HVATVETNA VELSPÁR Æ HÁFAVID
The Tale of the Vidmæla ⊕ Part One: All Things Must Succumb to Change


The world was spinning around him, engulfing him in a tumultuous sea of color and sound. The boy groaned as he gained consciousness, flattening his palms onto the old stone beneath him as he tiredly pushed himself up to his knees. His heavy eyelids opened slowly and his vision swam in blurred shapes as he fought to steady himself. "Get up," he heard a man say as something solid made contact with his side. Pain exploded through him and his senses came to with sudden clarity. "Your name will be Hávardr," he grumbled, before moving on to the girl that knelt beside him and giving a swift kick to her ribs.

"Hávardr?" His voice left him in barely a breath and the man did not seem to hear. He shakily rose again, this time managing to his feet as his eyes strayed to the girl beside him. She was probably his age, no more than ten or eleven winters. Her heart-shaped face was dirty where tears did not play little streams down her cheeks from her frightened green eyes. As she cowered there, she hid herself behind the veil of her curly, red hair. As Hávardr looked away, he soon realized there were four of them, boys and girls, all of which looked as lost and uncertain as he felt. Questions raced through him - where was he? Who were they? How did he get here?

The stone chamber around them was musky with the smell of dust and mildew. A few candles and torches illuminated the room with a dim, fiery glow, peeling shadows away from the austere wooden furniture that occupied most of the space here - a small table, some simple chairs, and a few old, shabby beds with straw for bedding and ragged bed-cloths that were probably in need of a good wash. Hávardr suddenly realized that there were no windows or doors here and he could feel his head begin to spin again.

"Your name will be Maglena," the man grumbled to the girl beside Hávardr before moving onto the next. "Morvjarn," he continued, "Helfrida, Gidájorn." They were poorly clothed, like him, dirty and disheveled - Orphans, he thought. Like me. Morvjarn was the tallest, lanky and brown of hair with a spray of freckles over his nose and cheeks. There was something angry in his dark eyes, defiant, as he stared back at the man. Helfrida was small, mousy, with large ears, and Gidájorn was fat and sobbing. When the other four were on their feet, the man stood opposite of them, straightening to his full height.

He was the largest man Hávardr had ever seen - imposing, easily towering two times their size. He had an old, unforgiving face, riddled with pockmarks and ancient scars. The man's eyes reminded him of the stars, bright and blue, pale compared the black of his heavy, knotted beard and hair. The jewels on his polished rings glinted in the candlelight as he curled his large hands into fists and set them on his hips. Hávardr thought they looked to be like clubs. He could sense that they would probably hurt as much as one as well.

"I am Skaldr Jorgenson," his grating voice boomed through the chamber. "Henceforth, you shall address me as Father and be known as Skaldrson and Skaldrdóttir."

"Where am I? I want to go home!" Gidájorn cried.

"Silence!" Skaldr rose his mighty hand. "This is your home now, boy - you have been sold to me and I will make use of your worthless hide. I do not tolerate disobedience, so do not test my patience. I've got hungry dogs outside and if you aren't worth the slop I feed you... then, let us just say that they seldom contest what they have for dinner." Gidájorn whimpered and stuffed a chubby hand to his mouth to muffle his small, pathetic noises.

The man flared his nostrils, then gestured slowly behind him. "These are your brothers. You are to obey them in my absense. The rules are very simple here - do as you are told, keep your mouth shut, and do not disturb me." Hávardr had not noticed the young men until then - three, stalwart and robed in black, standing perfectly still in a line. They were staring and silent, arms crossed over their broad chests. "If you do as you are bidden, your brothers will teach you reading, writing, counting, and Slœvidgándr."

"Hvatvetna velspár æ háfavid, Father," the three men called out, together, as Skaldr turned away from the children and began to approach a stone wall. He gave them a vague nod as he set one of his massive palms against it.

The air suddenly went static, teeming with energy. Hávardr could see the hairs of his arms rising as invisible power filled the chamber. His body began to shake involuntarily with fear, abruptly overwhelmed with a foreboding feeling that something was about to happen.

"Hvatvetna fossávid!" The command boomed like thunder and, as if incapable of enduring the sheer force of it, the stone wall cracked before Hávardr's very eyes, crumbling into dust and forming an entryway into a corridor that lay beyond the chamber. In a single stride, Skaldr was through the wall. Within seconds, it suddenly began to solidify and became solid rock once more.

"Magick," Gidájorn whispered in awe.

"Yes, Little Brother, magick," the tallest of the three men stepped forward, green eyes fixated on Gidájorn's fat face as he flexed his fingers before dropping his long, graceful arms to his sides. "Father is one of the greatest Vidmæla in Borys. You will one day become Vidmæla, a magus that has mastered Slœvidgándr, the study of Alteration magick. But first, you must prove yourself worthy." A sly curl took the corner of his thin lips as his gaze lifted to regard each of the children.

"You are now wards of Fjarskídholl, the Hall of No Doors. You will have chores and duties throughout the Hall - you will cook, clean, wash, scrub, dust, and study until you five prove yourselves worthy of apprenticeship. Only after you master writing and arithmetic will we teach you Slœvidgándr... but first, you will grow accustomed to the rules of our home.

"Yes," one of the other men chuckled knowingly, "rules..." Hávardr did not like the glint that took the man's eyes as he spoke. He could feel himself cowering as the men began to slowly approach them, grasping the children by the shoulders. "The first rule - learn the Words. Hvatvetna velspár æ háfavid. Say them!" Confusion set in on the children as they glanced to one another. There it was again - that kick in his gut, electricity in his veins and crawling over his skin. Something began to buzz in his ears as Hávardr fearfully rose his eyes to the Vidmæla.

"Sók-annarr sjáhraeddr," the three chanted in unison - and then, it began to form, at first like a veil over his eyes, filling his vision until it poured into his mind - no matter how hard he blinked, it would not go away -

Blood. Everything went red - all he could see were red faces, hundreds of bones littering the floor, vermin crawling up his legs and clawing and biting and scratching and digging and burrowing into his flesh - he could not hear the sound of his own screams as it joined the chorus of the other children. He flailed against the weight of the Vidmæla's grip, but could not find any escape. The flames of the torches were burning him, too strong, too hot, and the smell of his own skin cooking filled Hávardr's nostrils.

"Say them," a dark voice commanded of him, though he could not see its owner as the blood on the floor began to bubble, slowly solidifying into demons of grotesque proportions. He was screaming, but all he could hear was growling and snarling and crying and ripping and cracking -

"What does it mean?!" Gidájorn's words were faint and he seemed so very far away...

"Hvatvetna velspár æ háfavid," the voice replied. "All Things Must Succumb to Change."