To the North

[luka]

Far away there's a land of snow and sorrow
Time has made the frozen tears fall like rain from the starlit sky ​

They called her Orsola Giovanna, after her respectful mother and grandmother. Any diminutive wasn't accepted. She liked the cold and proud sound of Orsola Giovanna, even as a little girl. Her grandfather understood that and treated her with respect, as another adult, not a kid. He was the one who noticed her unusual memory, her greatest talent.

People started saying that there's God's Blood in her veins. In the beginning, she didn't understand. But she listened to their words, slowly building a picture of herself. She was blessed and cursed at the same time. She was memorizing every single second of her life. Orsola's memory was perfect.

Every book, conversation, lecture, she knew it perfectly and had no problem finding it inside her head. With time, she became a living library. At first, her family was hiding her, explaining it with her weak health. But gossip is travelling fast and by the time she was sixteen, the city knew about everything.

Orsola was a huge surprise for her parents. Nobody expected another child, after all, her mother gave birth to six boys already. There was a hire, nobody needed another child. And then Orsola was born. The true miracle, the gift from Gods.

Now she was twenty-one, still mourning the death of her father. Now, it was only Orsola and her six older brothers. They never had a great relationship. Maybe because of the age gap, maybe because she was just different, who knows. There were this weird coldness and distance between them. She didn't mind. It was always like this, why now something was about to change?

It was winter. There was no snow, it was the South after all. Here, it was even rarer than kids with perfect memory. But soon, she wanted to go where it was an everyday thing. For a long time, Orsola was reading about the North, about the land of snow and ice. The lecture slowly awakens an adventurer in her young heart. It may seem cruel but father's death opened her a lot of doors. She wasn't married, she had money, she could do whatever she wanted. So Orsola decided to organize an expedition.

The aim was noble- to describe local clans, culture, to make new accurate maps and maybe, just maybe, reach the lands that even sailing clans are scared of. But she couldn't do it alone. She needed someone who knew how to survive in this hostile world of snow.

Orsola entered the local inn. The warm air hit her in the face as soon as she opened the door. The inn was full of people. Apparently, they heard about her plans. There were many legends about lost riches of the North. Desperate people looking for an easy gain, that's what she saw in the men gathered inside. But she couldn't be picky. She sat down by the biggest table, almost unnoticed by the rest of the people.

After a few hours, it was clear that not that many men want to sail in an expedition organized by a woman. Most of the experienced sailors declined, babbling about the ways of the sea, about women who are bringing bad luck for the ship. She was tired and annoyed. But she left anyway.

Now, she's standing on a ship heading towards the Coast Clan. She can already see the land. Her crew starts preparing the ship and soon, she's standing on solid land. There's a small welcome party, waiting for them. Five men and a woman. She takes a closer look and suddenly, Orsola feels so small. All of them are like mountains compared to her petite body. She keeps a straight face. - Orsola Fuliocci - she introduces herself shortly - I believe, your Jarl got my letter - her pronunciation is far from perfect, unlike the words she's using. She clearly knows the Northen dialects but hasn't had an opportunity to practice it.

 

[GreenPhoenix3]

Stigandr hated taverns. It was not that he was one to pass up a good mug of mead. It was not the closed space either. He has had to hide in trenches up to his waist, he spent nights in a ship's jail, he woke up in a cellar. It was the people. He did not like watching humans let their nature get the best of them. He did not like to watch a man hit every woman that passed him by and challenge every man he could. His skin felt cold, his stomach hollow. It would be easy to slip into nothingness. A part of him wanted to.

“Looks like we will be in for a treat tonight.” Stigandr blinked as the darkness crawled back. Jarl sat down on the stool across from him, blocking his view from the man.

“What do you mean?” Stigandr sat up and flexed his hands. He was holding them too tightly. “Are you going to try to woo another mainland female?” Stigandr smirked.

“While that is a good idea,” Jarl leaned back in his seat and scanned the tavern quickly. “And there are some very fine pickings tonight, I am here on business.” Stigandr raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his mead. “And I was talking about your blank stare at Bogdan,” Jarl said with a pointed look. Stigandr looked at his mead.

“It, I was, he hits the bar maiden every time she passes.” Stigandr huffed and took another sip of mead. He blamed the mead for the heat on his face.

“That kind heart of yours is exactly what I need, Stigandr my friend.” This time Stigandr shoot Jarl a knowing look as he set his mead down.

“So, I’m the business? You must be desperate.” Stigandr chuckled. It died as he saw Jarl’s smile flicker.

“Not desperate, just, you’re the most, understanding person I know.” Jarl praised sweetly.

“Kind heart, understanding?” Stigandr leaned his head on his fist, focusing on Jarl and not the man, Bogdan, that just roughly grabbed a woman to his lap. “Did one of your ports come back with a child?” Stigandr joked as Jarl sipped his glass of mead. There was no reaction.

“A Southerner,” Jarl said quickly. Stigandr blinked.

“A Southerner?” Stigandr repeated. Jarl nodded. “You had a child with a southerner?”

“NO!” Jarl yelped loudly. Quickly he looked around to see that his yelped was buried in the other rambunctious noise of the tavern. It seemed that Bogdan was now trying to kiss the woman, she was fighting him. He looked back to Stigandr. “I did not have a child with a southerner, never will.”

“Then why mention one?” Stigandr leaned in, his stomach sinking. Jarl let out a sigh and leaned in.

“A letter came from a Southern noblewoman. She wants to chart our lands.”

“Dangerous. The clans barely tolerate each other. The only thing holding them together is their hatred for the South.”

“She is willing to pay a high price.”

“She won’t make it, no matter how much she pays.” Stigandr chuckled darkly. He expected a quick quip from Jarl. He just stared at Stigandr. The feeling in his stomach twisted. “Jarl,”

“Look, you are not a marked clansman, and you have been through more of these lands in the past 4 years than I have. Your strong and anyone would feel safe around you.” Jarl gestured to Stigandr’s wide chest and bulky arms. Stigandr glared back.

“Until, that, happens.” Stigandr crossed his arms across his chest.

“There is, that. But that only happens on rare occasions.” Jarl shrugged. There was a yelp and Stigandr’s eyes focused on it. Bogdan was laughing as he rubbed the red mark on his cheek. Stigandr fisted his hands as the darkness and its emptiness pounced.

“I can’t promise you that, Bogdan, will leave here alive.” The darkness within Stigandr growled. Jarl jumped and his eyes flickered behind him.

“Stigandr.” Stigandr blinked again, focusing on Jarl. “Please, friend, don’t. It’s been six moon cycles since that has happened. Do not let this fool cause another story.” Jarl pleaded. Stigandr owed Jarl everything. It was Jarl who found him and named him. It was Jarl who still kept by him despite being a part of the stories about him. He could not deny Jarl, but Stigandr knew this Southerner would hurt or even blame Jarl if he joined. Stigandr sighed and looked away.

“Why do you want me, Jarl? I know you know many other clansmen that would gladly work for you. Even if you carried a Southerner on your ship. Why me?”

“She wants to go past the Dark Shores.” Stigandr whipped his head to Jarl. Jarl looked at the table. “I am a traveler and I know many people. But the only person I have seen come out of those lands, is you.”

“The first thing I woke up to was a burnt corpse.” Stigandr seethed. “And I don’t even know how I got out of there.”

“But you did.” Jarl looked back up to Stigandr. “This noblewoman is determined, my friend. She is leaving her land and her well-established home to travel these lands. If she truly wants to go past those shores, she needs you, whether she wants you or not.” They stared at each other for a while, until Stigandr sighed.

“Pay me when she returns home.”

“You don’t-”

“This way you are not wasting anything on a dead man,” Stigandr said with a swallow of mead. Jarl nodded and took a sip of his mead too. Silence fell over them, letting the air of change settle.

The day of the noblewoman’s arrival came. There were three other men and a female standing near Jarl. The female was wearing a wolf’s pelt over leather clothes that mostly covered her more private areas and her feet were bare. The animal’s rune was burned on the pelt’s forehead. Stigandr felt her yellow eyes narrow at him. He bared his neck slightly, and her eyes relaxed as she looked away. The biggest man had a hammer strapped to his back. Stigandr eyed the rune of power on the hammer. The other two men wore cloaks, hiding their weapons and features, but one of them eyed him as he approached. Stigandr raised an eyebrow at the man. The man turned away quickly. To be safe and not grant unwanted tension, Stigandr stood at the back of the party. Soon the ship arrived.

A woman clothed in more garments and finery than Stigandr had ever seen glided towards Jarl. Stigandr stiffened. This, pale, fair, dainty, bright being could not and most likely would not survive this journey. If she did, Stigandr shuddered. She would be a forgotten memory like him.

 

[luka]

Looking at them, she felt small but her face stayed straight. She wondered how many of them will join the expedition. Orsola will remember their faces forever, no matter what will happen to them during the journey. Her grandfather once said that people are alive as long as somebody remembers about them. She believed in it for many years, now she wasn't so sure.

Orsola smiled but this emotion hasn't reached her eyes. These stayed green and cold like the woods they were passing by while coming to the shore.

"If your people have any questions about the ship or other technical matters, please, talk with my Capitan" with a gesture she showed the right man. He was tall for a Southerner, in his mid-forties, dark hair and short beard were carrying some silver hair. His name was Basile and he seemed trustworthy enough. "And now, shall we talk about the business?" one of her eyebrows raised insignificantly.

They stayed in the tavern. Lately, she was visiting places like this rather often. It was unusual for a woman with her position but she never complained. After all, it was her idea to sail north. Was she scared? Maybe. But she feared mistakes, not the unknown.

"At the beginning, I want to say sorry for my poor attempts to speak your language. I've never had a chance to talk with a native" she had only conversations of local merchants who spoke Northern for business purposes. Also, two of her sailors spent a few years in Coast Clan to do business as well. This language sounds so rough compared to her mother tongue. The southern dialects were like songs. But again, you can sing in every language, it will just sound different. And she heard that music was quite important for these people. They didn't have time for books so all the important stories were passed in a form of songs. It seemed almost exotic for her. After all, written word lasts longer than even the best memory. Maybe that's why she wanted to write down their stories.

"Second of all, thank you for agreeing to talk with me. I can imagine that this expedition seems like a whim of rich and bored woman who read too many adventurous books," maybe she shouldn't word it like this? But it was the truth, wasn't it? They had the full right to think like that. "I assure you, it's not. I'm sailing for scientific reasons. As you already know, the main purpose is to create new maps. If you support my expedition, I'll give it to you."

Silence. She didn't know if the clanmates will laugh or listen to her further words. Maybe she was too anxious. Using this quiet moment, she continued. "If you agree, I'd like to stay for a while to know the clan better. You see, culture is an important part of history, I'll create notes about the clan. Your stories, customs, maybe some basic of the language. I hope you see the advantages of this cooperation," for Orsola it was obvious. If the South find out more about the North, they will open up. The stereotype of barbaric North will fall apart and trade will bloom. In her young head, it seemed easy. Maybe because Orsola felt the time completely different than a regular, forgetting mind.

 

[GreenPhoenix3]

The party stared at the woman, Orsola. Jarl went to talk with the Southerner captain and ordered them to take Orsola to a tavern to relax. If they were going to be heading north, the sooner they started the better. Stigandr had to hand it to the woman. She sat with her back straight head held forward unabashedly, despite the glares and sneers she was receiving. Some of the braver clansmen even spat in her direction. Still, she kept her poise. The perfect picture of the brave regal Northerner.

She die in day. The other female of the party growled and she crossed her arms. The enhanced nature of her voice made the words almost intangible when using rune speak. The big man laughed loudly shaking the table.

Brave she is. The man in the dark cloak spoke and rubbed his chin with a dark hand. Stigandr recognized Jarl’s signal, twin ravens, on the man’s bracelet. The man must have been a new part of Jarl’s crew. It had been six moon cycles since Stigandr himself was a part of that crew.

Foolish and pride hold her. The man that eyed him sneered. Kill she will. Stigandr rolled his eyes and stepped between them all and sat in front of Orsola.

“Hello, Lady Orsola,” Stigandr spoke slowly, his tongue felt heavy speaking the Southern dialect. It was soft and flowed like the river, where the North’s words were as solid and sharp as the runes the drew. “We, thank you, for, paying. Your speak is good. Why you take your journey,” Stigandr touched his chest. “Does not matter. Pay and we do our word.” Stigandr nodded at her, his eyes boring into deep bright green orbs. For a moment, Stigandr thought they were purer than emeralds.

 

[luka]

Orsola shook her head. "Here I'm not a lady," she wasn't sure yet how she prefered to be called but being a lady for sure won't buy her the loyalty of the crew. "Your companions already showed what they're thinking about my title," there was no bitterness in her voice. She looked at them with her cold, distant eyes like she saw something different in their faces. All of it was just temporary, including herself. Why should she care about their opinion if they won't be the part of her crew? "That's a shame. I've heard good things about Clans. I would never think you'll spit on a hand that is offering a business. And a good one, I believe," Orsola raised an eyebrow. Maps are crucial for navigation, a lot more accurate than a memory. Do they realise that? She's offering them the newest maps for free if they support her with a few people. That would convince every Southern merchant. But she wasn't at home anymore. "Doesn't matter," she looked at the man who spoke her language. She smiled gently like he said something funny. "There are places where money won't buy me loyalty," yes, she wanted a crew that she could trust. "And this expedition is going to one of them."

Hearing that someone speaks her dialect, even a bit, she switched to it. "Where did you learn Southern? How should I call you?" she asked, crooking her head to one side. He was huge. One of the biggest man she's ever seen. It would be good to have a mountain like him on the ship. And he spoke two languages which was another quality she was looking for. "You see, motivation is crucial. Nobody will sail with me that far without a good reason. Money can be the greatest of reasons but not when you're going to complete unknown," she gave another look to his companions. "I've heard how much glory means to your people," she read all the documentation about the North she could find in southern archives and libraries. It wasn't much. She smiled with one corner of her mouth and looked back to the man she was talking to. "Stories are making us immortal. What would you do if I promised you a song about the journey? A song that will be on mouths of all people, both in the North and the South?" she had to speak to their pride, use arguments that could speak to them. Now or never, the first impression is the most important. "Your clans are nothing to the South. They call you barbaric, look down on you. It has to be difficult to do business in an environment like that," another slow glare through the people who were still listening to her. She wasn't sure how many of them speak her dialect. "But you can prove them wrong. If you could be so dear and explain that reason to your spitting friends, I would be obliged."

 

[GreenPhoenix3]

Stigandr blinked at the direct way Orsola spoke. While dainty and frail she looked, her mind was sharp. In a way, that was more intimidating than some of the warriors Stigandr had met. The growling female and brooding man behind him must have thought so despite their lack of understanding. The cloaked figures were a bit harder to gauge, but he did hear one sneer.

“AHAHAHAHA!” The dark-skinned man pulled his hood back to reveal long dark hair in thick braids, with the same colored hair growing in stubble around his mouth. His deep green eyes, Jarl’s eyes, glowed with mirth. He sat down next to Stigandr a smile on his face. “Jarl was correct in saying that you are a sharp one, Lady Orsola.” The man held up his hand to quiet anyone speaking. “Here, your position will get you everything. Our companions do not spit on your title. They spit on where you come from.” The man looked at Stigandr.

Calm friends. He ordered. Stigandr glanced between the man and Orsola before nodding and turning to the others. The other cloaked man stuck close to the dark-skinned man.

She give honor. Stigandr spoke to them in rune speak and held his hands up.

Frail and small. No honor. The big man stated.

She them! Disregard our runes, displease gods. Cursed. The woman hissed. Stigandr flinched.

She pay. Stigandr insisted. Their jaws were still clenched. She make song.

Dirty blood. The woman spat, but the man uncrossed his arms. Stigandr sighed, he did not want to pull this, because this would be his last card but it would work. Word to Jarl. He said forcefully. Both warriors flinched. They grumbled and dragged their seats to the table, but sat directly behind Stigandr and not at the table.

“Well, it looks like we have a crew!” The dark-skinned man smiled, just like Jarl. Stigandr wondered what happened during those six cycles he was gone. Granted he did not always travel with Jarl before than either. But, the resemblance in mannerisms was uncanny.

“Lady Orsola,” The man continued in the Southerner dialect, dragging Stigandr out of his thoughts. “In these lands, Northerners are not just arrogant and rich, they’re cursed. The riches they have are because in the afterlife they will only know torment for turning their back against the gods, against runes. The only things more hated than a Northerner is cowardice and the cursed clan.” The man took a sip of the mead that was placed in front of him. “And while we value glory, we value our word more. Me and our fellow crewman gave word to my father and I.” Stigandr coughed trying to hold in a snort. He had much to talk to Jarl about.

“Sorry,” Stigandr nodded at the man, Jarl’s son, when he looked to Stigandr. Jarl’s son focused back on Orsola.

“They are loyal to me, I an loyal to him, and he is loyal to you. So, you have, his word.” Jarl’s son smirked. Then he focused on Stigandr.

“I am curious to who you are to my father.” Jarl’s son narrowed his eyes at Stigandr as he turned back onto the Northerner dialect. Stigandr sat up when he felt every pair of eyes land on him. He fisted his hands tightly. “I know these people,” Jarl’s son gestured to the others. “I know that they are getting paid and that they are bound to my father as his crew. As lady Orsola asked, who are you? Why are you here?” Stigandr took a sip of his mead. He looked to the woman with cold jewel eyes.

“I am called, Stigandr,” Stigandr paused as the reaction of the other crew happened. It was worrisome when the two behind him scooted back. He was smaller than one of them, and the other could probably maul him to death (if he was conscious). “I,” Stigandr tapped his cup thinking of the word the Southerners would use. “Wander to many places. Good and, bad, very bad.” He felt his voice go deep as the emptiness crawled up. His grip tightened on his cup, and when he felt it give away, he blinked. His steel cup held a dent from his hand. Stigandr took a sip, ignoring the stares. This time he kept staring at his mead. “Jarl asked me to come. I get paid when you are home again.” It was not the whole truth, but he had a feeling the others, even Jarl’s son did not know how far this woman wanted to go. How far she was willing to go. If they knew, word be damned, they would leave her to suffer.

 

[luka]

Even better, she thought, hearing his explanation. So the title was the only worthy thing about her. What else should she expect? So far, she didn't have an opportunity to prove herself to them. But that may change very soon. She was the sharp one already and they didn't know half of what she was capable of. Orsola smiled palely, gazing intensely on the laughing man. He didn't mean anything bad, she was sure about that.

She listened calmly to what he had to say about the South. The calm smile still on her face. She still had one card to play. Orsola thought that she won't have to play it at all, not before the beginning of their journey. She was going to inform them about it because the crew should know, no matter what they'll think about it. She needed their loyalty. There was no loyalty without trust and how they could trust her if they didn't know what she's capable of?

"You're right, we're not using runes. It's a long-forgotten art. But even the South has its connection to Gods" yes, denied and feared connection. Gods left them many generations ago. They run from their responsibilities and really, Orsola couldn't blame them. The South believed that they're still between them, somewhere, hidden. "Have you ever heard about the God's Blood?" she asked, crooking her head to the left. She didn't wait for his response. "It's rare but it runs in Southern veins. It gives you a small piece of your godly ancestor's power. We are prised. But also feared," mostly feared. Because how can you not fear something you don't know at all? They're saying that at some point, every God's Child is falling into madness. That's her biggest fear- to lose control over her own mind. Her smile gets brighter. "Yes. We. There's a God between my respectful ancestors and before you'll laugh let me demonstrate," and she repeated the whole conversation from the beginning till the very end. Flawlessly. It was nothing. No flashy demonstration, just words and her blank stare into space. "You may think it's just a trick. I'm encouraging you to try me. I'm remembering every second of my life. Every word, every picture, every sound or feeling."

What else she could say? She hoped it's rather self-explanatory. This expedition will give her materials to write for years. And she'll be writing like her time was ending. Because she'll never have enough time, she's not deathless.

She listened to the conversation between two men. It was rather interesting, to get to know relations between crew members. Or possible crew members. They need to get along. She didn't want pointless arguments or rivalry. Perhaps, she was asking for too much. Perhaps. She was still smiling and this grimace only got wider when the one called Stigandr mentioned bad places. For a second, she felt philosophical. Because aren't they all just wanderers going thorough bad and good places? In one way or another. But she didn't say anything. It was an unnecessary comment.

 

[GreenPhoenix3]

God’s blood? Stigandr mulled the term over in his mind. It seemed, ridiculous. How could one be born with advantages that no one else had? Stigandr knew that people were different, but that was down to their choices and how they decide to live. To have such power bestowed on a person without consent, knowledge, or want, seemed barbaric. She willed them to test her, saying she was one of those people. She even smiled, as if it was a scar or some test of might. Stigandr glanced at Jarl’s son, unsure how to proceed.

Jarl’s son ignored his gaze and the other cloaked man stood between them, an air of hostility coming off him. Stigandr breathed out his nose. Orsola did not react to his name but he saw how she noted the reactions of the others. Her smile had slightly gotten wider as if she was pushing back her thoughts. Stigandr wondered if it was her thoughts or questions she was holding back.

“This God’s blood you say you have, what it allows you to do is no concern to us. Nor is your memory.” Jarl’s son chuckled darkly. “What use is memory to you when where you are going is unknown?”

“More than you know.” Stigandr scoffed at the comment and felt the glare of the other crew members on him. Stigandr squirmed and took a sip of mead. “Sorry.” He mumbled and looked at the table.

“Lady Orsola,” Jarl’s son spoke again, focusing back on Orsola. “You can prove yourself however you like, but as I said, your memory will be useless on this trip. Now your plans, that is something we need to know. What are your plans?” Jarl’s son leaned towards Orsola. Stigandr took another sip in an attempt to hide his own curiosity. He wondered how much of the truth she would divulge.