Runebinder

By D.W. Roach

As a dark mist descends upon the vale of Romsdalon, the fate of the realm may very well rest upon the shoulders of a mere child.

Hakon High-Stone, son to Eirik High-Stone, has been chosen by the Aesir Gods themselves: he is to unlock the magic and mysteries of the Runebinders. An Ancient Order will emerge to reveal the child's destiny and guide his hands.

But will the forces of Helheim linger, and will the boy be destroyed - or his heart poisoned - towards hate and malice? Arise, Gatekeepers. Arise and uphold your sacred honors, lest the boy be turned to the Circle of Darkness.

“In the darkness they came, covered under a veil of mist and shadow
In the darkness they came, with their sharp, rusted blades and gnashing teeth oozing of decay
In the darkness they came, to put the Runebinders at bay...”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 4867517941

Book preview

Runebinder

D.W. Roach

Copyright (C) 2018 D.W. Roach

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Miguel Parisi

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

For MY SON.

There is real magic in this Realm.

Unleash it…

"I know that I hung

on a wind-battered tree

nine long nights,

pierced by a spear

and give to Odin

myself to myself,

on that tree

whose roots grow in a place

no one has ever seen.

No one gave me food,

no one gave me drink.

At the end I peered down,

I took the runes-

screaming, I took them-

and then I fell."

- Havamal, Book of The High One

Translation by Jackson Crawford; The Poetic Edda

One: Crimson Falling

Long ago before time was time, before the mountains, the rivers, and the oceans had names, before Heimdallr himself had birthed man unto the shores of Midgard, there was only light and darkness. Though separate in their essence, one could not exist without the other. Where light shone, darkness retreated and where light faded, darkness consumed all in its path. Within the ether the first gods, the elementals, were born into creation. Cast in the rudiments of fire, stone, wind, and water, the elementals reigned supreme in a vast and never-ending realm filled with chaos, destruction, and disorder. As the eons passed the elementals in their great and infallible wisdom gave their essence to creation and birthed the gods themselves. A great and powerful magic was awoken in the universe and as the gods grew and multiplied so too did their power. Over time the creation became the creators, and soon man was born and placed carefully upon an insignificant blue speck in the cosmos, Midgard. Though man be but mortal, the gods chose stewards amongst them and through these overseers the gods spoke the words of magic casting runes within their very essence. The stewards would become powerful allies to the gods but alas, not all were so willing to become the rightful and benevolent caretakers of man. For some, the magic meant absolute power and the ability to reign supreme over all others. And so, the war of the Runebinders began, one of five great wars of the age…

* * *

Once again you have failed at the sacred duty I have bestowed upon you. The dark and sinister specter floated effortlessly high above a bleak and cold stone floor. Beneath her a simple mortal man stood, feeble, weak, and cowering in fear of his life, he went down on his knees; his forehead pressed firmly against the rough floor. Are you not capable of performing your burdens in a manner befitting my magnificent crown? the specter added. Must I remind you of the awesome power that I hold? Perhaps I should cease your worthless excuse for a life and find another more apt servant to attend my great cause. The old man gazed upward through the strands of his long grey hair with outstretched arms, hands clasped tightly together in desperation.

My Goddess, I but live to serve. Command me and I shall carry out your bidding. A thousand foes shall fall at my dagger should you command me. The rivers themselves will turn crimson in your honor! The dark feminine specter lifted a thin bony hand and pointed her long razor-sharp fingernail at the old man as one would point a blade.

Do you swear to serve the darkness? To cast out the light and give yourself eternally to the shadow? To love and pay reverence only to the void? The old man nodded his head swiftly in agreement and stood guardedly.

I do, I do, he replied enthusiastically. With all my heart I shall serve until the end of my days! The dark specters wide eyes now narrowed to slits as she focused on the mortal figure before her.

Whom do you serve? she questioned with her hand extended toward her obedient servant.

The one true ruler of Midgard and the nine realms of Yggdrasil. The one true goddess. I serve you, oh sovereign of darkness and shadow, ruler of the void. Now and forever. A dark and sinister grin cast itself across the face of the goddess.

Now and eternal, she replied threateningly. The specter leaned downward and gently kissed the old man's wrinkled forehead. His eyes began to glow a magnificent violet but quickly the light faded, and his eyes returned to their original hue. Command my legions in secret. Find the rune child! Then we shall tear their halls down stone by precious stone. None shall stand in my path, not even the two great houses!

It shall be done, my Queen.

* * *

In the sprawling lands of the north amidst great ceaseless forests, mighty roaring rivers and ferocious untamed wilds lay the small village of Galdbygde. Though a much smaller village than most of its day, Galdbygde was a lumber and fishing market. Merchants from all points would venture a great distance to supply their wagons with rich dried freshwater fish from its plentiful rivers and superb planks of wood from its abundant forests. The folk of this parish were the quiet sort, hardworking and industrious, priding themselves on their craftsmanship and trade rather than glory in battle or the spoken word. Amongst these laborers and craftsman were few warriors, and fewer still great warriors. No inordinate stones or monuments were erected within the unpretentious community, nor giant mead halls to celebrate the gods or heroes of old. Instead rather quaint hovels lined the dirt path down the river bend. A humble and unassuming place. One might even say that there was nothing of particular interest about Galdbygde whatsoever and they may very well be right; how could there be? Everything smelled of wood shavings and fish guts and nobody ever left town unless the Jarl summoned them, which almost never happened. However, not all is as it seems. For at the very heart of this quaint, unassertive, and boring township was an even less interesting and perhaps unimportant boy. Or so was thought…

Hakon! a woman's stern voice called echoing from inside a dusty hovel. Hakon High-Stone!

Yes, Mother? the boy replied nervously.

Get yourself outside! Your father is waiting! You know how your father does not like to wait on others. He will skin you alive, you know. A small and frail seeming child. Hakon High-Stone was eleven years of age as the snows fell on the rooftops of Galdbygde that season. Snaer, the god of snow himself seemed to have covered the entire valley floor in blankets and blankets of heaping white powder. The young lad quickly donned a fur and wool cap before heading outside into the frost-bitten air.

Hakon? the voice called once more.

Yes, Mother?

Are you forgetting something important? The boy looked frantically about the cottage and saw a small yew bow and bundle of arrows resting comfortably in an old fur quiver. He quickly snatched them from the corner of the hovel and ran outside the door. As he bolted down the wooden planks that led to the hovel, he slipped on a patch of ice, falling face first in the snow. Laughter erupted overhead and the boy lifted his face begrudgingly, wiping away the stinging sleet to see his smug brother standing impishly over him.

Get up, you oaf! Knut was only several seasons older than his brother but unlike Hakon, Knut was tall, stout, and an accomplished hunter of the woods. All the traits that any proud father of the Norse would want of a son and heir to his undying legacy but to Hakon, Knut was no more than a foolish and soft-headed dunga if he ever saw one. You're never going to catch anything laying down in the snow. Really, Hakon, I just don't understand why you can't just be…be…normal, his brother lamented with a tired expression.

Are you two done playing? a hoarse voice bellowed. Just ahead at the tree line their father, Eirik High-Stone, waited impatiently in the shadows. Eirik was a large tree trunk of a man with long auburn hair and steely blue eyes that could cut through the thickest of fog. A favorite figure in the village being one of the only seasoned warriors amongst the tradesman. His experiences in raids to the east had made Eirik harsh at times to his boys but with good reason. They lived in an unforgiving land in even harsher times as the snows had barely melted from the previous winter. He did not want them to just survive as others did, he wanted them to thrive. Even in the numbing cold of mid-winter Eirik rolled up the sleeves of his crimson tunic revealing bulging forearms covered in long-faded bluish tattoos; symbols of his past conquests in strange lands and various runes asking for protection from the gods of both houses.

Yes, Father, Knut dutifully replied. He looked down at Hakon with a sneer and then extended his gloved hand to lift him up. You're embarrassing yourself. Now get up. What would the gods think? Knut was known to be cruel to his brother but still a brother he was and not always without kindness. Hakon stood and angrily wiped the wet slush from his clothes. A rush of fur violently ran past him as Eirik's hunting dogs, Tunn and Hund, made a mad dash for the woods. Superior and well-bred large Sighthounds, their grey and blackish fur moved wildly as a bounding blur between the thicket.

Tunn, Hund! Get back here, you stupid beasts! Mangy little bastards! Come! Let's get after them before they get themselves into trouble! Eirik sharply ordered. The dogs ran ahead and Eirik gave mad chase. Come and stay close! he ordered his sons waving an arm forward. Knut ran ahead into the forest with his weaker blood Hakon lagging just behind. Midday fast approached and the faint twilight of Sol peaked between the cracks of the tree canopy. It was midwinter and the snows sat heavy upon the forest floor frozen nearly solid after ceaseless blizzards. As the trio ran onward, Hakon began to fall back further and falter. His small legs ached, his chest burned like a fire from the icy air. Knut, gazed over his shoulder and looked at his kin with utter disappointment.

Keep up or you'll be left behind! Wouldn't want the wolves to corner you alone! Be a shame to have to give mother what's left of you! he urged with a dark sense of humor. Hakon was jealous of his brother's physical prowess but did not let it sour the relationship. The boy continued his determined march forward trudging through the hard-packed snow staring at his feet and soon ran out of breath. He looked upward from a small incline and gazed about the floor of the wood through steamy breath; his brother and father were nowhere to be seen.

Knut! he shouted desperately. Father! The woods were eerily silent and no reply was given to the boy's anxious call. Hakon's heart began to sink deeply into his chest and a twinge of fear slowly washed over him. He was alone. Unable to locate the tracks of his father and brother he had but one way to venture and that was back home following his own clumsy steps in the snow. A cold wind began to blow, tickling Hakon's nose and with the breeze came a soft but deep howl. Unexpectedly a terrible cry rang out in the air and the boy lifted his head to find what was amiss but the frightening wail was abruptly halted. It was a shout of pain and agony concealed from the boy's sight.

Hakon became suspicious and nervously reached back for an arrow. His frigid finger tips found the nock and shook apprehensively to secure the arrow in place. Slowly he tip-toed forward keeping the barb pointed ahead at the ready should trouble arise. As he took several paces onward and rounded the trees, a crimson stain painted the snowy white ground at his feet but just as soon as the blood met his sight his eyes began to burn. He blinked relentlessly and wiped his eyes with his forearm. Not now… he mumbled in frustration. Something was wrong with Hakon, something different. He knew in his heart he was not like the others and it was often that strange pains visited upon his body. He wiped his face once more and the burning sensation receded from whence it came. The boy kneeled vigilantly and stuck his fingers in the red glob, rubbing them together slowly. Blood? he said quietly to himself. Hakon's heart began to race as nightmares of what may have recently transpired dashed about in his head. Could it be a wolf? A bear? Were his brother and father wounded or worse yet, murdered by wandering marauders? He watchfully followed the red trail in the snow until at long last he spotted something familiar to him: a pair of furry paws sticking out motionless from behind a tree. Hund? he said aloud; but the furry paws did not move at his soft call. With arrow at the ready, Hakon slowly made his way around the tree until he saw the familiar face of his father's loyal hunting dog. Hund! the boy cried out in shock. Lowering his bow, he placed his hand gently on the dog's wet muzzle and still the beast did not move. Gazing downward Hakon spotted something about Hund that was very unfamiliar indeed, a sight that sent chills up his bony spine: terrible claw marks. Not that of mighty bear or fearsome wolf, but something larger, much, much larger…

Hakon! The boy jumped back in a panic at the sound and fell into the snow dropping his bow and arrow. Without looking up he scrambled for his meager weapon when a friendly shadow emerged. His father stood over him with Knut standing just behind. What did you do? His father questioned sternly. Hakon shook his head frantically from side to side.

Nothing, Father. I swear it, he squealed. I heard a scream after I lost you in the wood. I found Hund just laying here. Tunn came running out from the bushes and rushed to his furry companion. He licked Hund's face several times perhaps to rouse him from his eternal rest but his once playful brother did not rise. Pulling back from his fallen comrade's face, he stepped towards the wounds and sniffed them deeply. Suddenly the hound became frightened and Tunn backed up quickly, whimpering like a coward with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. He began to cough and wheeze until a sickness came over him and he vomited against the snow. Eirik was perplexed as he had never seen his dog act in such a manner. Tunn most of all was an accomplished tracker and hunter; what would cause him such sickness?

What in the gods is wrong with him? Knut asked, but Eirik did not reply. He just stood there and then looked about the forest floor. Father? What is it?

I don't know, replied Eirik. He knelt next to his hound and carefully pulled back the torn ragged fur from the wound exposing the awful sight. By the gods! he exclaimed. I've never seen anything like it.

Was it a wolf or a bear? Knut asked. His father shook his head slowly.

No, son. No. Take a look for yourself. Eirik put down his bow and pointed with his hand while he held the mangled and bloodied fur up from the beast's flesh. Have you ever seen a wolf or a bear do this? Have you ever seen anything do this? Hund's innards were gone; the stomach, the heart, the guts, the liver, not even a trace of them, gone. The dog was no more than an empty husk with all the meat and skin left behind to freeze and harden in the icy air.

Why waste good meat? What kind of animal would do such a thing? Hakon asked nervously.

I do not know. Eirik put the fur down with a disgusted look and brushed his hand along Hund's snout caressing his fallen friend. Poor little beast. How many screams did you hear? Did it sound like a fight? Was there a struggle? The boy Hakon shook his head tensely.

No, Father. The wind began to blow and I heard a scream. A terrible one, and then, nothing. Eirik quickly stood to his feet gazing at the ground all around his sons and then lifted his head upward scanning between the trees and the horizon. His face was stern now, hard as a stone. What little softness Eirik High-Stone had for his fallen hound he now concealed beneath a rough exterior.

No tracks… he murmured. Not a single damn track anywhere. How could there be no tracks? Knut stepped forward and investigated all around as his father had.

How could there be no tracks? That's impossible. Father? Everything leaves a track. Does it not? Eirik had been an accomplished hunter all his life. Even Knut had successfully tracked and killed every kind of large beast that wandered these woods, but neither could explain what they had seen this day. Hakon's heart beat faster as worry washed over him again, his teeth clenched, his throat tightened and joints began to ache. For the first time in a long time the hunters of his family were nervous. Never in all his life had they shown an ounce of fear; now they were rank with it. Eirik's heart became cold and he knew within his heart that the hunters, were now the hunted. Father? What shall we do? Knut pressed anxiously for an answer.

Steady, boys. Eirik said, gritting his teeth together. Knut, get Hund up on your shoulders and carry him home, he deserves a proper burial. Hakon, you lead the way. Take it nice and slow. I will watch our backs. Their father's directions made them wary of what may still be out there, of what may still be watching, lurking in the shadows.

What is it, Father? Please, tell us, asked Hakon. Eirik continued to gaze about the wood but there was nothing there to tell him of the creature that occupied the forest this day. No tracks, no ruts or tears at the bark in the trees, no broken branches. It was as if a ghost or spirit had killed his dog, eaten its insides and merely vanished into thin air never to be seen again.

Come on, boys. Get to it. We need to get back to the village. Slowly and quietly now. Knut did as he was commanded and lifted the emptied husk of Hund while Tunn circled impatiently around him. The beast's body fell lightly on Knut's broad shoulders. Hakon made ready his arrow once more and gradually trudged forward through the snow. Though they did their best to remain quiet, the frost would betray their every movement. With each step, the ice crunched and cracked beneath foot. Eirik kept a wary eye to the rear watching every twig, branch, and leaf within sight. The hovel was not far but to the boy Hakon, each carefully planned step seemed like an eternity in the creeping shadows of the forest. His mind began to race with thoughts of towering Jotunn; massive giants so large that their legs looked like tree trunks as the rest of their body hid amongst the dense foliage above. Or perhaps it was a terrifying dragon that had swooped down from the sky, lifted their hound into the air with spear like claws and devoured his guts before throwing the dog's bloodless carcass back down to the ground.

Hurry up, Hakon, Knut urged, annoyed. At this pace, it'll take us all of Sol's journey to get home.

Quiet yourself, son! Eirik replied fiercely. Stop here, take a knee. Without hesitation, the boys dropped down in the snow with their father. Hakon turned his head back towards Eirik.

What do you see, Father? Knut gazed at his father briefly but kept a wary eye elsewhere fearing what my sneak up on them.

Shut your mouths. Keep your eyes forward, he ordered, voice low. We are not alone…

What do you mean? Knut asked. Eirik was slow to give any answer for the thing he knew to be true would ice the heart of the boys and perhaps rob them of their courage. However, he thought twice of it and now felt it best to let them know what he felt deep in his bones.

Boys, I want you to stay calm. No matter what happens, keep your wits about you. Do you understand?

Father? Hakon asked nervously.

We are being hunted… Knut's face became hard and angry as he slowly lifted his head and gazed at his surroundings. With Hund on his shoulders he was blind to his sides and felt vulnerable as if a beast would flank him without a moment's notice. Hakon raised his bow and nervously aimed his iron tipped arrow in all directions.

Steady yourself, boy, Eirik commanded of his youngest born. You may only get one shot.

What is it? Hakon's mind continued to race as his heart beat relentlessly in his chest. If only he could know what predator they faced, then perhaps he could muster the courage to steel his nerves and take on the foe head on. The unknown was frightening to Hakon, more frightening than a pack of wolves or even a Jotunn.

I don't know. I can't see anything, but I know it's there. I can feel it in my bones. The winds are fowl with death and decay, the trees shudder in fear. Not even the birds bathe in the light of Sol. Can you not hear the silence? Can you not feel the unnatural stillness? A rush of air passed above Eirik from his right to left shoulder. He strained his eyes to the tree tops above and yet saw nothing but the canopy and the cracks between them. Whiffs of snow fell lightly from limbs above that had been disturbed. Up and down each trunk Eirik gazed with the focus of a hawk and still, he saw nothing. Sweat began to trickle down between the hairs of his beard and fear slowly crept into his every bone and muscle.

Where is it? Knut whispered.

Run, Eirik said quietly.

What? asked Hakon in disbelief.

Run! Eirik leapt forward and pushed Knut ahead. Hakon lowered his bow and made a break for it between the trees and through the ice dusted ferns fast as a snow hare. As they sprinted ahead an ominous sound grew to the rear ever so closely behind them. It was not that of wolf or bear racing through the sleet. It was something different entirely, something not of the woods, something unnatural. As if the air itself was chasing them from behind. The sound began as a faint echo and then grew to a sharp whistle that pierced the ears as they ran with all their might.

Ahead, a brightly lit clearing showed itself, and a familiar sight of small cottages greeted their fear-stricken eyes. Go, keep running! Eirik fearfully urged. Hakon heard a branch snap behind him and looked back to see his brother Knut laying face first in the mud. Without hesitation he turned to aid his brother. No! protested Eirik. Keep running, son. I'll help him. Eirik lifted his son to his feet and Knut bent down to pick up Hund. No, leave him! The whistle grew louder and louder, cracking tree limbs and tearing at bark. Leaves, branches and dirt flew upward from behind and the whole forest sounded as if it was about to come crashing down on them. Hakon made it to the clearing just outside their village and turned raising his bow with trembling arms.

Father! the boy cried out. Eirik and Knut had fallen back some ways. Knut injured his leg and limped ahead as his father pulled him forward. The whistle grew to a roar, like the sound of a heavy rain from a thunderstorm falling furiously atop sacrificial stones. Eirik yelled towards Hakon but the boy heard nothing, only the howl, only the noise in the void. At last they reached the clearing and turned standing next to the boy with his arrow drawn. Knut fell heavy to the ground writhing in pain but his cries were drowned out entirely. Eirik raised his hunting bow next to Hakon's and quickly drew the full weight.

Loose! his father commanded. Eirik and Hakon released their bow strings and two iron-tipped arrows flew into the void of the forest. The noise and wind rose up as a wall of leaves, snow, and dirt rushing towards them with an angry howl. The trio closed their eyes and turned their heads away as they braced for the deafening sound to overcome them. Suddenly the chaos pressed hard against the edge of the clearing and rushed violently upward into the sky. The noise faded from a roar to a whistle, to a howl, and then to nothing; complete silence. Moments later a flock of ravens in the tree tops cried loudly and their black masses flew high into the sky and away from the forest towards the jagged mountains in the distance. Hakon took several steps behind his father and Knut fearing the noise would return to somehow do unto them as it had done to Hund. Tunn was standing even further behind the men and barked furiously at the dark woods. Get up, Eirik commanded of Knut. His son stood and with the help of his father began to hobble back to the village.

Where did it go, Father? Hakon asked in astonishment.

I don't know and I don't care. Gods be praised that it is gone. But it wasn't gone. No, the noise in the void of the forest was very much present. It hid quietly in the shadows and watched from afar, unable to cross the line between the forest and the clearing. It knew it could not cross, it knew that it was not permitted, not in daylight. And so, the creature hid amongst the shadows and the darkness, watching, observing the High-Stones as they fearfully marched back to their home. The feast it had made of the hound had barely silenced its hunger. It required more sustenance if it was to continue its path. And so, the creature that skulked in shadow waited patiently and began plotting its scheme. The departure of Sol would lower the barrier once placed by the ancient ones and the rise of Máni would set the monster free.

Hakon! Eirik called to the boy that lingered still too close to the tree line for his comfort. Get you inside. We need to have a look at Knut's wound. The small boy grudgingly turned his back on the wood and rushed to help his father carry Knut to their household. As they approached their mother had spotted them from the entryway of the hovel. When they came closer her maternal instincts kicked in and she knew something was amiss. Svanhild dropped a rag from her hands and ran hurriedly to their aid.

What happened to Knut? She looked at his leg and then wiped the beads of sweat streaming down from his brow. Is it broken? Knut shook his head.

I don't think so, Mother. Eirik pressed him onward for fear that the noise would return.

Best to get him inside and have a look. Hakon, take Tunn with you and fetch Nori. He should be down at the river bend with his nets. Tell him nothing of what you saw. Tell him I sent you and that he needs to get his axe and meet me here. Be quick about it! Svanhild thought that Knut's injury was merely a hunting accident but now she could see the fear in their eyes all too clearly. Something was terribly wrong indeed.

What is the matter, my husband? Svanhild asked, clutching her lover's tunic. Eirik turned his head and gazed back into the dark and foreboding woods. He knew the beast was still there lurking about. He could still feel it in his bones, he could feel it on the nape of his neck. He knew it was still watching with keen eyes from afar, but something kept the beast from running them down. What was it? He returned his eyes to his spouse and looked nervously at the ground.

We should discuss it inside. I'll not utter a word of it here. Not where the others can hear it. The trio made their way inside the humble cottage to seek solace and refuge while Hakon called upon Tunn to follow him.

Tunn! Come here, boy. The dog whimpered at first, unsure of what direction Hakon would take. The boy took a step towards the river and called him once more. Tunn! Come! We're going to the river. Come, boy! Tunn stepped forward cautiously and his tail slowly made its way out from between his wet furry legs. Hakon's thin frame took off at a sprint and Tunn barked frantically at him before catching up. Running between several cottages with pluming smoke stacks, Hakon quickly reached the fishing huts at the edge of the river. A place where nets were stored, strung out and repaired, and where the smoke houses stood to dry heaps of freshwater fish before the harsh winter months.

Hello, Hakon! a small voice called out. It was a pale skinned boy, fair of hair and blue of eye. Though a small child would bring cheer and glee to most, Hakon was not fond of this troublesome lot.

Hello, Sven. Have you seen your father anywhere?

Why? the boy asked suspiciously. What business do you have with him?

Father asked me to fetch him. Sven's eyebrows raised with distrust.

For what? The boy was barely seven and already he was suspicious of the intentions of others. He would make a fine advisor to a Jarl or better yet, supplant the Jarl himself one