Jotun have their own oral traditions, but they’re seldom used, because we’re immortal. Why bother keeping useless information in your head, when you can just ask the source?

  Now, I looked at the sticks. The pine I inscribed looked good with the runes I used. But the unruned one asked me for a strong spell. Well, it didn’t exactly talk to me. I more or less got the impression that it wanted strong runes cast into it.

  But what?

  I ran my finger along it, feeling the magic flow from my hands to the wood. Within my mind’s eye, I was able to picture a rune I had never seen before and copy it into the wood. Another rune appeared in my mind, and I intertwined it with the first rune. To my amazement, the runes bound to each other, and a golden woven pattern appeared on the stick. The stick felt stronger and heavier than the other pine branch.