Chapter II Sumara's care

After Aevara’s voice went silent, Sumara stepped forth, and it was summer. Brown like chestnut were her locks, and the trees raised their branches unto the heavens - their great boughs and roots so long they touched the pillars of the earth.

As the Riven calmed and the joyful feasts of spring came to an end, Velda readied the hunt for a great beast whose horn could pierce even the ancient oaks. For the people must celebrate the rites of summer without care for meat or merriment, and Vuulk’s voracious appetite ought be sated. She donned her she-wolf cuirass and the woad of battle. With her went Agdas, her son. His hair was dark grey, his eyes like hers though lighter. A great scar crossed above his left eye, given by Velda herself, though she revealed not why - only that it had been done shortly after his birth.

Some of the men and ulfar joined them also. Finras came as well, for it was to be his first hunt, and the prey was deemed worthy. Offerings were made to Vuulk upon his altar, blood dripping onto stone beneath his gaze, as he watched the woad-covered party. Thus they crossed the Riven westward, and through the forest they tracked their quarry by scent and sight. Yet when night fell, they made camp. Velda’s eyes pierced the darkness well, for she and her line were blessed by Vuulk, but still it was better to keep the party together. As was tradition, Velda told a tale of hunt and chase while the fire flickered in the dark:

“It is told that long ago, when first Sumara came into these lands, her husbands came with her. In those days Vuulk had no beast to hunt, so he went after horned Darr. Darr fled, taking the shape of a rabbit, and the wolf gave chase. Through fields they ran, until Darr plunged into a river, becoming a weasel. But Vuulk was relentless, diving after him. Then, in panic, Darr took the form of a great stag with long antlers and darted away. Still Vuulk pursued, over hill and river, over earth and water, until at last the fangs of the wolf were at his neck. Yet Sumara heard the prey’s pleading and took pity. She pressed her foot upon the ground, and there the first tree arose beneath the stag. Vuulk could not reach him. Then Darr struck a bargain: he would give his seed, and from it Vuulk might hunt. Thus were the forests filled with beasts for the Hunter’s chase. And the place where this came to pass is now called Glathr-Andlit, the Glade of Faces, where many of Darr’s wives now stand rooted, their horns becoming branches, their hair swinging in the wind.”

“Let us hope Sumara shall not halt our hunt,” said Agdas with a slight grin, placing his hand upon Finras’s head. For sons always love to make light of their mother’s stories.Velda finished her tale and stood watch through the night, humming softly the song of her youth, the one she had made with her husband long ago. When the fiery bird rose in the east to herald the new day, the hunters set forth once more, tracing the spoor of the horned beast until evening.At last, they found him: a great, furred rhino, lying by a broken tree and stripping it of leaves and branches. In a moment he sniffed the air and rose, his massive frame stirring, his head turning sharply as though troubled by some unseen presence. Velda approached the beast directly. For a long breath they stared at one another, cold eyes locked. Then she raised her voice in a chilling howl, lifted her axe, and charged. With a clash of iron and horn she struck, her blow meeting the beast’s head as it sought to ward her off. From behind, the rest of the pack fell upon him. Three wolves tore at his legs, while two spears drove into his flanks. The beast bellowed, thrashing in agony, shattering the skull of one wolf with a kick. Agdas rushed in, his axe biting deep into the side of the beast’s neck, while Finras struck from the other. Blood poured upon the earth. Then, with its last strength, the beast thundered straight at Velda. She stood her ground, unflinching, axe in hand, her howl rising like the north wind. Steel met horn again, but her guard faltered beneath the weight of its charge. The rhino’s horn pierced her cuirass, lifting her from her feet and flinging her against the broken oak. A cold shiver ran through Agdas as for a heartbeat he felt the eye of Vuulk upon him from the shadows. Finras too saw it - the gaping jaw of the Hunter salivating as the beast raised its head one final time toward the Eldrafugl burning in the sky. Then its breath left it. The wolves howled for their fallen kin as Velda was lifted from the oak. Even she might have perished, for the blow had been mortal to any other, yet the she-wolf cuirass had turned the horn. Still, her body was broken and her strength sorely spent. Two days later they returned, and cheerful howls welcomed them back to Skalla-Holl. They bathed in the Riven, its cool waters washing away blood and the Hunter’s scent. Velda rested while Agdas spoke of all that had happened. That evening they buried the fallen wolf in the hall’s heart, howling in mourning. The first meat was offered to Vuulk, and then the clan feasted upon the flesh of the horned beast. Some of the leafed clan Dyras had already joined them, and even a man of the river clan Laekiras sat among them, for the summer ritual games had begun, drawing the clans together. Later Agdas came to Velda, as she lay in furs, and spoke quietly:

“I saw the eyes of Vuulk when the beast perished.”

“It was a grand hunt. I am not surprised. Not to mention that both of us sacrificed a son to maintain our right as chieftains—his thought is always upon us.” Velda’s face grew grim once more.

“Mother, brighten up! The rituals of Sumara are beginning—there is joy enough for all, even for old wolves.”

“I don’t think I’ll be having any more children,” she smirked.

“Mother, cease!”

“I desire more,” Velda persisted.

Agdas left her in a hurry, while she laughed softly to herself, remembering the summer of her youth—when her hair was darker, when she had two little sons—and she wondered how the first now hunted with Vuulk, returning nevermore. Such is the duty and sacrifice of the den mother.Then a man named Alle of clan Laekiras, famed for its healers, came near. Three leeches clung to his face, and two more to his arms. Alle treated the wound left by the horn with healing herbs, and his leeches gave up their blood to restore Velda’s strength. She felt light and at ease afterward. So she slept soundly that night, dreaming of her husband, and awoke with eyes wet from morning dew.

Soon Hetta and Finras approached her, leading the young whelps, and once again pleaded for a story to pass the morning.

“I shall tell you a tale of your grandfather Bjoharas—of the war against the swamp demons, the Floikat. It happened when I had only passed my fifty-eighth winter. From the gap in the Garfjall they came, flooding the land by night and attacking the clan Laekiras, who dwelt north of here by the upper Riven. Many perished, and even their skill in the healing arts could not save them from the foul poisons. They called upon us at the meeting of the high clans. Thus, we answered with wrath. Your grandfather and I led the host of the high clan Lupas. The other clans joined too, coming by ship to the Howling Hall. From there we went north, where we were ambushed in the night—gleaming eyes all around us, and their vile arrows raining down, after which they fled back into the dark.”

“Swamp things must be very sneaky to avoid even your watchful eyes, grandmother,” said Finras, ever curious.

“Scary!” cried Hetta, as a baby wolf bit her ankle.

“Worry not, children. Even they would not dare attack the Hall of Vuulk. Yet indeed, they are small of stature, quite like you, Hetta—or so they like to appear. Often they walk on all fours like beasts, their green skin blending with the grasses and trees. Still, your grandfather gave chase. Not letting them escape unpunished, he struck at their backs and many fell. Yet soon he was trapped, as the ground itself began to swallow him—the magics and tricks of the swamp demons.”Velda paused for a moment. Hetta, carrying a whelp in her arms, looked up at her in wonder, while Finras toyed with his grandfather’s skull.

“I saw it,” Velda said softly. “I saw as the green one bit his neck—blood mingled with mud.”

Finras held up the skull.

“Then the cold fury of my ancestors kindled within me like a blizzard, and my blood shivered. I took my axe and hurled it at that bog-dweller, shattering his face. I tore the foul creature limb from limb, leaving him in the mire he had made for my husband. Then I bore my beloved’s body back to the camp, brooding on what must come next. When day rose, the host pressed forward, seeking to close the gap in the Garfjall and divide the enemy. Comprehending our plan, they attacked again the following night—but we were ready, and met them with the ferocity of the Marunnai. I took twenty heads as wergild, and the gap was closed at last with the aid of the stone-people of the mountains, who dried the land and cut off the swamps. Victory was ours in the end.”

“You are so powerful, grandmother,” said Finras, returning the skull.

“I know, I know,” Velda chuckled. “Now go see the leaf-clad guests—they know many tales worth hearing.”

The two children left with the wild whelps stumbling along. When the Eldrafugl reached its zenith, the chieftain of clan Dyras appeared, leading his herd of deer, bison, and other beasts of the forest. His horns had grown long and heavy, and he struggled to hold up his head even with a brace of bone about his neck. One of the wives of Darr he was, named Yrnis—his antlers crowned with brown hair. Velda came forth to greet him with open hands.

“I see both of us have been bent by our cares,” she smiled.

“It would appear so, old she-wolf,” he answered, dismounting with help from his stag, painted in green patterns. Yrnis was adorned in fresh oak leaves woven with bone, his neck wrapped in fur, his eyes green as Sumara herself.

The two embraced—clan Dyras and high clan Lupas, standing together to uphold the pact of their gods. The games began with wild laughter: chasing, running, climbing trees, all to please the mighty gods of Sumara-Stjup. As evening came, they gathered in Skalla-Holl, where in the center the great beast still cooked. Its mighty horn, now removed, Velda gifted to Yrnis as a token of perpetual friendship, which he received with good faith. The rest of the creature’s bones were buried beneath the hall, that Vuulk might gnaw upon them.Later, the two spoke beneath the stars, as the heavens wheeled above.

“That matter troubles thee greatly, I see,” said Yrnis, leaning on a wooden wolf.

“First, clan Laekiras moved east after the conflict. Then clan Mollas claimed the high title, and now Gjarn leads the expedition to the east. I cannot help but worry — for the sake of my children’s children.”

“What are you truly afraid of? We have strength enough to repel our foes. The swamp-things lick their wounds still; the giants with the wild northern clans have not crossed the mountains for many cycles — though strange murmurings drift across the lands ever so often.”

Velda’s brow lowered. “I will not be staying much longer. I think this is my last cycle — the north wind calls me to the palace of Sifjara.”

“I will not hold my head up much longer either. I shall take root soon; the gods will take us both,” said Yrnis, placing his hands upon his aching neck.

“Part of me wishes to hunt endlessly with Vuulk and my son — but that was not my wyrd.” Velda gazed into the distance, to the moonlit woods, and then caressed Yrnis’s antler.

“The crimson autumn comes — and even gods can die.”

The solemn mood was broken when Finras came charging into Yrnis with a burst of questions:

“How do you grow horns? Why are they so big? Do you eat grass like deer?”

Startled, Yrnis turned his head too quickly and, hiding his pain, replied:

“It took many cycles for my antlers to grow in size, and it is by Darr’s great favor that they flourish so. And no — I do not eat grass.”

Velda shushed Finras and beckoned him back to his mother.

“They always know the best moment to interrupt. The son of a fox,” she smiled.

Soon they went back and took a long rest. In the morning, Talina — with Hetta, who brought her favorite whelp — went forth into the cool Riven for a swim. They saw the herds of clan Dyras on the banks, enjoying Sumara’s bounty. Fair were the waters that came from Garfjall, yet fairer still was Talina, the wife of Agdas, her red hair drifting along the river’s surface like fresh blood. From the east she had come, from the blessed Amber Isles, when her husband journeyed to the sacred city to look upon the tomb of the Mother of the Marunnai. There he beheld her, in the court of Malusha the Amber Widow. By the design of the two high chieftains, they were joined, and she bore him three children — though, by tradition, the first-born male was given to Vuulk.Talina now gazed upon Hetta in the morning sun as she played with her whelp.

“You shall be the one to name him, my daughter.”

Hetta lifted the whelp into her arms and said, “He shall be called Saelas, for he is very silly — and we shall share all joy in the world.”The baby wolf, oblivious to his fate, blinked as Talina laughed.

“You are better than your father at naming. I swear he would have named Finras _Baldy_, since he was born without hair.”

Hetta went to a drinking bison and began bopping its nose. The animal, mildly annoyed, snorted loudly. Talina whispered to the flowing water:
“Keeper of sorrows, guardian of tears — may you always aid my children in their hour of need. I ask this of thee, Vatnur, should I fail.”

Her prayer was carried away to the sea. At that very moment, Finras dove into the Riven, sending the deer bounding away from the mighty splash. Agdas arrived shortly after, and the family enjoyed the pleasant morning. The second day of the feast began with Agdas and his son wrestling, while Hetta wove braids so finely that even Yrnis sought her services. The happy days ended swiftly, yet their memory endured long into the night. Talina, however, did not sleep. She went to the stone altar of Vuulk on a small mound north of the hall and, falling to her knees, wept — remembering her firstborn. But she was not alone. Velda, who had smelled the scent of tears, was there in the shadows. Hearing Talina’s wailing, she placed a hand upon her shoulder and spoke words of comfort.

“He hunts still with his god — as does my child.”

“That day, when his bare body was anointed with red blood and blue woad… when he sank his teeth into the living flesh upon this very altar — I knew he was no longer mine. No longer my boy.”

“Such was the price of the leadership of high clan Lupas — and I bore it too. The wolf ate the boy, and the wolf was the boy. The Hunt fills the first sons forevermore.”

Velda had no more tears to shed, yet her memories clung to her — of her own son, long gone into the mists of time. She helped Talina rise, and together they returned to Skalla-Holl, where the moths wove them beautiful dreams. The third day of the festival came, and children, adults, and even the beasts of both clans played together. Agdas excelled at the games, though Hetta — with Saelas — did not. As they played, Finras sat upon the threshold of the Howling Hall, speaking with Yrnis.

“You were there too, when the swamp demons invaded, turning the land into a festering bog?”

“Yes, I was there — in your grandmother’s host. Your father is quite fast,” said the wife of Darr, watching Agdas wrestle a great stag to the ground.

“Well, I trained him myself. But… do you think another attack is possible?” Finras smirked, proud of his father.

“There were conflicts in the olden days between our kind, but never on that scale. They are not fools — they will not repeat their mistakes. Some even say the swamp demons were here before the gods themselves — that they fought the mountain giants in the ancient days.”

“How much do we truly know of them? Their leaders, their beliefs?” A spark of wisdom glimmered in Finras’s eyes.

“Little. We have always kept to our own lands and tended to our own affairs. The memories between us were forged by war. But should you ever see one — put an axe through its head, for your grandfather.”

“Do they eat us, like the giants?” Finras’s curiosity was boundless.

“They are more like the beasts of the wood that hunt — not monsters like the giants, who are the vilest of all races,” came Velda’s voice from within the hall.

“Yet it is rumored some of clan Laekiras had dealings with the bog dwellers,” Yrnis added.

“I find that difficult to believe — especially after what befell them in the war,” the den mother replied, stepping out from the shadows.

“Oh — and what of the sky-people, the _Himinnfolk_, that my mother speaks of sometimes?” asked Finras eagerly.

“Shush. You should ask her yourself. Go now,” said his grandmother, waving him away.

“He will be a wise man,” Yrnis smiled.

“If his curiosity does not kill him first,” Velda replied.

Agdas had claimed victory in the day’s games, and the women of clan Dyras crowned him with flowers. Hetta thought he looked like a bush. That evening, all stayed outdoors. When the flaming bird Eldrafugl descended red and blazing into the waters of the uttermost west, the wolves howled after it. As the world grew silent, the Wives of Fate sang among the clouds — their white tails intertwined as they spun around the ever-bending sky. Thus ended the Feast of Sumara — she who was rooted in the earth in the South, in the lands of eternal summer, after the Egg broke. And she wove back the shattered lands, embracing all life.