Chapter Seven: Skasdaad

Leogun stops in the small town of Skasdaad, hoping to stay awhile, but he is exposed to the reality of his people.

The sounds of the small city of Skasdaad could be heard from a distance. Leogun trekked along the path, coming ever closer. It was just another stop. It had been nearly two weeks now, and he hadn’t stopped anywhere for more than two days. Skasdaad was about as close to the border between the High One’s Dwelling and Ntir as one could get without actually crossing. Of course, if what Leogun had been taught was true, he’d know when he crossed into the only other nation made up mostly of Northern Believers. Sagah was said to guard his borders zealously, even against his only ally. No one got out that he didn’t want out, and he usually didn’t want anyone out. It was a miracle anything was known about the country. Leogun only knew, himself, after reading the works of a Ntirian refugee. He had read that the place was almost like an enormous prison.

Either way, he had no urge to go into the place if he didn’t have to. Just as close to the Ntirian border into the Dwelling was Deharl’s, the realm of the selae. If living in Skasdaad proved unhappy for the young man, Deharl was the next stop.

People strode along the paved brick roads in the city in all directions, carrying baskets and bags of food. Some walked about casually, with family, friends, or by themselves. As Leogun approached, a few stopped upon seeing him. Most, however, continued on their way. A man of the Northern God was nothing to be remarked upon in the North, for most. Leogun walked down the road, pulling back his hood as he entered the first row of buildings. He had passed a few nearby, mostly farms. He had gotten food from one of them, enough to last him a day, but his stomach had started growling nearly an hour prior. He aimed to find a temple in the city, but he couldn’t be sure there was one here where he could find sanctuary. Except for in the larger cities, most monuments to the High One were just that: monuments.

Leogun asked a few of the townspeople if they could point him in the direction of a clergyman. A preacher had made his home here, living in an old, wooden temple.

The doors to the temple were painted gold, but it had long since begun to chip. Regardless, the doors were strong, and made no sound when Leogun rapped his fist on them. Instead, he used the mighty iron knocker hanging on one of the doors. Nearly a minute passed, and then the door opened. The man behind the door was older, perhaps sixty, with white hair unbroken by black. He wore a thick doublet of washed-out grey, and his hands shook, either with cold or frailty.

“It’s not every day a brother passes through.” He said with a warm smile. “Come in, please.” Leogun did. Ducking through the door and closing it behind him, the preacher moved to the back of the temple. Behind the altar there were a few chairs set aside, usually saved for the preacher and anyone helping in the ceremony. Wooden pews lined the sides of the building, as was custom,  but there was enough space between them and the altar for the preacher to a pair of chairs between them.

“I’m sorry if it’s not exactly comfortable in here. It costs enough to keep this place from falling apart without paying for chambers of my own.” Leogun thanked him and sat down across from the man. “So, brother, what brings you here?”

Leogun’s words caught. What was there to say? The truth could have gotten him thrown out of the temple, if not the city altogether. Northerners were a pious sort, and an attack on the Monastery, even by accident, would not be appreciated. Instead, Leogun decided to keep as much back as he could without lying. “Nothing in particular.” He gulped. Even if it wasn’t technically a lie, it bit at him. He had never been a terribly good liar. “I was hoping to stay here for a while, if you don’t mind.” The man smiled again. It was a nice smile, and it exposed the wrinkles around his face.

“No, not at all. The name’s Alfredd, by the way.” He extended a hand, and Leogun took it, offering his own name in return. “I can put a kettle on, if you want some tea. It might take a while.” Leogun nodded gratefully, and Alfredd stood, grabbing the tin kettle from the nearby cupboard and lighting a match under it when he put it above the small frame that would hold it. The small fire was blown out quickly, again and again. Finally, Leogun stood, shuffling towards it.

“Sorry about that.” Alfredd said. “There’s a terrible draft in here sometimes. I need to get that fixed...” Leogun nodded, as if in a daze. He snapped his fingers, and the fire ignited, engulfing the kettle for an instant before calming to a manageable level.

“High One!” The preacher squealed, leaping back. “Even rarer we get a Flameweaver through here.” He joked. With a false smile and chuckle, Leogun agreed, staring deep into the heat.

The morning light spilled through the temple’s windows and fell onto Leogun’s eyes, waking him from his slumber. Slinging his long legs over the side of the cot, he lifted from the small mattress Alfredd had found for him and rubbed his eyes. He decided to leave his robe on the hook. It had been a long time since he’d gone without it, but even a dedicated man of the Order couldn’t wear it all the time. It was dirty from the weeks of wandering, and he intended to wash it later that day.

He had taken it upon himself to buy groceries every morning. Most places would give him what he needed. It seemed Alfredd had gained a good deal of respect in the small city, and that respect extended to the preacher’s guest. Besides, few people would charge a brother of the Order, so it was easy for the young man to gather the food the two men would need for breakfast. Greeting the baker Grolf, Leogun hummed as he picked up what he needed. A loaf of bread would do for the day, he guessed, but he picked up a pair of buns too, and set a few tin coins on the counter.

“No cost, brother.” The baker said with a smile. Leogun chuckled and thanked him, but as he passed through the doorway, he put the rejected coin down on the windowsill.

The suns were bright, rays reflected by the snow and blinding Leogun for a second. He recovered quickly and went on his way. The winter was over, and soon enough the snow would melt. Only in the far North did the snow stay all year, and up in the mountains too. Here, though, the green grass would show most likely by the end of the month.

After nearly a week, he knew the path back to the temple by instinct, making the journey to the butcher’s, then to the baker’s and then stopping briefly by the well in the town square to get a pail of water. He even knew the nooks and crannies of the city, the little shortcuts through alleyways and across the small streets to get to the sequestered temple.

Down one of those alleyways was where Leogun saw it.

Three men were gathered against a wall. One had a small knife in his hands, but the others were unarmed. They stood in a semi-circle around a young man, no older than twenty-five, with red hair and ragged clothing. He had a bruise on his face, and his arms were wrapped around his head.

“What in the High One’s name are you doing?” Leogun growled. The man with the knife’s head turned to face the monk, his eyes widening quickly. He tapped the shoulder of the man at his side, who slammed his foot into the young man’s gut before dashing off. His compatriots followed him a second later, and Leogun ran up to the battered man. “Are you all right?” He nodded slowly, grabbing Leogun’s outstretched hand and using it to pull himself up. “You’re not hurt too bad?” He shook his head now, red curls shaking.

“Thank you.” He gasped. His voice was ragged, most likely due to the dust he had probably taken into his lungs. He coughed for a second or two, a ragged, unhealthy thing. “Thank you.” He said again. Leogun nodded and smiled weakly. “I’m Elror.” The boy said. Leogun offered his hand again, in greeting.

“Leogun Asmundvard, servant of the High One and brother of His Order.” Elror nodded again.

“I’m just Elror.” Leogun laughed.

“Here, come with me. I’ll get you something to drink, you look like you need it.”

Alfredd had a service every week, usually in the evening. It always depended on who, among the attendees, couldn’t make it. There were usually about twenty or thirty people there, and the preacher tried to accommodate for any attendance problems among them. Leogun ran back and forth, keeping things going behind the scenes while Alfredd did as his profession implied: he preached. The older man had a gift for words and for speech, unlike Leogun. So the monk gathered water from the well for the consumption of the holy water, and he distributed when the break in the preacher’s sermon came.

The usual folk came, as well as the occasional newcomer. Leogun walked up and down the aisles as Alfredd prepared for the final portion of his service, giving each person a chance to drink from the ceremonial iron cup. He estimated that there were about thirty or forty people there, and it took perhaps ten minutes to give each person a sip.

Finally, he came to the last family, a man, his wife and his two sons. Leogun started with the children, who each took a quick sip, and moved on to the woman before coming to the man sitting at the end of the wooden bench. Their eyes met as Leogun handed him the cup, inspiring some twinge of memory as he placed the cup on the table in the corner of the temple. He realized it a second later.

The last time he had seen the man, he had been holding a knife in his hands, and he had been standing over a fallen young man named Elror. Leogun's mouth slammed shut, his lips tightening into an angry line.

“What are you doing here?” He growled quietly. The man's wife turned to see what the trouble was, but he assured her it was nothing. Leogun's fists were tightly balled into fists at his side.

“What in the name of the High One are you talking about?” He whispered. Leogun narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at him to make sure he was right. Yes, definitely; he had the same brown eyes, and a thin, pale scar on his left cheek, most likely from an old accident with farming equipment. The man recoiled in shock, perhaps not realizing who Leogun was. He told his wife once more that nothing was wrong. Then, finally, he straightened, realizing who the monk was.

“You! I'd say I should ask you what you're here for.” He whispered. Alfredd had started his preaching again, and the gathering, except for Leogun and the man, had turned their attention to him.

Leogun scoffed. “I am ordained by the High One's light, and this is His temple. Why wouldn't I be here?” The man paused for a second.

“The boy doesn't matter anyways. His mother was a harlot, and his father was a Southerner. A Sempetian and a pagan.”

“So?”

“So the Cleansing would come for him in the end anyways! His damned blood is worthless, I was protecting my town.” Leogun shook his head. This wasn't right. There was no reason to kill the boy, even if he was half-Southern. Even if he, sadly, worshipped the gods of the suns rather than the High One. Did all the people really think like this?

He stepped back, trying to avoid a confrontation, and the man turned back to Alfredd, satisfied. Leogun gulped angrily. He had to tear his eyes away from the sight of him, and he pushed open the double doors of the temple, grabbing his staff as he went.

He finally stopped outside the city, sitting on a hill not far out from the sprawl of homes and shops. The snow had mostly melted by now in the first traces of the oncoming spring weather. He stared out over the city. By now, Alfredd's service would've likely concluded. The few people still wandering the streets now were mostly people returning home from the service to be with their loved ones, or their friends, or a cold drink. With the night just beginning, the time of revelry and the time of the High One, the streets would be almost empty. Leogun, however, doubted he'd ever walk the streets again.

It was time to move on, he'd decided. The yearning to go south had never subsided, as much as he'd tried to suppress it, and more importantly, he needed to see. He needed to see as much as he could. He needed to see if everyone thought the way the man in the temple had, or if they thought as he did.

Something stirred inside him, and something spoke, a voice piercing the haze of the many voices quietly humming in Leogun's head.

A Reckoning is coming, Son of the North. Something stirs.