Earlier, during the late harvest season of AU 107.
Deep orange phantasms danced across the rough cavern walls, shedding light upon the sophisticated and time-worn paintings etched onto the stone by a violent yet precise hand. Composed of earthen colors, ranging from rust red to a grayish blue, they told the sad story of a grim goddess and how she came to be one such. They must have dated back many centuries, possibly even a millennium or more, for they were captioned with a cryptic language nobody spoke anymore, and depicted abstract, alien imagery that unsettles the mind. Beneath them, on rocks, protrusions and stalagmites near the floor, dozens upon dozens of candles were lit all around the chamber, their white wax washing over the stones and encrusting upon them.
The irregularly shaped cave was moist from constant exposure to water that trickled through the ceiling and from the opening at the far end where the cavern opened up to a subterranean creek that splashed peacefully. Decorations had been put all across the well-lit cavern in the form of primitive effigies made from flesh and bone, animal and otherwise, and adorned with ribbons of scarlet cloth. In the centre of the room, a concave in the ground was stained a deep, reddish brown – a color that could only be dubiously made out, as it was furthest from the candles near the walls, but one could clearly see that the cavity was darker than the surrounding rock.
The knights flanking lord Ardobert Griffiths shifted nervously; they had seen this cave many times before, but there was something about it, something in the air, that did not feel quite right. None of the lord’s retinue ever looked forward to escorting him to the very heart of the clans – the den of the Godsister, Aderyn of the Ravens.
“Welcome, Ardobert,” the ancient hag rasped, her voice sounding like scraping bones, “to the threshold. It’s been a while that thou didst come to see me, but I dost know why thou art here.”
“Then I dost hope ye hath answers,” the lord of Almare replied, stern of tone and face, his gaze never leaving the aged druid’s face, “Guards, leave us.”
“Art ye certain, milord?” a concerned knight asked, but a mere hand wave from their lord sufficed as an answer. The two, clad in heavy platemail and armed with swords and shields, left the cave through an almost organically shaped tunnel leading upwards.
“They can feel her pain here. That is what dost frighten them,” Aderyn remarked as she took a seat on one of the flat rocks near the darkened concave.
“I fear not the goddess, Aderyn, but I fear for my people. Ye claim to know why I didst come here,” Ardobert said, his face stricken with doubt and weariness as he sat down close to the matriarch of the clans.
“I do. The portents are clear, good lord. War is coming. Like a great dragon it shall spread its wings and the shadow will fall over all of Lundland. Tens upon thousands will suffer and die, and not even forlorn Almare will be spared of the dragon’s breath. The only question that dost remain, dearest, is what they will fight and die for.”
“The neighboring kingdoms, Jorvik and Aaldoreanfeald, plan to overthrow the overlord and put Rone’s cousin on the throne instead. I imagine Kaldur will heed the call to arms as well. They say that Theodore Trisch dost plan to free the lordships of Lundland from their shackles, and return their sovereignty to them in full. But the overlord has done us no harm, and I see little gain in this. Yet, I fear that if I refuse, it will only put Almare at odds with the kingdoms bordering it, and I canst not afford to expose my people to such a threat.”
The great lord sighed deeply and lowered his head. Only then did he spot the gutted remains of a bird inside the dark indent in the ground, its intestines spread chaotically with small, colorful pebbles strewn about the flesh. He was no stranger to the augury that the clans performed; if anything, he came to rely on it to help him in difficult times such as these.
“I have told thee what I have seen. Why dost thou believe that my opinion matters?” Aderyn asked, her gnarled fingers delicately fumbling with the necklace made from sinew and teeth around her wrinkled neck.
“Because it is your people that will fight and die for me. Ye know this; if Almare goes to war, then the clans will be called to arms as well.”
“Thou hast been good to us, Ardobert. The clans trust thee and art willing to fight anyone thou deemest an enemy to the goddess and her people.”
“I know that she dost not care whose blood is spilled in her name, but I do. For but a moment, look through the eyes of a queen, not a priestess. What would ye do if ye wore my mantle and my crown?”
“Thou hast two choices, dearest. Thou canst choose to go to war for a man thou carest little for, knowing who thine allies and thine enemies are, knowing that the battle shalt happen far away from thine home and thine wife. Or thou canst choose to remain inert; to do nothing and wait for the wolves to come to thine home, not knowing when they will come or how many there will be. Besides… the Blindseer hast been bleeding heavily these last few months. The clansmen art having nightmares, and the forest is disquiet. Kyoru needs a sacrifice, Ardobert. Thou shouldst not deny her.”
The lord of Almare straightened himself and looked Aderyn in the eyes once more. His face was a mask of stone, an unmoving visage whose dark eyes betrayed no thoughts.
“These words are clear, Aderyn. I thank ye for your counsel, and I shalt consider it with care,” he said as he got back on his feet and offered a hand to help the old druid up as well. She accepted with a weary smile and bowed before him, only for him to return the gesture.
“Farewell, Godsister. May the goddess keep thee well.”
Ardobert turned around and embarked to leave the cave of flickering candle light behind him. He stopped only for a moment to hear Aderyn’s final words before wordlessly continuing his exit.
“Fare thee well, good lord. I dost have a feeling thou wilst need the goddess’s blessings more than I.”
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