Vidar grew very aware of his scent as he moved up the streets of Halmstadt. With every passing street, the people were more prosperous. It was like the coin in their pockets made them more susceptible to foul odors, because the sidelong glances from the men and wrinkled noses from the women became all the more frequent.
“Watch out so my stench doesn’t rub off on you!” Vidar barked, running up to a woman in wide navy-blue skirts holding an embroidered handkerchief to her nose. The outburst did not make them stare less, and he regretted it almost immediately. For now, people kept their distance. No one wanted to go near someone acting crazy, especially one as smelly as him. That did not mean they wouldn’t call the guardsmen. Swearing, he dipped onto a side street and hurried his steps. A well-dressed woman like that should have no reason for being out at this early hour, anyway.
He knew Fyllinge well. It was the part of town right next to where he used to live, after all, and he’d spent many a day delivering texts and books to clients in the area.
This predicament he found himself in, being down on his luck, was still a relatively new development, but the sharp corners of newly renovated brick houses and the heavenly scent of fresh-baked bread from the bakery one street over no longer gave him a sense of security. This was not home. Vidar was now a guest. A trespasser, even.
Vidar moved through Fyllinge to reach the rune scribes’ guild’s building. Having once delivered a book, one detailing different subtypes of flowers if he was not misremembering, he knew exactly where to find it.
Even in the early morning, lights glimmered in the clear glass windows of the sizable oblong stone building with one tall tower at the other end. It was an old structure compared to many of the surrounding houses and shops, with rounded corners and discoloration on the lower part of the walls. It stood out among the more modern architecture, resistant to change. Vidar didn’t know much about the guild, but he did know they’d been around forever. Runes were an integral part of the economy and the life of most people in Sveland, and the rune scribes were indispensable.
As he trudged up the wide stone steps to the imposing building, stepping carefully to avoid slipping on the freshly fallen snow, he passed a group of four young men—boys, really—crowding around someone at the midpoint. From the look of things, they were throwing half-hearted punches into an overweight boy’s gut as they cackled with laughter.
When Vidar passed, one of them sniffed the air dramatically. “Who shat themselves?”
“The vagrant,” another said, a sneer on his face as Vidar glanced back over his shoulder.
That was it. This could not stand.
Vidar turned and went back down a step. “What did you call me?”
“Keep walking, you stinkin’ vagrant,” that same boy said, glancing back and forth between his friends and Vidar. He was afraid, Vidar realized. That sneer was an attempt to hide the fear, but it did not reach the boy’s eyes. He was perhaps seventeen years old with short-clipped red hair and a face full of freckles, with thin lips and cheeks flushed with color.
Vidar took another step down the stairs, then another. He squeezed the handle of his knife and held the boy’s gaze, anger boiling to the surface.
“I’ll cut each of those freckles off your ugly face, you little shit,” Vidar hissed, withdrawing the knife. He kept the point in the group’s direction while moving the blade about menacingly. “Then I’ll cut off your thumbs. You’re a rune scribe, aren’t you? Good luck making the precise lines without all your fingers!”
The redheaded boy’s eyes widened and his face flushed an even deeper red as he raised both hands with his palms facing Vidar. “Now, wait a moment.”
Vidar was still a few steps too far up to even reach the boys, but he jabbed the air and showed his teeth in a grin that he hoped would look unhinged. If all four of them jumped him, Vidar wouldn’t stand a chance even with the knife. Once the initial burst of anger subsided, the point of no return was already well behind him.
It took everything for Vidar not to breathe a sigh of relief when they stepped back as one.
“Crazy bastard,” one of them said.
“That’s right. You better run!” Vidar shouted, hurrying three steps down and jabbing the air again.
The boys fled, shouting something about calling the guardsmen. Crap.
The need to run or fight surged through Vidar’s limbs and his heart pounded in his chest to the point he barely felt the cold anymore. He put the knife away.
“Thank you,” a soft but deep voice said. “You’re not crazy. Are you?”
Vidar turned to face the one they’d been bullying. This one was perhaps nineteen or thereabouts. The young man wasn’t actually fat, he just had a sense of solidness about him. It was the round cheeks that gave him a hint of pudginess, but no gut hung over his trousers. Round spectacles sat atop a wide nose and a lock of his brown, curly hair was trapped between his face and the glass.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Vidar replied, nodding toward the heavy wooden doors leading into the guild at the top of the stairs. “You belong to those people?”
“If I belong to anyone but myself, that person would be my father. But yes, I am a student of the runic arts.” The scribe wrinkled his nose and continued, picking his words with care. “You are aware of the scent lingering about you?”
Vidar sighed. “I smell like shit. Yes, I know. You would too if you’d been rolling around down in the sewers.”
The young man’s eyes opened up wide and his jaw fell into a shocked and excited expression, and he reached forward and grabbed Vidar’s hands, forgetting about the knife. “You’ve been in the sewers? Recently?” He looked down. “Yes, of course recently, judging by the smell. Sorry. When were you down there? How did you find a way down?”
Vidar pulled his hands away and sheathed the knife. “What is, uh, what are you… What?”
“Can you show me?”
“Why do you want to see the sewers? Wait, I don’t care,” Vidar said. “I’m here to find a student named Alvarn.”
The scribe’s face fell at Vidar’s reply, but he quickly grew excited again. “I’m Alvarn!”
“You are?”
Alvarn nodded. “Have you seen the water down there in the system?”
“Fell into it. Almost died,” Vidar murmured as he pulled out the wooden disc with the rune scratched and painted upon it. He flicked it to Alvarn, who clumsily caught it.
“This is one of mine,” Alvarn said, raising his glasses to study the rune. “You broke it.”
The doors into the guild opened and light spilled out along with a steady stream of students, judging by their age, dressed in thick, dark gray cloaks matching Alvarn’s. Alvarn looked up for a moment, then peered down at the rune again, obviously studying it to avoid the glances from other students.
Once they were all gone, Vidar spoke again. “Why did they all glare at you like that? Is it because you’re talking to me?”
“They don’t like me much.”
“Why?” Vidar demanded.
“I’m not rich or well-connected.”
“You look plenty rich to me.”
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Alvarn shifted his weight from left to right, then back again, looking after the other students disappearing down the street. “Look, it was nice meeting you and I really want to hear more about the sewer system, but I have to go do my rounds.”
The quizzical look on Vidar’s face prompted an explanation.
“Going around rejuvenating runes is part of the curriculum.”
“And it makes the guild a bunch of coin?” Vidar guessed.
Alvarn shrugged and turned as if to leave. “Let’s meet again.”
“Now hold on,” Vidar said, grabbing Alvarn’s cloak to keep him from leaving. “You owe me a new light rune! It broke in the sewers and I had to find my way in the dark. Almost killed me!”
“That sounds scary, but I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
Vidar tapped the broken rune still in the palm of Alvarn’s hand. “You made it. You’re responsible!”
Alvarn didn’t back down and a hint of heat rose in his words. “But you broke it.”
“Only a little! I made it glow again. If not for that, I’d still be down there!”
“Wait. You triggered the rune again once it was damaged? That’s dangerous.”
Vidar frowned down at the crack in the wood. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess? I’m no rune scribe.”
Alvarn put a surprisingly large hand on Vidar’s shoulder and stared into his face. “Rune work is not necessarily a talent for a select few. Most people would be able to at least trigger runes with a little training.”
Vidar drew back, dumbfounded. “What? You’re kidding!”
“No jest. It is against all law and custom, of course, but it’s not some miracle that you rejuvenated the kenaz rune again. What you did could’ve had dire consequences. It could have killed you.”
This was getting more ridiculous by the moment. Vidar didn’t know whether to laugh or curse at all this new information. “Illegal? How is it dangerous?”
“I’m guessing you were desperate for light, and who wouldn’t be in that situation? When the rune was rejuvenated, it was even stronger than before. Correct?”
Vidar nodded.
“And you lost feeling in your arm, like you’d slept on it funny?”
“How did you know? My chest felt funny too, like someone was squeezing my heart.”
Alvarn shuddered. “You don’t know how narrowly you escaped death, then. It is impressive, though, to manage so much without knowing what you were doing. It is illegal precisely for that reason, the danger. In the hands of someone inexperienced, rune work can be downright deadly.”
“Sounds more to me like the rune scribes’ guild wants a monopoly. Since no one else is allowed to make and sell runes, I’m thinking you’re all rolling around in gold.”
“That is not exactly a secret,” Alvarn allowed. “The danger part still stands. Look, I really have to go. My list of places to visit is long and I have lessons upon my return.”
He pulled another wooden disc out of his pocket and threw it at Vidar. “Take that, and promise me you won’t try any more rune work.”
Vidar caught and inspected the rune before putting it in his coat pocket. His task was completed, but that was not enough for him, not anymore. “I’ll come with you and you’ll teach me.”
The look of horror on Alvarn’s face was almost comical, but the fact he started running away made the whole situation less amusing.
Vidar caught up within a few strides.
“I can’t teach you,” Alvarn hissed, his voice a shouted whisper. “They’ll throw me in jail!”
“I saved you from those bullies!” Vidar said, ignoring the looks they were getting as they ran down the sleet covered street side by side.
“You don’t think they’ll come back?”
“I’ll help you deal with them, permanently!”
Alvarn’s face grew even paler. “You’ll kill them?”
“What? No! I’ll tell them I’ll cut their balls off if they don’t let up.”
He seemed to ponder the suggestion for a moment, then shook his head and finally stopped running. Despite his big frame, Alvarn was barely out of breath. “They are not the only ones. They’re all like that.”
“I can see why you’re a target, but the place has to be full of scholarly types. Why do they target you?”
“I told you, because my father is a merchant.”
“A respectable trade.”
“Not among lesser nobility and academics.”
Vidar frowned. “Wait. You’re saying they’re looking down their noses at you?”
“That’s right. I don’t even care, really. They were never going to be my friends. All I want is to be left alone.”
“What if I give you the knife? The threat of violence can go a long way, I’ve found.”
Alvarn eyed Vidar’s pocket but shook his head. “I’d be expelled.”
“We’ll think of something,” Vidar said, placing his hand on Alvarn’s back to push him into walking side by side. “I’ll even tell you all about the sewers.”
Alvarn’s eyes shone at the mere mention of the sewers and, after walking a few steps, the larger young man nodded. “Well, fine. But you have to promise me something.”
The answer stunned Vidar, who nodded vigorously. “A-anything.”
“You must never, ever tell a soul about me teaching you a little, and I’m only doing it to keep you from harming yourself. You strike me as a person who doesn’t listen to reason, who would have attempted to learn more on his own.”
“I don’t have much. This might be the only way for me to get back on my feet. If I can craft runes and sell them, I might even go to sleep in a bed sometime soon,” Vidar said.
That made Alvarn stop dead in his tracks again. He turned and held a finger real close to Vidar’s nose, making him go a little cross-eyed, trying to follow its motion. “You must never attempt to sell anything. The guild will find out and they will find you. Once they have you in their claws, I won’t be far behind.”
“Fine,” Vidar muttered.
“Promise me!” Alvarn half shouted.
“I promise. I won’t tell a soul and I will not sell any runes. Happy?”
“Not that anyone would buy from someone without the guild’s writ.” Alvarn sighed. “Fine, I’m happy. But you’re taking me to the sewers.”
“Deal,” Vidar said, holding out his hand.
They shook on it.
“Now, how do I make a rune that’ll keep me warm?” Vidar asked immediately after letting go of Alvarn’s hand.
“You should get a better coat,” Alvarn said, turning onto a narrow street. “The sowilo rune is advanced.”
“Do I look like I have money to spare for a better coat?”
Alvarn glanced down at Vidar. “That coat you’re wearing has seen better days, but judging by the quality and the stitching, it’s not some poor peasant’s garment.”
“It’s a long story and there are more interesting topics,” Vidar said. “Tell me how to make a light rune, if warmth is too advanced to start with.”
They stopped in front of a rickety door leading into a building made out of wood. It was huge and looked like it’d once been luxurious, but was now on the brink of falling in on itself. Alvarn drummed the back of his fist against the door several times. Eventually, someone unlocked it from the inside and it opened a crack.
“I’m here for your rune rejuvenation,” Alvarn said in a loud but respectful voice.
The door opened wider and an ancient man with deep furrows in his pale face immediately complained, “You’re late, boy!”
“My apologies,” Alvarn said, stepping through the door. He looked over his shoulder at Vidar. “You stay out here. I’ll be right back.”
By the time Alvarn returned, the sun was finally up. It did not provide much in the way of warmth, however.
“What took you so long, and why couldn’t I go inside?”
“It’s a big place,” Alvarn said, clearing his throat. He looked a little haggard. “I don’t want any of the guild’s customers seeing us together more than absolutely necessary. The other ones won’t take so long.”
“Fine,” Vidar grumbled. “Where to next?”
“It’s a bit of a walk, but I can tell you a little of rune crafting as we walk.”
“Rune crafting?”
“It’s what we call rune scribing among ourselves.”
“That makes you an artisan?” Vidar asked, following Alvarn as he set off down the street.
Alvarn blushed, then opened his thick cloak at the front to show a light rune he was holding. “The kenaz rune.”
“Why not just call it a light rune?”
“Because that’s not its name. I don’t call you ‘stinky,’ do I?”
Vidar narrowed his eyes but held back his retort. It would do him no good getting into a shouting match with the person who’d graciously, and with only a little nagging, agreed to teach him.
“Go on.”
They passed a rotund and heavily sweating shop owner with thick arms carrying wares into his establishment through an alley back door. Fruit, by the look of it. Alvarn waited until they were out of earshot before continuing.
“It is one of three runes.”
“Three? That’s it?” Vidar never thought about there being any more than his family used, but he always assumed, apparently incorrectly, that there had to be a bunch with different applications.
“Unfortunately, yes. Officially, that is. There used to be more, a long time ago.”
“How long? And what do you mean used to be?”
“Way back when Sveland wasn’t even called Sveland. Before the dragons were all banished by the angels.”
“Killed by the angels,” Vidar grunted.
“There are records of some simply leaving.”
Vidar was about to argue the point but once again held himself back. “What about the runes that are lost, then? Everyone just forgot to write them down or something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t the guild teach you?”
“No. They teach us the kenaz, the sowilo, and the isaz. How to craft and empower them, how to trigger them, and how to rejuvenate them. That’s what I’m doing today, adding more of myself to spent runes. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Isaz is the cold one?”
Alvarn nodded.
Vidar shivered. “Don’t see much need for that right at this moment.”
“The three runes all have many uses, too many to recount now. But… Hold on, what is your name? How rude of me.”
“My name?”
“You already know mine.”
“It’s Vidar.” He was about to give his family name as well, but didn’t. It was no longer his right to do so.
Alvarn waited a moment, as if expecting more, but then nodded. “Vidar. An old name. Well, Vidar. What if I told you there are actually more runes out there?”
