“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Roared a bulging man dressed in red furs. The priests of the Svart Augu paid his protests no mind as they continued to set up a new booth.

The inside of the large octagonal Chapiteau-like tent usually sat three wooden bleacher-like structures that held seats and tables for guests. The highest tier of the bleachers held the most seats, for servants and guests. The second tier held fewer seats meant for delegates and dignitaries, with a small staircase to reach the top, while the bottom tier held only three seats, reserved for the royal or champion.

Each bleacher was decorated in a particular house’s color, and the bannisters of the houses that they were reserved for were draped overhead. Each bleacher was appropriately separated by at least one section of the tent’s adjacent sides so they were not right next to each other. For years, there had only ever been the three, and now the priests were setting up a fourth.

“Answer me, damn you!” the man snarled at one of the priests carrying in grey linen. “A Nemandi will be in shortly to explain. Please do not cause any disruption.” The priest responded calmly. Though his eyes were covered in cloth, he looked directly at the man, as if to stare into his soul. The burly man scoffed, turning back to his red-bronze seating.

The other two houses, one draped in golden-yellow and another in aquamarine-silver, watched on in curiosity as the priests laid out what looked to be drab gray cloth and set out only two sets of silverware. When the banner came out, there was a general chuckle that erupted in the room.

“Is this a joke?” A delegate of the yellow table scoffed. “That banner looks like someone’s Amma stitched it together with twine!” another at the blue table added. The man in red furs remained in his seat, center of the first tier, his arms crossed as he glared at the banner being raised.

“Someone’s Amma did stitch that, actually.” Came a voice from outside the tent. Arnorr entered the tent, followed closely by Michael and Archie; those who weren’t already standing quickly rose to their feet. “The Prestr of the House of Grarefur, has crossed the great northern squall to be here today. By the Order of Synsmadr they have been approved to join the table.” Arnorr announced, presenting the two ‘Priests’ behind him.

“Great, GREAT!” Boomed the man in red once more, “Next, you’ll tell us they are joining the ceremony.”

Arnorr’s non-reaction to the question seemed to enrage the man even further, “THIS IS NONSENSE! We all agreed YEARS ago, this was a place for ONLY THE STRONGEST HOUSES! Yet here you are pulling up a chair for a pauper House whose banner is made of rags!?” the man continued to rage.

“Rundolf, dear, calm down. Let the Nemandi finish his sentence before you give yourself a stroke!” A woman in yellow addressed the infuriated man. She sat in the center of the middle row in the yellow bleachers, flanked by two attendants. “I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for the Svart Augu to be adding a chair to our table on the eve of our most sacred tradition.” Came her calming words, dripping with venom as her eyes locked onto Michael.

“You don’t command me, Ravkina, seidkona!” Rundolf the Red cursed at the woman.

“Well, I concur at least that an explanation is in order, at least. Before SOME start drawing swords and calling for heads.” Came another voice from the blue table, who shot Rundolf a sideways glance. This was only answered by Rundolf with a physical gesture, which Michael could sense meant great disrespect to the man in blue.

Arnorr held his hand to silence the room, “This is holy ground, and no violence shall be provoked. You KNOW the consequences.” His voice carried an authoritarian threat towards Rundolf, which seemed to have somehow pacified him. “They will be joining in the selection, same as you, but they do not covet your prize. I suggest you acquaint yourselves with them and their cause before casting judgment.”

Rundolf would hear no more of this, throwing his hands up and storming out of the tent, most of his men following suit. Ravkina, the woman in gold, also rose to her feet; all of her own attendants rising in response. Her exit was demurer in comparison, as she paused next to Michael. She glanced up through the sides of his glasses, seeing his pitch-black eyes, and grinned, taking a long drag from a pipe and blowing the smoke away from them, “Oh, I intend to acquaint myself with him, alright.” She smirked before departing.

“Well…that went well.” Came the voice of the man in blue. Arnorr stood aside to make proper introductions, “Prestr Michael, allow me to introduce the Master Hakon of the Blar Skjaldbaka Tribes.”

Hakon approached Michael and bowed respectfully, and outstretched his hand in greeting. “It is an honor to be among Prestr of another land!” he stated excitedly.

“The honor is mine.” Michael returned with a firm handshake and a return bow. “This is my apprentice, Archie.” He introduced, motioning to the man beside him. As Hakon and Archie properly greeted one another, Arnorr, feeling his duty was complete, left the tent without another word.

Michael took the time to fully appreciate the banisters around the tent. The aquamarine-silver banner was embroidered with a large sea turtle. The pattern on the shell of the turtle seemed to hold smaller banner designs. The red banner had the form of a wolf scorched into the pattern of velvet fur. And the Yellow banner had an inlay of an Ivory Raven swen in. Seeing his interest, Hakon interjected.

“This must all be so new to you, let me properly introduce. I am Hakon. I have been elected to represent the Blar Skjaldbaka. We are a tribe of unified houses from the east. Our symbol of the Turtle represents our unified defenses against the other houses that seek to undermine or enslave our people.” He explained.

Knowing how house names already worked, the Universal Translator took little time deciphering the Brynarian word Skjaldbaka to Turtle. Meaning that Blar must stand for the color Blue.

Hakon turned to the golden corner, motioning to the raven banner, “That is the Gulr Hrafn, ruled by the Temptress Queen Ravkina to the southwest. They covet power through influence, coercion, and extortion. She was the one who just spoke with you. Her people live well under her rule, but it is the means by which she seizes power that terrifies us all.”

Instinctively, the three heads turned to the last banner in the room, looming overhead ominously. “And the hot head who stormed out is King Rundolf, leader of the Raudulfur. Militaristic by nature, there is no doubt that he would have stormed the continent, and even Heilagt Auga by now, if only he could contain the infighting among his ranks.”

“No…not Rundolf. He seemed like such a charming fellow.” Archie scoffed, causing Hakon to stifle a laugh. Michael remained stoic, but he could tell from Hakon’s reactions to the other two just how dangerous a threat each of them posed.

“So, there are only the two of you?” Hakon asked, his curiosity reaching its peak.

Archie nodded in response. “Unfortunately, yes. Our ship drifted off course and sank along the western shores. We were the only two to remain.”

“I pray for your losses. But it is quite the miracle you were able to cross the squall at all. Why risk so much to make it here?” Hakon inquired.

“Our awakening did not occur last year. This troubled us deeply, so a pilgrimage to the Bones of the Gods was the only choice to understand what blighted our lands.” Michael lied through his teeth. He had been so preoccupied with everything that had happened, he almost wasn’t ready for the question. Thankfully, Hakon accepted this answer with deep gravity.

Rolling off the trail of the commander, Archie fired his own question to prevent further follow-ups, “Why do you come here? Why is Rundolf so upset at our presence?”

“The awakening is the one time the unfaithful are allowed to enter the bones of the gods. The goal is to earn the god’s blessing to rule over Heilagt Auga, and all the power it contains. The priests here wield the magic that none of us can contest, and its borders make it near impenetrable. The priests remain neutral to what they call our ‘petty squabbles’, but if Rundolf or Ravkina were to gain this power…” Hakon trailed off in a somber tone.

“We attend each year to try and prevent that from happening. We only want our people to live their lives in peace, so someone has to stand in their way. To them, your presence is only an additional obstacle to that claim. Many years ago, any house could partake in the ritual, but it was chaotic and unruly. So the Synsmadr decreed that only the most powerful of houses could compete…until now, that is.” Hakon continued.

“Each year, we must sacrifice to the Svart Augu, a stipend in flesh to prove our validity as a Major House. Some are devout who volunteer to serve, others are criminals with no other option but the noose. I know the other houses utilize slaves and deserters for their stipend. It can be seen as a betrayal of that agreement, for us to sacrifice so many to be here, and one just be allowed in freely.” Catching his words, Hakon quickly reiterated, “Not that I doubt your circumstances. Fellow servants of the gods obviously are omitted from such recompense.”

“Well, thank you, Hakon. Your generosity is greatly appreciated. However, we must retire, as we have traveled long to reach here in time.” Archie declared, feeling they needed time to process all of this information.

“To you as well, Archie. I wish you all the luck tomorrow, and I hope our champion can look to you for guidance and aid in the rituals to come. Maybe Lord Michael and I can share a meal while we await your return from below?” Hakon insinuated with a smile.

“Pardon?” Archie asked, befuddled.

“I’m sorry. Since there are only the two of you, I assumed you were going to be the champion for Grarefur. I’ve never heard of the Head of a House competing.” Hakon advised.

“Right, only…one may enter per house.” Archie tried to recover and hide his surprise at this, looking towards Michael.

“We shall see. Thank you again, Master Hakon.” Michael concluded, before guiding Archie out of the tent with him.

“Well, this just got a lot more complicated…” Archie huffed.

[To be Continued]