Mists of Llorn, Page 4

her blood-spattered cheek. „Foolish old man... how could you not see what he was?" She rubbed the tear away with two fingers and painted a red stroke on Yko's forehead.

  The hill above Fort Llorn seemed as good a place as any to lay Yko Dali to his final rest. Myrsade had torn Niall's clothes apart and used them to wrap Yko as best she could. She had left the poisoner's body resting naked on the cold floor next to, the now firmly dead, Jarl Frynn.

  Carefully, she dropped Yko's body down on a patch of dirt under the tree she had stood vigilant by the past three days. She stared down for a while, wondering how she might proceed. Upon death, the Clanborn of Andvárin were sealed away in deep tombs in the mountain while the common unnamed men and women were put in the ground, with rocks placed on top to make sure they wouldn't rise again. But she remembered what Yko had said about those who were denied a warrior's death, that they would rise again as malformed creatures, intent on only death and cruelty. Burying him there was out of the question. She had just removed one ghastly tyrant from the region. She wasn't about to replace him with another.

  Her own homeland's traditions seemed even less likely, as they involved removing the head and burying it separately. Then she remembered how the Gotts of Gotland took care of their dead. They would wash the bodies with oil and burn them on great funeral pyres, believing the dead would rise again in Morennon, a land where Lythar, their god of fire, was said to rule.

  „It's better than to let him rise again," she said to herself. And it might spare him an afterlife in Hell.

  She took what little was left of the Wispfire and sprinkled a bit in her palm, the sand-like powder feeling heavy in her hand. She had never used Wispfire before. It always seemed as if the Seekers merely tossed it at the ground to ignite it. It looked simple enough. She clenched her fist and threw the Wispfire on Yko's body with force, the powder sprinkling lazily over his chest and stomach, but refusing to start a flame.

  „Damn it all," she murmured. She glanced into the bag of Wispfire. There wasn't much left, so it had to work. She sprinkled the rest into her palm, eyeing it thoughtfully. What did Yko do to make it burst into flame? She felt the powder with her fingers, caressing it as she tried to figure it out. Some of the corns were larger than others. She took one of the larger ones between a finger and thumb and pressed it together, feeling it crunch and crackle. Suddenly, her palm filled with a heat that grew more intense by the second. Startled, she jerked her hand back and shook it, sending a shower of glowing embers floating to the ground. Some went to the dirt, others to the grass around it, starting little flames here and there, but luckily, the rest went down to Yko's body, igniting the Wispfire that was already there, forming the pyre that Yko deserved.

  She sighed with relief and glanced at the sky, thanking the gods in her head. The linen around Yko caught fire fast and it didn't take long for the tongues to engulf him completely. She stared at him behind those flames, her crimson eyes glistening and casting a reflection of the pyre.

  „Dohaeri yst ra donavael..." The Bruhrim tongue felt strange to her, as if no longer native. The words meant 'Strength of a thousand', a common funeral saying in Bruhran. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, filling her nostrils with the scent of burning wispfire.

  Her ears flared up and she shot her eyes open, glancing left and right. Her keen sense of hearing made out movement not far away, footsteps and shouting, clearer by the second.

  „Faster! Move faster, you dogs!" came a hoarse voice from the woods around her.

  „Shit," she murmured, keeping a nervous gaze on Yko's burning corpse. Burn, damn it! She knew those were Berserks closing in on her, but she couldn't risk running off and leaving Yko's fate in those savages' hands.

  „This way!" They were getting close, and she had to make a decision. Run and risk them putting out the flames, or fight and risk ending up next to Yko on the pyre, or worse – like the woman she had seen them dragging off.

  She inclined her head quickly at Yko's body, snatched her bag and started off away from the incoming Berserks. Regret rushed through her mind, but she had to make a choice, and this was a leap of faith.

  The End

  About the Author

  Runar Thor is a young author, hailing from the Nordic island of Iceland, right in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. In 2008, having only just emerged into the writing scene, Runar Thor began work on a new project – a fantasy universe that had swirled around in his mind since a very young age. The Nine Worlds were eventually born and throughout the years Runar Thor has added to this universe, investing time and effort in what today stands as a behemoth of history and culture, waiting for a chance to unleash the untold stories that linger within. Mists of Llorn is the debut work of Runar Thor and the first story told in the Nine Worlds universe.

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