Chapter 3: Into Vasudheim, Part 1

I came into the village of Vasudheim looking more worse for wear than even had I spent endless days tilling the stubborn fields of my father.

I had made a few adjustments for the sake of utilitarianism, though - tearing my long skirt and binding it about my legs so that I had a makeshift pair of leggings; controlling my long, dark hair into two thick and tight braids going down my back; and setting my face in such a way as to emit a sense of loathing for all things. Sadly, the last adjustment seemed to take the least effort.

I had kept to the roads on the long journey, for I had heard tales of the beasts which lurked just off those passages, waiting for any to stray and be claimed. I had seen a few horses and wagons galloping by, but I did not attempt to garner any assistance. Some seemed poor, though not as poor as I, but I saw more than one rider garbed in glittering armor and bearing of gleaming weapons, and I knew they had grown rich in purse and experience on the adventures of this land.

So into Vasudheim I walked.

The Jarl patrolling the outer border of the village hardly spared me a glance. I thought perhaps I would have to state my intentions or some other such thing, but I continued walking, keeping my gaze down, and the gruff looking viking uttered not a word.

Vasudheim. A village very near the capital city, and so all the more prosperous for it. My eyes drank in all the news things, things I had never seen, and I was awed.

I saw shops out in the open air and full fledged buildings, housing no telling what mysteries. Across the way I saw an open smithy, a well-muscled norseman clanging away on the anvil. Merchants had set up shop near him, and I could see how this worked, for they would purchase the workings of metals, and then they would sell these to adventurers.

I saw a bindstone in the center of the village, and I knew that these religious totems acted as a sort of focal point for more prosperous settlements. And about this monlithic structure I saw gathered many varied peoples.

I saw those of my own kind, but I also saw dwarves and kobolds and trolls. I did not halt my slow approach into the innards of the village, nor did I betray my wonder on my features, but I was indeed moved to see such things. Most of them did not even notice me, but I saw a few slant short glances my way. The seemingly rock-hewn eyes of one large troll came upon me, and I could not help but be gripped by fear if such a creature had come with Gorj that fateful day when I did the wash, but it seemed no malice was there, and he turned his eyes back to those of his companion.

"Might you spare a few copper, mi'Lady?"

It took a moment for the statement to register, but I looked down to see a huddled figure near one of the buildings. This man looked very old, and the skin of his outstretched hand was as worn as the tired leather wrapped about his scrawy forearms. I could not believe he was speaking to me. People of such obvious wealth and prosperity stood not ten clops away, and yet he made his pitch to me, one who seemed hardly better off than he.

And then it did hit me. For though the lot I had endured in my short life, there were those who were worse off than I. I gave him a handful of coppers and some silver, a pittance to be true though it dented my own purse somewhat, but he seemed so gladdened by it. I saw the old stumps in his blackened mouth as he grinned up at me, but I did not smile.

I passed the gathering at the bindstone, observing as I could the richly colored armors and various death-promising weapons, trying to overhear what these accomplished warriors were saying, but I did not venture so close as to appear rude.

"Ja, we make ready to march upon Hadrian's Wall in two nights' time," uttered a tall norseman, bearing of a long spear and deadly bow, both of which bore such elegant and beautiful craftsmanship as to make the spear of Gorj's seem a wasted toothpick.

"Yub," nodded a gigantic troll, "We lost Krolgand, but nub better way tu die than when bashin."

I wondered at the experiences these great fighters had and how casually they spoke of dying and making ready to ride into war in foreign lands.

"Might anyone spare some money for a young Viking in training?"

And there it was again - the pitiless call for handouts. This time, though, it was no decrepid man, for I looked in the direction of the crass shouter, and I saw a young norseman. It seemed to me that he should want for nothing, for though he was young, he seemed fit, well fed, and he even bore a suit of leather armor and a shield and axe. I must admit the appearance of his equipment did seem quite fragile and useless compared to these learned warriors about the bindstone, but compared to my own stock, he appeared a young man of wealth.

Most ignored him, and but a few imparted some coin, and though I did not see the exact amount, I thought I glimpsed the shine of gold. I was quite shocked by this, for a single piece of gold was quite an amount to me, and I knew that the few pieces I had pilfered from my father had taken him years to amass. I had spent a fair share in the getting here, buying only what food and lodging I required based on the pangs of my stomach or the foulness of weather.

"Might you have a bit to spare, fair lady?"

And it seemed he was asking of me? I was quite shocked!

I shook my head and moved on, and I could swear I saw a look of evil emit from his eyes when he thought I was not looking.

When I turned my gaze back full to front, I realized I was about to walk right into a well-dressed norsewoman.

"Beg pardon, Madam," I said, curtsying slightly and lowering my gaze.

I still managed to look up at her, though, and I noted a look of open benevolence and a very warm smile.

"You do not need to avert your eyes from my face, child," she said, "I am no Queen."

I looked up then, and what I saw made me a feel a tinge of eloquent memory for my mother.

"My name is Kalara," she said, still smiling.

She had wondrous hair, so blond it almost seemed white, and her eyes were a glittering ice blue.

"You have travelled far, have you not?"

She seemed not at all bothered by me not introducing myself, nor by my apparent poverty which seemed like fearful shadows in the radiance of her.

I shook my head slightly: "Nei, only from the fields north of Mularn."

"That is no small feat for one of your age, and I daresay you did not arrive on horseback."

I shook my head again.

She looked about me, up and down my form.

"And I see no weapons upon you."

I then noticed that though she appeared all tenderness and caring, she did bear a small and colorful shield strapped to her back and a finely worked hammer hung at her belt.

I shook my head yet again.

And then she did something that startled me, though I did nothing to stop it. She took my hands in her own, and she brought them up, so she could see them better. I felt saddened, for as she gazed upon my hands, the look of happiness upon her shed somewhat for a wrinkled look of concern. I felt as though I had disappointed her in some way, that even a small, weak one such as I had managed to pierce this one's radiance with a thorn of darkness.

"My poor child," she said, "So young, yet you have endured such pain and toil already."

Was she a seer? - I wondered.

"Let me help you."

I thought perhaps she was going to give me money, and I made ready to protest, but then I felt it. My hands were suddenly embraced in a greater warmth than that she had already imparted from her skin, and I was so moved. I looked down in awe, and I saw a glow about our clasped hands, and I realized a feeling of health and power was radiating out of her and into me, all the way up to my elbows. I looked up at her again, my eyes open in wonder, and she grinned and nodded.

"Ja, I am a Healer."

The slightest touch of a smile twitched at the edges of my lips, but I still did not trade anything for the grim look upon my mouth.

Her smile again faded, and a greater look of concern came upon her face. She released my hands, and I knew that the physical damage of all those years and all the days of my getting here had been erased in that short moment. I dropped my arms to my side as she continued to stare at me.

She raised a hand, and she made tentatively as if she were going to place it on my chest. I knew instinctively that she was trying to touch my heart. She stopped though, thinking perhaps that to go so far, no matter the good intentions, would be rude. I knew what had happened. She, as a Healer, had followed her own instincts and after sensing something of me through her attuned senses and the minor healing of my hands, she had tried to go for the true source of my pain, hoping to heal my heart. I wondered of myself in that moment, though. My instincts might also draw me to someone else's heart, but it would not be to heal; it would be to apply a strike to death.

"Poor child," she said instead, not touching me further, and then she erased that look and smiled again, "You are obviously a stranger here. Is there anything I may help you with?"

I was troubled to answer. I wanted to say thank you and move on, but there was something in her open expression that bade me to speak. I did not know it then, but I have since realized that some people define their worth on how much they can help others.

"I seek the school of Loki."

She did not betray any opinion on her features for my uttering of my intent for such a path of infamy. Instead, she continued to smile, and she turned her gaze slightly to the north. She pointed at a building none too far away, one bearing of a particular mark above the door.

"It is there."

Chapter 4: Into Vasudheim, Part 2

Nothing special. That is what I thought when I saw the building.

I am not sure what I expected ... perhaps for the building to be set away from the others, vines and bent tree limbs caressing the outer shell, even a mist of gray that seemed impenetrable to the sun, but there it was like any other building.

I realized I had slowed my approach and was now simply standing outside the door. Well, then if being able to cease one's movement with a silent and unexpected fear were any indication, then perhaps the innards did hold promise.

I walked inside.

An open room ... nothing much more. I am not sure what I expected, but whatever it was, it was not this. Then I realized this could again be an advantage, for what better way to angle in for the quick strike of the kill than to effect the unexpected?

I was startled from my musings by the shuffling of some figure off in the distant corner.

I stood looking at the short, blue kobold for some time. He was arranging things upon shelves, and removing bits of dust with a ragtag brush that ended in coarse and long horsehair. He seemed somewhat agitated as he moved speedily from one thing to the next, dusting and straightening, then perhaps thinking of a new way to arrange them, then dusting some more. He seemed quite taken with his task upon that short bookshelf, and I was hesitant to disturb him. Again, I began to wonder if I was even in the correct place.

"How long will you stand there without talking?"

My eyes gaped, and it took me a moment to realize the oddly pitched voice was directed to me.

"Yib," he nodded, "Hrut knows you are there without having to turn to look at you. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"My name is Nylithil," I uttered with trepidation.

He nodded again, still not turning to me.

"That answers the first question," he said, contiuing with his chore, then, "What of the second?"

Then he stopped suddenly, turning, and I saw those steely eyes staring straight at me. I saw the lines of wrinkles about the edges of his face where his dark hair was turning a bit gray, and I knew there again was more than was expected about this curious kobold.

"Why are you here?"

"I am here ...," I felt a lack of courage to say what had indeed brought me here, and I knew it was a sort of embarassment that I was still in the wrong place, "... to become a Shadowblade."

His eyes grew a bit wider at this statement, then he just as quickly turned back to his shelves: "You are in the wrong place."

A frown took my lips, and I sighed, then I turned to leave. Before I could make it out the door, I heard his voice again, but this time he was not talking to me.

"Pinki nirz ladi want become Shadowblade .... she veri ying, veri ying."

I had stopped several paces short of the door, wondering at the meaning of this strange utterance. Then he turned again to me, and I resolved back to face him.

"You very young, norse lady."

I nodded.

"Very ignorant."

I nodded again.

"Don't even seem to know kobolds and valkyns make the best Shadowblades. We dance all around you norse, and you not even hit us before you realize you fall dead from no blood left."

"I know that the Laws of the Land allow those of my race to become Shadowblades," I said with an until now uncharacteristic confidence.

"Ah ...," he grinned a bit, "Nylithil has some barbs."

He stepped closer to me, looking me up and down. It felt nothing like the looks Gorj and his terrible friends gave me, no, it seemed more a perusal of stock for an altogether different reason.

"The Laws of the Land, eh?" he mused, chuckling slightly, "The Laws of the Land come from the gods, young norse lady, and I tell you now, that though Loki allows norse to become Shadowblades, he is no easy god to follow. He is a trickster."

"And a liar and a betrayer; ja, I know," I said with seeming total apathy for the negativity of the disclaimer.

"Hmmm," he began, "I see now," and he nodded, "Nylithil may be young, but she not as ignorant as I thought. You know that not all tricks are for fun ... some hurt ... hurt deep."

I nodded, the expression on my face shifting to that easy look of sorrow that seemed its normal state.

"The Laws of the Land also dictate that before you become a Shadowblade, you must spend training time as a Rogue," he informed me, "This, you seemed to not know. I, Hrut , am the trainer of Rogues here in Vasudheim, and let me assure you, it is not an easy path in itself."

I nodded, suddenly realizing how I had come to the wrong place and the right place at the same time.

"I ask you three questions now, young Nylithil," he said suddenly.

I stood there impassively, waiting. I knew that this would be some sort of test to determine my future.

"Will you do what I tell you to do even if you do not want to?" he asked with a look of great seriousness and pomp on his face.

I nodded.

"Are you prepared to undertake a thankless, difficult path that will force you to deal death and most likely meet your own before too long?"

I nodded.

I waited for the third question, thinking what could possibly be more frightening than the one he just asked, and a sudden look of mischieviousness took his face, and I thought of that very god to whom Shadowblades show allegiance.

"Do you have any money?"