1364 AD

Each day was much the same as the next. Michaelmas became Christmas, Christmas turned into Easter and Lammas soon followed Easter. Erelong, I realized suddenly that I had been at Nørrdragor a full year; I was eleven now.

In all this time, I rarely thought of Lucian, who was abroad with his uncle touring Söderlund, and thence presumably to the far reaches of the south lands; beyond even the Kingdom of Gaeld: there, purportedly, to ravish wenches, slay pirates and plunder enemy gold— or so I was told by my dubious informant, Thomas.

He apprized me constantly, with his usual amiable prattling, of all of Caine and Lucian's epic adventures, but he was known to embellish whatever he might overhear from his father. Ergo, I would on most of these occasions merely nod distractedly and continue my studies as he waxed lyrical.

The truth of Lucian's so called exploits was no doubt far less risqué than my friend would have me believe: the boys that were invariably fostered away were more likely be instructed in etiquette than how best to rape and pillage. In addition, they would also be taught how to look after and sit a courser properly, care for and wield their manifold weaponry, study the art of warfare, and no doubt learn how best to move and do battle within their weighty armor. However, Thomas, that miscreant, would have me believe otherwise.

He had appointed himself my friend and confidant and was always prepared with a ready answer to any of the many questions I would invariably ask of him; although most of what he imparted was decidedly implausible. I had, by now, gleaned enough of of my friend's character to anticipate his flair for drama and, therefore, I paid him scant heed and habitually impugned his revelations.

If I wanted to know aught of squirehood and knighthood, I would in most cases ask Carac, who had been fostered here by Godwin, and then become a knight himself — at only twenty — the same year I had been collected from the south. He had then elected to stay on at Nørrdragor.

It was he that furnished my imagination with all that one might be expected of the life of a knight in training. From the incipience of manhood — the quarterstaffs, quintains, wooden swords, and tournaments — to the final realization of knighthood and all that it pertained: namely partaking in actual combat and living by the strict warrior ethos of the Chivalric Code that fascinated me more than anything Thomas could possibly dream up.

We sat now in the lesser hall that overlooked a smaller courtyard. We had been left alone for the moment, save Astrid who sat in a corner mending one of my worn shifts, and I took to retracing my letters with my familiar, untidy script as Thomas found diversion elsewhere.

Carac happened to move by the window at the same moment I noticed Astrid watching him intently. When he chanced to look within she hastily lowered her gaze to her needlework, her face blooming with color. She then caught me smiling at her curiously, the causation of which colored her temples further.

"Lucian will become a knight the year after next. I heard my father say so." Thomas had caught a moth and was examining the little wretch closely as he pinched its wings together between his index finger and thumb.

I made a noncommittal noise as I tore my eyes from Astrid's florid cheeks and dipped my quill in the ink pot. Continuing to practicing my cursive, I scoffed at Thomas, unsure of the reliability of my classmate's information.

"And from thence home?" I asked distractedly. "Shall he and Caine be returning to Nørrdragor thereafter?" I would that they stay abroad a score more years a least!

"I know not. I believe Lucian is at odds with his father again," Thomas yawned and released the insect before ambling back toward me to gaze over my shoulder.

How curious indeed, I mused. I could well hazard a guess as to the reason behind their current estrangement: me, no doubt! I thought darkly, but replied instead with my usual playful scoffing.

"Fie, Thomas, what a little gossipmonger you are become in your dotage." I punctuated this observation with a patronizing shake of my head.

As a matter of course — and really, I should have expected no less — he stuck out his tongue and smudged at my writing purposefully with his thumb, thereby transferring silvery moth scale onto my now blotted parchment. I leapt instantly from the bench and chased him about the hall as he screamed in delight, threatening dire recourses once I caught him; but — as per his usual timeliness — the steward's clerk, Magnus, arrived to peel us apart with weary admonitions before I could make good on my threats and blister Thomas' ears as I was wont to do.



❅



I crept along the corridor to Godwin's solar, the cold stones lay silent beneath my tread as my slippers brushed over the floor. I moved as quietly as I was able, not unlike a fox, and reached for the door's handle, pulling it carefully from where it reposed against it's frame. The heavy barrier keened a clamorous objection as I effected a not-so-stealthy entrance, and I grimaced with each new vocal dissent, casting wary glances down the darkened hallway before finally slipping within.

I was certain that Thomas would never find me here. I had heretofore never lost a game of hide and seek, and I was indubitably assured of his not finding me here: in the master's inner sanctum, where we had — by and large — been banned to enter.

Godwin had departed for Vargenlund three days since and would not return again till the week after next. I did not think Anne would castigate me too severely in the event that she did find me here, so I did not let even the thought of discovery deter me from my objective. Ignoring the voice of caution that warned me away, I crept about the chamber scanning the shelves and marveling again at the rich tapestries — especially the wolf mauling the hand of a warrior — that cascaded down the walls.

I loved the smell of the room: it seemed perpetual infused with sandalwood, lavender and vellum — so wholly redolent of Nørrdragor's liege. There were a few hours yet before the supper hour, the sun had only just begun to slide from its zenith, and I took my leisure as I moved reverently to and fro. Finally, I pulled a little stool towards the shelves and climbed atop so that I might peruse the annals that lay scattered admits the dust, where my height would not allow my reach.

I removed as many as I could carefully convey from my elevated position and, once I was seated in a cushioned chair by the window, began reading while I awaited Thomas' eventual surrender; he would, like as not, get bored of searching out my whereabouts and, instead, find Frederick.

I had become fluent in Norn and could, for the most part, cipher letters and numbers. If I sat and studied the words and sentences long enough, I could eventually translate all of what lay scrawled beneath my eyes. Most of the parchment that I had liberated from the dust contained lists and accounts, which I soon tired of, and so I abandoned them in favor of a thick volume.

It was a heavy book with thongs attached to its oaken boards. "What's this?" I sat up straighter, and with renewed vigor, as I ran my finger delicately across the the yellowed page, tracing the strong, looping script of the confident hand that had conceived it aeons before.

The ink had turned a sere brown and the aged vellum pages had frayed in places; it seemed to carry the patina of an ancient codex. I felt almost blasphemous handling such an old manuscript, but not for the world could I tear my eyes from what it revealed to me.



Varúlfur

They came as night, these Greys and Blacks.

A silvered glow o'er their backs —

The laden moon, withal her favor,

Glared luminous, and sans a waver.



Mad as boars, and bare of mailcotes

Large as bears in wooden longboats.

Neither fire, nor iron's bite

Shut the land from maws of blight.



Beasts they were, as wild as curs;

And dressed as wolves in pelts and furs.

Beserkers all, these men of Wōden —

The mighty sons of Frigg and Óðinn.



Bearing spears of teeth they fought,

'Twas neither fame nor gold they sought:

Eyes aflame with lust for war

They smote and drank of blood and gore.



A thirst for blood was ne'er so great —

It did not calm; would not abate!

Ne'er was there a fouler sight —

Than these: the beasts of Óðinn's might!



"The Varúlfur?" I breathed.

I knew the word werwulf from childhood fairytales — stuff and nonsense — that parents often told their children to frighten them into good behavior. Was a varúlfur then the same thing? A man possessed and transformed into a sylvan beast that prowled the forests of our nightmares.

The words sounded too much alike to have separate meanings. Perhaps this too was some sort of legend recorded on parchment, but why then should this fable hide amongst Godwin's shelves — he seemed too staid a person to harbor fairytales in his vast collection of stale scrolls. On and on I read till the room darkened and the sun moved from the window.

"Aria!"

"Blast!" I gasped as I heard Thomas call from the far end of the corridor.

I displaced the book and scrolls from my lap and bolted towards an old chest that lay against the opposite wall. I opened the lid and peered inside.

It seemed too confined a space even for my lanky form, but I could now hear the ever growing magnitude of Thomas' boots slapping the stones as he drew nearer. Throwing caution to the wind, I climbed inside and quietly lowered the lid, taking shallow breaths as I pulled my knees into my chest.

"Where are you, Aria?" came his familiar voice, the sound of his adolescent vocals pitching stridently as he spoke. "I hope you did not think to come in here," he whispered in a fearful aside as he pushed the door to the solar open a little more. I had not closed it for fear of giving myself away; or allowing the door to alert the inmates as to my illicit location.

I wondered why he thought to look for me here! Perhaps I am too predictable of late. I had, after all, chosen a hiding spot that I thought would be the last place he would think to look; and perhaps he understood that much about me. Perchance not so surprising after all as we did in fact spend most of every day together.

"God's breath," I swore softly, tugging on my skirts, my limited movements notwithstanding. In my haste to hide from Thomas, I had inadvertently failed to pull the whole of my dress into the chest — no doubt a glaring section of red now lay visible between the lips of the chest like some lolling tongue; inviting my classmate hither.

"Ah ha!" he exclaimed smugly as he suddenly lifted the lid of the chest. "I have found you out, little shrew! I knew you were here."

"You should not be here," I grumbled, trying to ease myself awkwardly from the restrictive space.

"Nor should you be," he countered with a smirk. "How on earth did you fit into there in the first place?" He grabbed hold of my hands and pulled me free.

"Much the same way you fit all that empty space into your head," I said dusting off my skirts. he merely rolled his eyes.

"Contrary to what you might think, I have better things to do than run after you, my lady." His irony was not lost on me. "As it happens, I have something to show you; although, I am not altogether sure you deserve to be privy to my secrets."

"Ha!" I scoffed, gathering up the manuscripts and repairing them to their original order at the topmost shelf. "We both know you cannot long keep a secret from me. You are like to collapse from the anticipation as not. Keep your secrets then, I have no objection either way."

"Oh, but I think you will want to see this," he practically sang, his chest puffing out in complacency. The excitement in his voice finally drew my attention enough that I cocked my head curiously as he sauntered dramatically from the room.

With a sigh, I dusted off my hands and climbed down from the stool. It was for the best that we escaped Godwin's lair. Had Frederick caught us loitering where we ought not have been, he'd have run directly to Carac like the news mongering talebearer he was; or, worse still, awaited the master's return to throw us at the wolf's mercy.

After I had shut Godwin's door, I raced after him, but I needn't have worried that he might disappear without me; Thomas was not without some small amount of vainglory, and since mine was the opinion that mattered most to him — I was after all his most favored accomplice — his gratification would be wholly incomplete if I were not there to bear witness to his perceived resourcefulness, or to flatter his ego.

Which I never will, I snorted. Having heard my grunt, he turned and shot me a quizzical glare. I shrugged my shoulders mischievously and we continued downstairs, through the keep, out into the courtyard, and finally towards the north west perimeter of the inner wall.

Thomas cast his eyes furtively towards the guard towers and, having assured himself that we were unmonitored, he ducked between an inconspicuous space where the woodbine, growing on the boles either side of the niche, was so thick that I thought at first he'd practically evaporated from sight. Following suit, I maneuvered between the dense foliage, spiderwebs, and brambles that sought to bar my progress, plucking little dewberry spines carefully from my costly, carmine gown.

"How much further, Thomas?" I was beginning to think that I was the brunt of some cleverly concocted jest. Thomas stopped suddenly and I nearly careened into the back of his head. Swatting his back in annoyance I opened my mouth to upbraid him, but he spoke afore my words were even formed.

"There," said he pointing into the shadows.

I stepped around him and peered between the weeds and ivy where a sturdy, moss-covered door sat nestled into the wall. The panels of heavy wood seemed ancient, but solid withal — no sign of rot had yet infiltrated its fibers. It was rather a plain door for all it was concealed from the world. The only adornment the postern could boast of was the little ringed handle crusted in green-hued patina.

"Tis a postern," he clarified unnecessarily as I pushed the door ajar.

It did not move easily, years of forgotten neglect had practically molded it to its frame. The space I had created was enough though; I could see that, instead of opening into the outer ward as I had thought it would, the portal seemed to disappear into a tunnel — a primitive stairway leading down, instead of forward, into a darkened pit. I would need a torch to investigate the subterranean passage further.

"Where does it lead?"

"I don't know?!" he fairly shouted.

"Shh! You haven't even peeked within?!"

"I dare not go alone," he whispered then narrowed his eyes at me as if expecting me to question his valor. When I kept silent he explained, "I found it yesterday when I was hiding from cook-"

I rolled my eyes. "You stole a meat pie again, didn't you?"

He waived my assumption aside and continued as though I had not interjected. "As I said, I was hiding and took to exploring my little sanctuary when I discovered it."

"Was it locked?"

"Aye, it was, but I picked the lock this morning...while you were off hiding from me. It took me nigh on two hours!"

"Well, aren't you enterprising," I winked. "Perhaps you are not so empty-headed after all." When I bumped his shoulder in approbation, he grinned happily at my back-handed compliment.



❅



The next morning, as soon as we had been dismissed from the school room, we hied ourselves back to the postern. Once Thomas had pulled a candle from his pocket and lit the wick, we both shoved the door open wider and descended into the depths beyond, Thomas trailing me as I lead the way forward.

The steps were steep and slippery from the mildew that fed off the water dripping from the fine roots hanging like hair from the ceiling. The air was rife with loam as we finally reach the bottom of the stairway and continued over the uneven floor of the confined tunnel that seemed to grow ever more strait, tapering uncomfortably, the deeper we moved.

At last we reached the end and thankfully the door that loomed into view did not possess a keyhole, like its twin at the other end: instead it was secured from within by a thick bar that lay across its width, cradled in two iron brackets fixed to each side of its frame. We lifted the panel of oak and, together, set it aside ere we pulled it open.

"Gah!" I expelled my breath in disappointment for I had convinced myself that the end of the shaft would open into some sort of vault filled with hidden treasure.

Alas, in place of a chamber piled high with silver and gold, we had emerged into the Redweld forest. Thomas too seemed to feel the anticlimax keenly.

"We could have just as easily left through the gatehouse," he griped. "Now I have cobwebs and twigs in my hair!"

"Bah! Your hair has ever been a rat's nest, Thomas...think nothing of it," I teased.

We inspected the area and found some sort of overgrown pathway nearby, but fearing discovery we moved into the opposite direction, breaking twigs along the way so that we might retrace our course and find the postern once more.

"Look!" cried Thomas.

"For heaven's sake! Lower your bloody voice!" I seethed. Anyone within a mile radius had certainly heard his exclamation and were now, doubtless, aware of our presence here.

"What is that over yonder?" Thomas cried excitedly. "A small ruin of some kind, mayhap?" I looked to where he pointed and we both set off in that direction.

We drew nearer and soon discovered an old, dilapidated well shaft amidst a copse of raspberry shrubs, the stone walls that had once surrounded the borehole were now reduced to rubble and weeds. I planted my hands on the crumbling wall, careful not to apply my weight on account of its hardiness being rather questionable.

I began to feel as though the very flesh at my nape was now being clasped by nettles exactly as had been done to my gown earlier — there was an odd presence that pervaded the area; and specifically haunted the well shaft before us.

"What do you make of this, Aria?"

"I cannot say, but I have a strange feeling about this place, Thomas." We peered over the edge and down into the inky shadows beyond the touch of morning light.

"As do I. We ought not to have come." Then he looked to me and shook his head wryly. "I am always the one to bear the brunt of your little misadventures and I've no doubt we shall be found out and I will likely have the blame for this as well," he sighed.

"Tis the gentlemanly thing to do," I agreed with a distrait frown.

Nørrdragor was in clear view from where we stood, between the towering conifers and she seemed to be watching us balefully. I could well imagine any passing traveler sparing the keep a wary gaze as they beheld her darkened battlements; especially as she now loomed, silhouetted by a leaden sky. I too had found her intimidating once, and still did betimes, notwithstanding its lovely mistress, Anne — whom I had come to love dearly. Even Thomas, silly as he was, had earned a fair share of my heart; he was, after all, the only friend I had ever had and, though I delighted in vexing him, I undoubtably loved him too.

"Aria, i-is that a b-bloody finger print?" Thomas stammered, pointing to a red mark.

"I'm not sure," I replied as we studied the area in question. "Perhaps tis just a blemish in the rock itself." But why then does the rock reek of copper and death.

"Perhaps you're right." But he sounded unconvinced.

Thomas watched as I dropped a pebble into the shaft, bending his ear over the opening as though that position would afford him a better idea of the pebble's fate. We heard nothing; and then suddenly, when I thought to move away, a distant clunk reached us as the stone struck the hard-packed earth below. My brow skewed in perplexity as I pondered the inner architecture of the shaft's bowels.

"No water," said Thomas.

"Well, that explains why it has been left to ruin. We had better get back-"

We both froze with trepidation, my words dying on my lips, as a woman's raised voice broke through the nearby trees. I slipped my hand into Thomas' as Anne moved into view, a group of four armored guards in her wake, and stormed towards us; the lineaments of her pretty face were fearfully arranged — she seemed both irate and aghast.

"Come away from there!" she shouted and we both looked about us as if a horde of malefactors were bearing down on us, but there was no one within sight, save Anne and her burly entourage. When she reached us she snatched my hand from Thomas'. "How the devil did you slip away? You know not to leave the castle grounds without an escort!" She shook my shoulders for good measure and then, bending a livid eye to Thomas, she said, "You, especially, should have known better!"

"Anne, it was my idea! Please do not be wroth with Thomas!" It was true that he was my senior by two years, but he was by no means the wiser and, truth be told, far too easily bent to my will. I felt keenly that he was being misrepresented and unfairly treated; if anyone was at fault, it was I. But she did not seem the least bit interested in my explanations.

"I never want to see either of you here again! Is that understood?" Anne glowered at the pair of us and when we nodded our ascent in timid unison, she turned on her heel and marched us back into the direction she had just come from — towards Nørrdragor. "How is it that you were able to leave without anyone the wiser?" I looked to Thomas and surreptitiously shook my head when he made to speak.

"It was only a lark, Anne," I placated. "We did not mean to worry you." I refused to lie to her, but I was loathe to give up our secret. Fortunately, she drew her own conclusions — ostensibly assuming that we had left the conventional way. I also noted that I had thankfully touched her with my contrition for when she glanced back down at us, I saw that most of the ire had disappeared from her glare.

"I expected more from you, Aria. You have sorely disappointed me." Her words stung. I much preferred her blustering to having her disappointment directed at me. Thus, with our shame-faced expressions lowered, we followed her back home. But before we reached the gatehouse, she pulled me aside. "I will not tell Godwin. All will be forgot, however, you must promise me never to go back there again."

I nodded my head; and I sincerely meant to keep my promise. There was an uncanny sense of menace that seemed to saturate the old well shaft. I would as fain not wander there again.

When we attained the courtyard, it was to be welcomed with Frederick's supercilious grin. So he was the causation of our discovery! By his self-congratulatory smirk, I well knew it to be true. There was no doubt in me now that it had been he that had run to Anne with news of our mischief. Perhaps he had somehow seen us from Godwin's library window, the little weasel.

Bloody Frederick.





🌟Yes, I did write that poem! This book is still such a rough draft, but I appreciate you guys giving it a chance!⭐️