C1 1. The Finngul’s Prophecy

The young lad was running through the high grass. Lanky, still on the threshold between boyhood and manhood, his body had not yet filled out. But he already had strength and stamina. His fair hair was held back by a strip of leather so that he could see clearly. As he ran up the gently rising hill, sweat trickled down his back, though his breathing was still even - he was used to running. He was also skilled with the bow and the hunting knife. The day was bright, sunny, with a slight chill in the air. But as soon as the sun climbed higher, it would be pleasantly warm. A light breeze caressed the grass. The sky was a clear blue, and the snow-white hoods of majestic peaks were visible in the distance. The land of the Fenn consisted of mountains and valleys criss-crossed by rushing streams. It was a landscape shifting constantly between forest and mountain pasture. But the young man had no eye for all this beauty. His heart was beating fast, not from physical effort, but in excitement. He had almost reached his goal.

As he approached a group of trees, he stopped and hesitated before walking on carefully, keeping to the shadows of the green giants. Beyond the hilltop, in a small hollow, lay a glassy pond. He had come here often recently. The water was so clear you could make out the stones lying on the bottom. Yet that was not his reason for visiting this place.

He came here for her. Hidden behind a bush, he peered through the leaves down to the lake. And there she was. She swam with calm strokes, her black hair drifting behind her like a veil on the water. Then she came ashore. Shafts of sunlight caused the beads of water on her naked skin to sparkle. The youth was unaware that his mouth had fallen open.

Beautiful, was his only thought, and a sensation of desire rose within him.

Aileen was the sister of his best friend, Arun. They had known each other since they were children. Recently, though, he had noticed a new depth in his feelings for her, and he promised himself: Aileen will be my wife. While Eryn was lost in thought, Aileen had dressed herself, her wet hair leaving dark stains on her jerkin. She sat down and wrung the water out of the long mane. Soon she would leave. The youth struggled with himself. Should he go down and talk to her? He was not normally a coward. Hadn’t he fearlessly fought the wild creatures of the woods? But this is different. What shall I say to her? How will she react? Does she feel the same or is she laughing at me? Maybe next time, he decided. After all, she came here almost every day to bathe. Yes, next time I will pass by accidentally to surprise her - even more accidentally - while she is bathing...

Aileen swept back her damp hair and turned her face towards the undergrowth where the young man was hiding. “Eryn!” she called softly. “Why are you following me?” The youth’s face turned a blazing red. Discovered! Now there is no turning back... Embarrassed, he rose and stuttered: “I - I just happened to be passing...” With a look of reproach Aileen examined the youth as he stumbled closer. “Yes – just like yesterday and the day before, I suppose. I’ve seen you every time. Tell me, why are you pursuing me?” If Eryn could have turned even redder, then this was the moment for it. He could not think of a single sensible thing to say. In the end he blurted out: “You are beautiful, Aileen.”

Aileen fluttered her eyelashes and pursed her lips sensuously. “That’s what all the young men in the village tell me.” The very thought inflamed Eryn with jealousy, but his rage gave him more self-confidence.

“None of the others means this as seriously as I do. When the time comes, I hope you will become my wife.” Now I have said it. Was I too bold? Too pushy? If she laughs at me now, I hope the earth will swallow me up.

However, Aileen did not laugh. She glanced at him with her deep, dark eyes. In that moment she was no longer the young coquette, but once again the girl he had known since childhood. She took his hand. “Eryn, this a serious matter and you shouldn’t joke about it.”

Encouraged by the gesture, Eryn sat down beside her. “I’m not joking. I love you and I want us to be together till the end of time.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and once again Eryn had no idea what to do. Why is she crying now? What have I done? He said: “Once the Nameday comes and the Finngul has revealed my warrior’s name, then I will come and ask you again.”

But Aileen shook her head. “It is not what you’re thinking. I like you too, Eryn... very much. But I am young and I love the hunt so much. And I’m just as good at it as any of you boys,” she blurted out excitedly. “When the Finngul tells us our names, then I will choose the spear.” This was the last thing Eryn had expected. ‘To choose the spear’ meant that a woman would dedicate herself to a warrior’s life for five years. During this time she would be recognized as an equal by the men – allowed to carry weapons and join in the hunt. But she was also under the protection of the Gods, and no man was allowed to share her bed. Women normally took care of the children and the household duties, and tended the small kitchen gardens. Bearing weapons was not expressly forbidden to them, but was considered unseemly and against the traditions of the Fenn. Their domestic chores were demanding and hardly left time for anything else. It wasn’t easy surviving in the mountains. The men were responsible for hunting, while the women did most of the planting and gathering. The only way for a woman to escape her duties was to live the life of a man. These were the traditional ways of the Fenn.

“Aileen, please think about this carefully,” Eryn started. “You don´t need to hunt. I will take care of you and bring you all the furs you could ever want. Please.”

But Aileen just cried harder. “Don´t make it so difficult for me, Eryn. For five years I will live under the protection of the Gods. And if you cannot have me, then you will forget me and find someone else. It would have been better if you hadn’t spoken, because I love you too. If you had kept silent, I could have told myself you didn’t want me. And everything would have been much easier. ”

The young man stood up. “There is still time to change your mind. Let’s wait until the Nameday. My heart is in your hands, and on that day I will ask you again.” Saddened, he walked away.

Over the next few days, they kept their distance. Neither could face a direct confrontation. But Aileen’s brother, Arun, was Eryn’s best friend, so Eryn talked to Arun, and Arun to Aileen and then to Eryn again. However, the stubborn young woman stood by her decision. In the end, Arun tried to comfort Eryn with well-intentioned words: “Five years is not forever, Eryn. She will get fed up with sleeping outside in the rain, lying in wait for hours in all kinds of weather only to miss her prey in the end. You’ll see. When five years have passed, she will throw her bow into the fire and return to you full of remorse.

Eryn put on a brave face and agreed with his friend. But for a young man in love, five years were still an eternity.

Eryn’s father, Bron, was the head of the clan. He had taught Eryn everything about the wilderness, the customs and the lore of the Fenn. Eryn loved his father and Bron was proud of his son. Even though Eryn looked exactly like his mother, Bron always said it was his courage and his heart that the boy had inherited. And when he said this, Lyesell Sunray, Eryn’s mother, would smile and throw her arms around Bron, kissing him on the lips. Which was probably the reason Bron repeated it so often.

Another important person in the village was the Finngul, a mediator between humans and the Gods. Every village had its own holy woman, and Bron believed that they were lucky to have such a wise woman in their midst. The old woman was well versed in healing herbs and had already helped many people. She could also foresee the future.

But Bron always warned: “Every prophecy has its price. Sometimes it is better to know nothing. And if things are never said out loud, then perhaps they will never come to pass. So protect yourself from the knowledge of the future, Eryn – for it is as devilish as sorcery.” Nevertheless, on the Nameday the Finngul would gaze into the future and reveal to them their true names, the names that were tied to their fates. These were often linked to small prophecies - both good and bad.

The great day of the naming approached, the day on which Eryn and five other young men and women were to receive their warriors’ names. All the villagers climbed up the hill to the Finngul’s hut, tense with excitement. This was a great event. All those who had managed the trip up to the hut now gathered at a respectful distance and waited. A narrow ribbon of smoke rose from the chimney of the hut and curled into the sky. Finally, the door opened and the Finngul’s head appeared. Her face was corrugated with a thousand wrinkles. Only a few wisps of snow-white hair remained to her, barely covering the bald spots on her head. Just how old is she? Eryn could not remember her ever looking any different. Nevertheless, she radiated the power of the mountains and the forests. She waved and disappeared back into the hut.

Deren, a lean youth, was the first to go in. He opened the wooden door and slipped inside, while everybody outside waited anxiously. The villagers talked to each other in subdued tones until Deren returned and announced with pride: “My name is Deren Wolfsbrother.” The gathered crowd greeted him as the rite dictated: “We welcome you, Deren Wolfsbrother, as a full member of our Clan.” One after another they entered and returned as Savas Oaktrunk, Griselle Windhair, Arun Hawkheart and Aileen Nightshadow.

Eryn was the last to step inside. The door of the cottage was made of ancient, weathered wood and hung crooked on its hinges. He had to lift it a little just to open it. Inside, a fire burned with a cauldron bubbled above it. The Finngul was sitting on a pile of furs and invited Eryn to step forward. The room smelled of smoke mixed with the intoxicating scent of herbs. Eryn couldn’t even begin to imagine what was boiling in the cauldron. When the old woman waved him forward, he approached carefully. No one had ever told him what was supposed to happen in the hut. They only ever said: “You will go to the Finngul and she will tell you your name.”

The silence seemed endless. The Finngul just stared into the bubbling cauldron. Finally, she croaked in a thin voice. “Who comes to learn his name?”

“Eryn, son of Bron Bearslayer and Lyesell Sunray.”

For a brief moment the old woman fixed Eryn with her ancient, clouded eyes before staring once more into the cauldron. It seemed to Eryn that he was having to wait much longer than any of the others. Didn’t Deren step out again in just a heartbeat? But waiting probably makes the time feel longer. Will my name be powerful? The name of a great hunter or a warrior? Eryn was lost in thought when the Finngul finally spoke: “Eryn, your name is Bloodhand. Eryn Bloodhand.”

The name of a powerful warrior, Eryn thought with pride. “My thanks, wise Finngul.” But the old woman replied: “Do not thank me, for your hand will be steeped in blood.” She waved him away at once, and Eryn was happy to be allowed to leave. Outside he announced his name and the community welcomed him. Now they would all return to the village to celebrate. Promising names had been given today. Only the fullness of time would reveal the great deeds their new owners would accomplish.

The Finngul remained alone in her cottage. She had taken the cauldron from the fire. Too many dark pictures have appeared to me today. Young men approached me with hope, but I saw nothing but death and destruction. Eryn’s fate above all was shrouded in mystery - dark mystery. His future could follow so many different paths. He will be the ruin of others – Eryn Bloodhand. Suddenly a powerful, dark voice filled the room: “A big day, old hag.” Although it had been years, she recognized it at once - the mysterious Voice had returned. The Finngul uttered a thin screech and covered her ears with both hands. Which was pointless, because the Voice was speaking inside her head. “Eryn Bloodhand, a nice description for an oath breaker,” commented the voice cynically.

The Finngul winced. The mysterious presence knew all and saw all.

“No man deserves a name that shames him,” the Finngul protested. “What do you want this time?” The Voice laughed: “A little chat. Just visiting an old friend.”

Her hands shaking, the old woman pulled her worn-out cape close. The air had grown cold.

“You never show up unless you want something, Voice,” she remarked suspiciously.

The Voice never revealed his name – never. He was powerful. The Finngul had always sensed this. More powerful than she could imagine. The Voice was connected with dark sorcery.

“You’ve become so mistrustful, old wise woman. I visit you after such a long time and this is the greeting I am given? But all pleasantries aside, maybe it wasn’t such a mistake to keep the boy’s true name a secret. It cannot change what must come to pass. Tell him nothing of importance - it will be best for everyone involved.”

The last words were meant as a threat. Long ago the Finngul had made a pact with the Voice. Later, she had often regretted it. The powerful Voice frightened her and forced her to do things – magical things. All Fenn had rejected sorcery. Their land was free of magic and only the Gods of nature ruled the lives of men. It was said that the land of the Fenn was dead land to wizards and that it was impossible for them to practice their perverted craft here. But still the Voice spoke to her, which was a riddle the old woman just couldn’t puzzle out.

“Who are you?” asked the Finngul. As always, there was no answer - only silence. The

Voice had vanished again.

“It’s Eryn. The Voice wants something from him, that’s certain,” muttered the old woman. Pictures of her own past flooded into her mind. I was still a child when I heard the Voice for the first time. I dwelt in another place then – I don’t remember where. I was still very young and lived with my parents, whose faces are now beyond memory. Everyone became sick and died. The candle of my life was sputtering and it was then that I heard the Voice for the first time. He promised me a long, full life. I begged him to ease the pain, and this too the Voice promised me. But on the condition that I also promised him something in return. An oath sealed in blood. At first I thought I was dreaming. But I scratched my hand until a drop of blood oozed out and I promised the Voice whatever he wanted to hear. The Voice spoke of a favor, to be performed when the time was ripe. No one would come to harm through my promise, he said. And deep in my heart I knew that this was true. So she sealed the bond and the Voice kept his part of the bargain and healed her. The fever vanished and soon horsemen appeared – fearsome warriors bristling with weapons – and took her away with them. She was terrified, but never came to any harm during all the time she remained with them. It wasn’t long before they brought her to an old man in the mountains and left her there with him. The man was an old Finngul and he began to instruct her in the knowledge of herbs and the ancient practices of healing and prophecy. After many years of study, I became a Finngul myself – a wise woman of the Fenn clans. After many years had passed, and I had almost forgotten these things, the Voice returned.

At that time, Bron Bearslayer was a young man and Lyesell Sunray his beautiful wife. They were deeply in love, but their bond was not favored with children. And Bron desired nothing more than a son. Lyesell also wanted children and had already sought my help, but to no avail. The herbs were powerless to help her. “It is not the will of the Gods,” I told her. Lyesell wept many tears and confessed that she would do anything to be with child. She had already noticed that Bron was grumbling more and more. “After a while he will blame me for not giving him a son and he will leave me for another woman.” These were Lyesell’s fears and I knew there was truth in them. Lyesell with her blond hair, full lips and big blue eyes was a beauty. But she was not a native born Fenn. She came from the Lowlands and had fallen in love with Bron. Despite his love for her, Bron was a clansman, bound to tradition and to the clan. His desire for a son was strong. And when Lyesell’s beauty faded over the years, his doubts would become more troubling. This knowledge disturbed me. But the Gods would not show me a way to help her. And then the Voice suddenly returned and spoke to me: “It is Bron who cannot have children, not Lyesell. Send the woman to the grove of holy willows when she is ready to conceive. There she shall wait for a wanderer who will come and make her pregnant. He will then leave and their paths will never cross again. The woman should tell Bron that this is his son. If she speaks the truth, she will lose everything.” I considered his words for a long time. This act was not right in the eyes of the Gods. Being involved with dark sorcery, lies and deception was against tradition. But the Voice has never misled me. No one will be harmed, indeed it will bring Lyesell and Bron only happiness. And the only price was one more dark secret.

In a small flagon, a dark violet fragrance sparkled like red wine. The Finngul had poured the liquid from her cauldron into the flagon as she had been told. As soon as the small bottle was filled, the rest of the bewitched liquid in the pot evaporated. In the land of the Fenn no magic can be performed. All my life I have heard these words. But what else could this miracle be? she thought. Just how powerful must this person be who hides behind the voice, that he lives by other rules? Everybody knows the stories of the Great Magical Wars, which destroyed whole countries. And about the last war between the wizards and the dragons.

The dragons were no better than the wizards – always bringing misery to innocent people in their quest to gain more power. After the Dragonwar, the Midland sank into a mysterious fog – the Nimrod as it is now called. An effect of the transformation of the Midland into the Nimrod was that all the dragons disappeared and the number of remaining wizards was greatly diminished.

A blessing to the world, the Finngul sighed in relief. Although the Finngul was troubled, she sent for Lyesell the next day. The young woman was ready to do anything to conceive and thus to secure the love of her husband. And so everything happened as the Voice had promised. Eryn was born and grew into a strong and clever boy who was the apple of his father’s eye.

Several happy and fulfilled years passed when suddenly Eryn became ill. He was fevered and flushed and no herbs could help him. Lyesell was desperate, so she and Bron took the boy to the Finngul. Lyesell’s eyes were red and swollen from weeping, Bron’s face a mask of sorrow. Both feared for their son’s life. I already saw the angel of death floating above him and couldn’t give them any hope.

The only comfort I could offer was with words, telling them to remember their happy years together. “The Gods give and the Gods take away, but I will do everything in my power to save the boy’s life.” I sent them away with the depressing truth: “His fate will be decided by morning.”

They went home and I was alone with the boy. As a last resort, I gave him the most powerful herbs I knew. But his sickness was unlike any I had seen before. Finally, I began to cool his forehead, just to ease his passing. Eryn raved unintelligibly in his delirium. I knelt down and begged the Gods for mercy. But it wasn’t the Gods that answered her – it was the Voice.

“The Gods will not save the boy, but I can.” “Who are you?” she asked again, “and what is your interest in this?”

The Voice replied: “That is of no consequence and neither is it any of your concern. If you want to help the boy, look into your cauldron and there you will find a silver scale. Take it and lay it on the boy’s hand. It will melt and leave a scar. Tattoo the runes of your Gods over it and he will be healed.”

Once again, I did what I had been told to do. And everything took place as promised. I took the scale and placed it carefully on Eryn’s hand. It sizzled and burned itself into the skin. At first the spot was black, then it turned red and at last nothing but a faint mark remained. Quickly I took a knife and dipped it into black beet syrup. Then I scratched the runes of the Gods above the deceptively faint mark until it was completely hidden. Eryn recovered, restoring everyone to a state of great happiness.

Afterward, the Finngul spoke of a miracle performed by the Gods.

She herself did not believe it and so found herself with one more dark secret to keep. Magic blasphemes the Gods, this was the thinking among the Fenn. But the Finngul knew better. It had not been the runes of the Gods that saved Eryn, but this odd, fingernail-sized scale, found on the bottom of her cauldron.

The Finngul’s thoughts returned to the present. She was uneasy about the Nameday. The young folk came to me so hopefully, but the cauldron divulged one terrible picture after another. Many would die young. Some bravely in combat, others shrieking in fear and terror. And Eryn was central to these events. Interpreting the future was not easy. Her visions revealed only a few pictures of what might come to pass and the Finngul always saw the events through the eyes of those who sought her advice. Only seldom did she hear words. Sometimes everything was so brief and blurred that she was unable to make out anything at all. While Arun was in the hut, she had seen the flight of a hawk in the sky. Out of nowhere, an eagle appeared and caught the hawk. The scene changed and she saw blood welling out of a deep abdominal wound. She knew that this injury meant death to Arun. In the same scene, she saw Eryn beside Arun, a sword clenched in his fist. Is he friend or foe? This the pictures could never reveal. The Finngul was merely an observer and to decipher the meaning was often difficult. But in her mind, the true names stood out clearly from the prophecies. True names had power.

When she looked for Eryn’s name, Oathbreaker emerged into her mind. She repeated the ritual and there it was again: Oathbreaker. Not wanting to give the bright young man such a fateful name, I hesitated. Then I recalled the old words, whose true meaning has almost been lost. In the old times, an oathbreaker was also called ‘Bloodhand’. So this was the name I passed on to Eryn, hoping to change his destiny. Whatever oath he may swear and break, he should not start his life in the Clan with this doomed knowledge weighing upon him.

All the folk, young and old, now gathered down in the village to celebrate the Nameday. As he did every year, Narna told the tale of the Fenn, with everybody listening in rapt attention. “Once the tribe of the Fenn lived on the plains of the Lowlands. It was the time of powerful sorcerers, ferocious dragons and other magical creatures. The Fenn were free and subject to no one. But then the evil and mighty sorcerer Harok appeared and he begrudged them their freedom and carefree life. Harok demanded that they should submit to him and serve him. But Bealan, the best warrior of the Fenn, spoke with the voice of the Clan and replied:

“The Fenn will never submit.” So Harok sent out his terrifying creatures to break the Fenn’s spirit. But the fearless hero Bealan slaughtered them all, one after another. Next, Harok sent a dragon to carry out his will. The beast came by night and burned the peaceful villages down to the ground, causing many Fenn to perish in the flames. The brave Bealan pursued the evil dragon, but the beast flew to the next village and eluded combat with our hero. At last Bealan managed to track the dragon down and defeated the monster in a ferocious fight which left Bealan seriously wounded.

On the verge of death, Bealan received a vision from the Gods. In his dreams, he saw that it was his destiny to lead the Fenn to a land free of dark sorcery. A land where they could live in peace – the very land in which we now dwell. Bealan’s eagerness convinced the Fenn, who had lost their homes and livestock. They took their few belongings and moved on, taking the hero with them on a stretcher. But Harok in his twisted hatred could not let them go in peace. Again he sent his creatures and many brave men died in battle to ensure that the Clan escaped. As they neared the mountains, Harok himself appeared, intending to kill them all. Barely recovered from his wounds, Bealan was still very weak, and in no state to survive a battle. He asked the Finngul to help him. She looked at him sadly and gave him a potion.

“Once more you will have the power of the Gods, strong and invincible, but when the sun sinks below the horizon, the Gods will call you forever. Consider well whether you are willing to make this sacrifice.” Selfless Bealan did not hesitate for a moment. He was doing it for the Clan, and he knew that a single life was but a minor sacrifice compared to the survival of the Clan. So Bealan drank the potion and confronted Harok one last time. They fought for many hours and the sun was already setting when Bealan gained the advantage and defeated Harok. The villainous sorcerer died at last, but Bealan’s time had also come. With peace in his heart he waited for the Gods to call him. Meanwhile the Clan reached the safety of the mountains.

A man of the Fenn lives for the Clan and dies for the Clan. No one has proved this better than the hero Baelan. May you who have received your names today be like him. Serve the Clan, respect the Gods and beware of sorcery, because it is the devil’s work.”

The crowd cheered and the young warriors felt a little bit like Baelan himself, ready to fight against all evil for fame and glory. After the initiation into the Clan, the arming ceremony began. The villagers formed a circle and as each young warrior stepped into the middle he was handed his weapons. The bow and war arrows, the long knife whose blade was as long as that of a short sword, the small wooden shield covered with iron, and the spear. These weapons were perfect for hunting and fighting in the mountains. Heavy armor and the longsword would not help the Fenn in a dense forest. The warriors of the Clan were trappers, who had to move quickly and silently. Narna led the ceremony, and when the weapons had been handed over, he asked whether any of the women would take the spear. Eryn still hoped Aileen might have changed her mind, but she stepped boldly into the circle and announced her decision.

Eryn felt as if he had been stabbed right through the heart, but the tradition of the Fenn had to be respected.

They celebrated till long after midnight, dancing and retelling legends. Eryn banished Aileen from his thoughts. He avoided her at the feast and sought only the company of the other young warriors. At last people became tired and one after another they left for bed.

Over the following days, Eryn continued to avoid Aileen. On the one hand she told me that she has feelings for me. But on the other, this was not as important to her as taking the spear. That hurt. It had also wounded his pride. Truth be told, Eryn would have liked to talk to Aileen, but he had no idea what words he should choose. This troubled the young man beyond measure and so he was glad when his father asked him to accompany him into the town. The journey was a welcome change from normal life.

A demanding four-day trek stood between them and Falgars Vale, where Bron wanted to trade furs for metal goods and other useful items. It had been so long since Eryn had last been to town that he could barely remember it. At that time, the whole family had come along and Eryn had marveled at all the wares that were traded in the marketplace. Even the houses had impressed him. Most of them were built out of stone and were much bigger than any longhouse of the Clan. This had been several years ago, for the Fenn seldom went to town. They were well served by pedlars, who traveled between the town and the villages, offering their goods at a fair price. Even the few trappers who were not of the Clan gave their goods to the pedlars to sell.

Bron and Eryn set off from the village early in the morning. They were leading three horses, each one a small, scruffy animal carrying an enormous sack of pelts on its back. Mostly, they walked in silence because the small mountain path did not allow for walking side by side. That evening as they sat around a fire, Bron winked at his son and said:

“Now that you have become a warrior of the Clan, I don’t have to worry about taking you into town. As a warrior you will be able to resist all temptation. Yes, I am sure of it.” “What kind of temptation do you mean?” Eryn wanted to know.

But Bron merely said: “Wait and see. Tomorrow is another long day, and now we need to sleep.”

“Dad, for our safety I could take the first watch.” Eryn offered eagerly. Bron unrolled his blanket and stifled a yawn: “Tonight there is no need. The fire will keep the wild beasts away and our horses are safe beneath this ledge. Besides, I am a light sleeper and will hear if a ferocious animal approaches. There will be other nights when we will have to keep watch. So enjoy the luxury of the moment.” Then Bron wrapped himself in his cloak, an old, ragged monster of a thing made from the fur of a giant bear. Bron had earned this hunting prize before Eryn was born, and he had almost been killed in the duel with the beast, as a number of deep scars still testified. It was a story that was still told among the clanspeople: The duel between Bron Bearslayer and the monstrous bear.

Day by day they walked deeper into the Lowlands, the precipitous mountainsides changing gradually into gentle hills. “We are almost there,” said Bron as they reached a rough road that wound through the hills before running along a river. At the next bend, the town came into view. An earthen wall reinforced by palisades enclosed the whole town of Falgars Vale. Two towers flanked the town gate and in front of it, two guards with big iron shields and shining armor stood watch. They wore helmets topped with red horsehair plumes. Eryn expressed his admiration but Bron laughed: “With those plumes they will only tangle themselves in the thorns.” As they reached the gate, the guards asked them their names, where they lived, and what their purpose was in visiting the town.

They speak aggressively. Far more than necessary, Eryn thought.

But Bron remained calm and matter of fact: “We are Fenn people from the mountains and are here to trade furs. I am Bron Bearslayer and this is my son Eryn Bloodhand.”

One of the guards smirked: “Ooh... Bloodhand. A ferocious name for a boy.” “We give all our children great names so that they will accomplish great deeds,” Bron replied with a smile. Meanwhile Eryn’s face flushed with embarrassment. He would have liked to talk back, but the guards let them pass and Bron was already through the gate. Eryn followed his father hastily. “Father, it’s not funny when someone makes jokes about my name.”

Bron lapsed into his teaching voice: “Eryn, laugh about words and they crumble to nothing. If you can’t laugh about these things, then blood will be shed, and many words will be required to end the flow of blood. Think before you act foolishly.”

Although Eryn held his tongue, he did not agree with his father. Words can be a challenge, and whoever doesn’t stand up to them is a coward.

They walked down the street and he felt how the sights and sounds of the new surroundings quickly washed away his anger. The stone buildings were impressive. Even the road was paved with flagstones. This was a big advantage in the rain, which would turn a dirt road into a deep morass. Signs decorated with a variety of symbols were hanging on poles attached to the façades of the houses. “Are those magic runes?” marveled Eryn. “No, this is the writing of the Lowlanders. I know only a few of their meanings.” Bron pointed to one of the signs. “This here means ‘blacksmith’. We will come back to this shop later on.”

Unlike the Fenn, who dressed in fur and leather, the townspeople’s garments were mostly made of cloth, some with beautiful patterns.

“We could take one of these dresses home for Mother,” suggested Eryn. “It would look much better on her than on that old woman over there.”

Bron grinned: “Yes, you’re right. It’s a good idea. Let’s see how much money we have left in the end. But I reckon it will be enough for a nice piece of cloth. Over there is the marketplace. It’s best if you say nothing while I’m bargaining. Trading skills must be learned. You just watch and don´t give anything away.” Bron strode over to the first market stand which traded in leather and fur. After some friendly greetings and a few words about old times, they began to commiserate with each other on the extreme difficulties of hunting and the even more difficult business of selling goods. Then they began to haggle. After a while Bron threatened to sell his wares elsewhere, and the merchant began to weaken.

He made another offer for Bron’s furs that, like his five previous offers, was absolutely final. Another seesaw followed and then they fixed the price with a handshake.

The merchant counted out the coins, and his two helpers unloaded the goods from the scruffy horses. To begin with, Eryn was interested in the bargaining, but he was soon distracted by all the interesting things going on around him. “Dad, where are we going now? Look over there! They sell the liquid of the Gods.” In the Fenn community alcohol was only permitted on a few special occasions. “Eryn, the Gods of the Fenn are wise, for the liquid of the Gods makes fools out of men. That is why the Fenn only drink at their holy feasts. In the eyes of the Gods we are all fools, but when we interact with other humans, we should be clear-headed and not make fools of ourselves.”

“Look, over there they are selling pastries and over here fine fabrics.” Suddenly, Eryn saw a magnificent steed, far larger than their own ponies, and with a fiery temper. Snorting, he tossed his head and pawed the ground with his hooves.

“Dad, do you see the stallion over there? I would like a horse like that.” Bron laughed. “That I can believe. A thoroughbred. But the ponies are more suitable for the mountains. That animal is made for running on the plains, not for small mountain tracks. He would only break his legs.” Eryn looked back yearningly as they passed the noble stallion. They strolled around the market place and bought some roasted meat and bread, which tasted all the better for being the first food they had eaten in a long while. Later, they visited the blacksmith and Bron purchased some arrowheads and a new ax. Then, they bought a few more everyday items at other stalls, and all the while Eryn observed everything around him. There were richly dressed people who clearly thought well of themselves. At the opposite extreme you could see ragged and famished figures, who were treated like dirt. The idea of social classes was foreign to the Fenn. The Clan took care of everyone and everyone did their best for the community. If a family was doing badly, all the others helped to relieve their distress. The Clan’s chief was elected by all men of the Clan. Serious decisions were always taken together in counsel with the honored warriors. Now Bron tried to describe to Eryn the Lowlanders’ hierarchy, although he wasn’t sure about all the details himself. “They have a leader they call king and certain minor chiefs to whom the king gives land and power. There are many different levels of people. Free, unfree and condemned people.” The Clanspeople all spoke as equals. But here in the town there were noblemen, who were addressed with much bowing and scraping. The possession of gold was also of great importance. The Fenn laughed about such things, and if someone became too greedy and started to collect possessions, the Fenn had a saying for that: ‘Can gold buy you more life?’ To survive in the mountains, good neighbors were more important than gold, and the ultimate punishment was to be banished by the Clan. “Eryn, there are much bigger towns than Falgars Vale, though I have not seen them myself. Only heard of them from pedlars’ stories. Ah, well. Here we are.” They stood before a house with prettily painted flowers on the wall. “Lad, I have noticed how you look at Aileen.” Eryn could not help blushing. He had tried hard to banish Aileen from his thoughts and now his father had brought up the subject again. Slightly annoyed he said: “Aileen has taken the spear.” “I know that,” Bron said paternally. “She is still young and so are you. When five years have passed, she will think differently. Then all her friends will have a family and hunting will be less attractive to her.”

Bron winked: “Five years are a long time for an impatient young lad, but the rites of the Fenn must be respected. Aileen must renounce pleasure, but you can still enjoy life. And this house is the perfect place for that. The honor of the Fenn woman has to be held in high regard, but these Lowlander city folk see things differently. They have no honor in the way we do. And they have pleasure houses, where men can find comfort.” Eryn’s feelings were hard to describe. A mixture of burning interest, desire and disgust. I want Aileen – not just any woman. On the other hand, here was the opportunity to finally experience what all young men wanted to know. Bron laid his big hand on Eryn’s shoulder: “And I’ll tell you this - all women appreciate a man with experience.”

The ponies were already tethered to the hitching post by the house, and before Eryn knew it, Bron had opened the door and pushed him inside. The light was dim and a sweet smell filled the room. A beautifully dressed woman approached him. Bron declared his purpose and money changed hands. Then the woman turned to Eryn and smiled. She led him into another room and bid him wait. Presently, the door opened again, and this time it wasn’t the older woman, but a young maiden barely older than Eryn himself. She smiled encouragingly and whispered to him. Then her soft hands pulled off his clothes and stroked his body. His initial uncertainty quickly transformed into fervent excitement, and he became hard. The beautiful girl kissed him and let her gown drop from her body. But Eryn was already so excited that he came right away. The woman skillfully ignored his inexpert performance. His second attempt was still a little clumsy, but ended in success. Afterward, the young woman showed him a few things that might be of use to him in future encounters with the fair sex before telling him politely that it was time for him to go. Bron was waiting for him outside. He winked.

“Ah, now you are a real man. Come on. It’s time to leave.” Eryn was in seventh heaven, and it was only after they had put a good deal of distance behind them that he came back down to earth. The weather was warm and pleasant, and they made good time on their way home. They were already on the last part of the journey, shortly before the path forked to the village, when they saw one of the free hunters far up the road. The man was still some distance away and Bron stopped. Let’s wait and see who it is - I can’t quite make him out. I don’t think it is anyone from the Clan. One of the Lowlanders - Halfe or Raegnir, perhaps?”

Eryn, too, peered in the direction of the approaching traveler. “He’s too skinny for Raegnir.” “That’s true. Look, he’s stopped. He’s finally noticed us, too. I suppose it would be pretty difficult to overlook three ponies and two big men,” Bron grinned and waved at the huntsman. “It´s Willen. It’s been a long time since he’s shown his face around here. He normally hunts deep in the mountains.” The man was now moving towards them. Eryn didn’t know Willen well. The trapper only stopped in the village once or twice a year, when he would sit together with the warriors and talk about hunting and the old times. Willen was gaunt, with a face like a rodent. Only a few gray strands covered his balding head. He wore a long fur coat with a broad belt and an even broader buckle.

Now Willen waved too. “Hello Bron, have you joined the merchants now?” They greeted each other with a handshake. “My son, Eryn.” Willen gave Eryn his hand as well, in a warrior’s greeting. “Are you sure he’s your offspring, Bron? He looks so much better than you.” Bron laughed: “As long as he doesn’t look like you, Willen Onetooth.” The hunter truly did not have many teeth left in his mouth. The story was that Willen had already lost his teeth as a young man, and when he came to the land of the Fenn, the Clan gave him his nickname.

“Come with us to the village. It´s already nightfall and we’re almost home.”

Willen turned down the offer: “Thanks, but I have to be getting along.” Bron didn’t give up: “So soon? Is some beautiful maiden waiting for you?” Somehow Willen seemed to be in a hurry: “I am bound for Falgars Vale and need to make some time before sunset. But next time I’ll gladly stop by.” Bron shrugged his shoulders: “As you like.”

They took their leave and Willen hurried away. Astonished, Bron gazed after the departing hunter. “I’ve never known him to be so unsociable. I wonder what urgent business he could have in town?” When they reached home, where Lyesell awaited them with a warm meal, their meeting with the hunter was quickly forgotten.

But Willen hastened as fast as he could to Falgars Vale. He had discovered something that would change everything. Most importantly, it would bring him a lot of money. Much more than he could ever earn by hunting.

Days went by and Eryn and Arun joined their first wyvern hunt with the Clansmen. A wyvern was a small dragon. Depending on the species, some of them could even spit fire. They were highly intelligent, for animals, and hunted in packs. The relationship of wyvern to dragons was akin to that of apes to men.

The hunt was dangerous and huntsmen were often seriously wounded. But this time it was a complete success, and the hunting party returned in high spirits with their trophies. Still Eryn kept his distance from Aileen. His bravery as a hunter was equaled only by his shyness and uncertainty in this other area. Over and over again, he put off seeing her, but one day they chanced to meet alone on the path to the village. He was on his way to the lake to catch some fish, and Aileen came towards him with a brace of hares slung over her shoulder.

It was too late to turn off the path and pretend he hadn’t seen her. So he walked up and greeted her, somewhat uncomfortably: “Hello, Aileen, how are you?” This was rather wooden, but Aileen also seemed insecure. “I’m fine - and you?” She glanced down, embarrassed, which only emphasized the extraordinary beauty of her long, dark eyelashes. “We haven´t talked for a while... since that time by the lake,” she said. Eryn just stared at her. He noticed her shimmering black hair and the curves of her body, and how she excited him. The long silence began to be awkward. Eryn knew it was his turn to say something:

“Hmm,” was all he managed, while Aileen fixed him with her big brown eyes.

“Are you still angry with me? We can be friends... just like before.”

Eryn would have liked to put his arms around her, but she was a women of the spear. “No, I’m not angry. It was your decision,” he lied. “Everyone should have the right to choose their own way. As the Clans of the Fenn do. But I just wanted to say, that ...” Eryn struggled for words. “When the time has passed... I will wait for you, if you want me to. In five years you might think differently and want to … well... you know what I mean.” The smile that Aileen gave him was like a sunbeam. “Eryn, I am so happy you understand.”

In fact, Eryn did not have the feeling of having understood anything at all, but he let Aileen think he did, and she continued: “Eryn, I can’t promise anything, but if you wait five years for me, if you really do that, then I couldn’t find a better man ...” “I will wait for you, I swear by the Gods themselves.” It came out so quickly and now it was said. An oath before the Gods to his beloved. Aileen looked deep into his eyes.

“In the meantime, let’s be friends. Best friends like before.” Eryn nodded and they went home together. The fish will not be unhappy if I wait until tomorrow to catch them. Lyesell will scold me, but I know how to twist her around my finger. He had been able do this since he was a small boy.

For a while, things were the way they used to be. Eryn, Arun and Aileen did everything together. They went hunting with the other Clansmen deep in the mountains and came back with their hunting sacks bulging. Eryn enjoyed having Aileen near him, but at the same time, he could never rid himself of doubts about their future together. And so he made up his mind to ask the Finngul.

The wise woman knows the future and can give me some advice. But her prophecies can be deceptive. The Fenn tell stories where destinies are changed by the prophecies themselves, and nothing turns out as expected. Eryn considered this for a long time, but his doubts continued to nag at him, so throwing caution to the winds, he decided to visit the Finngul.

The Finngul’s hut, small and crooked, came into view on the mountainside. Smoke curled from the chimney. Eryn stepped briskly forward before he could change his mind again. Carrying a fat rabbit over his shoulder as a gift for the wise woman, he knocked on the weathered wood of the door. Inside he heard a noise. Without further delay Eryn opened the door and stepped inside. The wise woman sat wrapped in fur by the fireplace, where her cauldron hung. She pointed at Eryn with her thin finger: “Leave, Eryn Bloodhand and don’t ask!” Eryn was startled by this greeting. Does she already know my purpose? But I will not leave without an answer. “Greetings, wise woman. I have a gift for you.” And he laid the rabbit on a small stool - the only empty space in the entire hut. The whole room was packed with little flagons, cups, bags and other stuff: feathers of rare birds, dried out lizards and frogs, bones and who knows what. The wise woman looked at the rabbit and licked her lips.

Eryn wouldn’t let it go: “What is meant to happen will happen anyway. I beg you, Finngul, look into the future and tell me what will be.” The wise woman shook her head: “Why do you want to know? Such knowledge usually brings no one any good. Think again.”

The more the old woman tried to talk him out of it, the more stubbornly Eryn insisted. “I am sick with love and I’m not sure how much longer I can suffer. Please help me.” The old Finngul cackled with mirth. “Love comes and goes and comes and goes. This I can tell you for sure without a prophecy, stupid boy. Don´t waste my time, Bloodhand - it’s better not to ask about the future.”

Eryn was aggrieved that the old woman would not take him seriously. “You are wise, old one, and clever - so why do you mock me? Is it fear? Is my destiny so forbidding? Is death coming soon for me? I am a warrior of the Fenn and will not bemoan my fate. Show me the future and I will bring you meat for half a year.”

The wise woman hissed: “Pah, do you think you can buy me? Look into your future for yourself if you like!” Now I’ve upset her, Eryn thought and replied: “And how am I supposed to do that? Cast the bones or consult the stars? I have no such learning.” But the Finngul laughed as if Eryn had just made a particularly good joke. She’s really taken leave of her senses. Just how old is she anyway?

Then she looked straight at him: “But you can.” “Are you making fun of me, wise Finngul?” The heap of fur moved, and the wise woman hobbled over to the corner and began to fiddle with a small chest. “No, I am not joking with you. I will show you how. You will see, and maybe things will turn out differently than they might have. The future can take many, many paths.

Ah, here it is.” The Finngul returned with a bottle in her hand. “Do you still want to look into the future, or have you turned lily-livered on me? Spit it out, boy!”

What am I supposed to make of that? Eryn gathered his courage: “I want to see the future. That´s the reason I came.”

The Finngul came up close, assailing Eryn’s nostrils with her sour smell. When she spoke, the stench from her mouth was even worse. “Swallow this, Bloodhand, then look into the cauldron. It will reveal your future.” The bottle contained almost half a pint and was closed with a cork. It opened easily. Eryn brought the bottle to his lips and gulped down the brew inside. It tasted hot and bitter and left a burning sensation in his throat. Warmth flowed through his body and he felt his perceptions altering. He stared into the cauldron, as the wise woman had told him.

Boiling water. Nothing but bubbles bursting on the surface. She is mocking me.

But then it happened. The water began to draw him in, deeper and deeper into a black maelstrom. Everything around him faded to a dull gray. Suddenly, the mist cleared and he was standing on a platform, looking at a large crowd of people. What followed was only a series of pictures, and then the Finngul’s voice echoed in his head. “Your life will begin in the face of death. The world as you know it will no longer exist.” In his vision, Eryn glanced sideways and there dangled the corpse of a hanged man, his face shrouded by a black hood. But Eryn knew by his clothing that he was a Fenn. This terrifying knowledge destroyed the picture and catapulted Eryn back to reality. An execution! I saw an execution and I was also standing on the platform. Will this be my death? A death not worthy of a warrior?

“And what will the future bring you? Are you happy now?” the wise woman asked, drawing Eryn from his thoughts. But she spoke to me… didn’t she? “Didn’t you see it, Finngul?” Annoyed, the old woman waved him aside. “Better you keep it to yourself. I don’t want to know anything about it… and don´t forget what you have promised me.” “Certainly, you have my word as a warrior of the Fenn.” The wise woman dismissed him: “Pah! Go now, Bloodhand. Leave me in peace.”

Eryn took to his heels. His hoped-for vision had not appeared. And what he had discovered troubled him. What might come to pass that would lead me to an execution – to my own execution?