Runes

“I heard my name,” the nav repeated with a yawn. “What do you desire of me, Master?”

“I… desire for Vesna to test a variety of magic on you,” I said.

“Hrm,” the nav blinked. “Very well. As long as she does not hurt me.” 

Vesna frowned thoughtfully. “Celesteel ink application on a nightborn… I’m not certain it would work or even persist on her half-form. In the old days, celesteel was applied only to the living.”

“Her?” I asked. “Minnow is a girl?”

“She is leeching power from me, becoming less like a vague shadow and more like… a miniature version of me, I suppose,” Vesna revealed.

“I see. In terms of using magic ink on Minnow—we won’t know until we try,” I said. “What exactly is celesteel? You mentioned it was a magical metal, but what makes it different from regular iron or steel?”

Vesna settled onto a bench in a shadowy corner, her wings folding neatly against her back. She seemed more comfortable discussing this topic than the decomposing bodies.

“Celesteel is magic metal with very particular properties,” she explained. “The people of old Svalbard used to produce various alchemically treated metals, each with different properties. The most common were glimmerite and bloodiron. The latter was made by quenching hot iron in the blood of a magical beast while singing specific enchantments.”

“That sounds like it could have interesting chemical properties. Could you produce such?”

“My mother was an Alchemist,” Vesna continued, a distant look crossing her features. “She forged glimmerite, stormsteel, sootsilver, bloodiron, magisteel and celesteel for the city’s heroes and mages. I often watched her work when I was small.”

“Could you replicate such at the smithy in town?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she said. “Although I cannot guarantee perfect results and I have no idea where we would find half of the necessary ingredients.”

“And what exactly could these metals do?”

“When they were applied to skin or forged into tools in particular patterns, they amplified magical properties in various ways.”

“Such as?”

“Uhhh…” Vesna contemplated. “Glimmerite, the most basic type of magic metal created from glinka’s sand dune shores entwined with ironbane mushrooms and bronze amplified…. the might of Perun in young heroes when laid in a particular pattern.”

“What pattern?”

“I think it looked like this,” She hummed a note and traced what looked like a magic cube-shaped hexagram in the air that sparked with emerald before fading away into falling yellow and green sparks.

I sketched out the hexagram in my book. “You think?”

“It was a long time ago,” she shrugged. “I only vaguely remember some of the shapes.” She paused, considering something. “Much of the arcane alchemical knowledge was closely guarded. My mother had grimoires, books that detailed the exact shape forms and tunes…”

“These books—would they still be in the city somewhere? In the catacombs, perhaps?”

She looked troubled. “Perhaps. If they survived the centuries. Acquiring them will not be easy.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Can you not split stones with your voice? I’ve been down there and didn’t spot anything dangerous.”

“You probably didn’t reach the lower levels,” she said. “The deep storage catacombs are sealed with Astral locks and protected by Elementals, many of which are probably still functional.”

“Which are what?”

“Magic bound to stone and metal and water,” she replied. “Deadly to the unprepared.”

I considered that perhaps my catacombs trip was rather foolish to do with only a kitten for company.

“I went just a few levels down to the crypts. Would you be willing to guide me further?” I asked. “To these hidden, deeper chambers?”

Vesna hesitated, her golden eyes flickering with uncertainty. “I could… try. The paths are treacherous, and like I said before many of the passages can only be opened through the Astral.”

“Which is what?” I asked.

“The Astral,” she repeated. “Is the shadow-realm of the dead bisecting reality. The place I see through which all magic echoes.”

“Except for mine?”

“Except for yours, yes.”

“And you can physically enter this… other dimension?” 

“Not physically, no,” she clarified. “But my consciousness, my soul, can reach out from my body and perceive it, interact with it via songs. Even so, the sealed lower levels might not open… It’s been a very long time since the fall of Svalbard.”

I leaned back, processing this new information. If there were actual, measurable alternate dimensions connected to this world, the implications for understanding magic were enormous. It wasn’t just energy manipulation as I’d been theorizing—it might involve accessing entirely different spaces governed by different laws.

“Can I access the Astral?” I wondered aloud.

Vesna tilted her head, considering me. “I don’t know. You’re… Very odd. Your domain feels like nothing, a void.”

“How is that different from another witch’s domain?” I asked.

“It’s similar to the unplottability of a witch’s domain, but also very different. A witch domain burns bright in the Astral with brilliant waves of Zemlya’s magic, warns you not to fuck with it. Yours is barely visible, really hard to spot from afar. I can’t explain it exactly, since I don’t exactly mess with witch domains—witch domains are inherently dangerous, deadly places.”

“Unless the witch is a newborn?” I asked with a smile.

“Yes,” Vesna nodded. “A newborn witch is easy prey, her domain weak and small. With time, a witch gets stronger. Granhilda of the Shalish Wood and the Gygr of Chernobog are completely untouchable.”

I made a note in my journal: Astral Ocean—alternate dimensional space. Accessible through magic? Connection to domain creation? Source of magical energy?

“Tell me more about River Glinka,” I said, changing the subject slightly. “Is she an actual sentient being?”

“Glinka is…” Vesna searched for words. “Not a god, exactly, but… more like a primordial force given consciousness through centuries of worship and sacrifice.”

“And she makes magic bargains?”

“With those desperate or foolish enough to seek her out and give their blood to her.” Vesna’s tone grew cautionary. “She gives exactly what you ask for—no more, no less—but the price is always greater than you anticipate.”

“Why?”

“Such is the nature of wild spirits,” Vesna shrugged. “The Fae operate on bargains.”

She patted the nav on her shoulder.

“Could one get a wish out of her without paying a price?” I asked.

“No. She is far too old and clever for that. One can never truly outsmart Glinka,” Vesna shook her head. “Even the cleverest bargainers find themselves paying more than they gained in the end.”

“Glinka is old and potent,” Minnow voiced. “She is the memory of all waters that have ever flowed through these lands. She knows much and remembers the time before the ice, before humans walked here. She is truly ancient, and her spirit was here long before Svalbard was built on her shore. Her currents extend into the deepest darkest abyss of the Astral Ocean.”

“And people can… just buy knowledge from her?” I asked.

“With their blood, knowledge and soul,” Minnow nodded. 

I contemplated what this meant.

“Might of Zemlya, Swiftness of Wind, Grace of Hand, Persistence of Body, and Voice of the Wild. Do those mean anything to you?” I asked, wondering if my companions could help me figure out what I was seeing in terms of my personal stats.

“Those sound like the five classical affinities of a hero,” Vesna mused. “Except… a bit wrong? It should be… ‘Might of Perun. Swiftness of Stribog. Grace of Jarilo. Persistence of Dazhbog. Voice of Veles.’”

“What do they represent exactly?” I asked. 

“The five primary runes aligned to the Nordstaii Pantheon,” she explained, tracing each rune in the air. “Might of Perun grants physical strength, correlating to lightning. Swiftness of Stribog bestows speed beyond mortal limits, and the ability to fly like the wind. Grace of Jarilo gives perfect coordination and skill with weapons. Vitality of Dazhbog provides resistance to poisons and rapid healing. Voice of Veles allows command over your blood.”

“These are all male gods?” I asked, drawing the runes.

“Yes.”

“Do girls have different affinities aligned to female gods then?”

“Yes. Zemlya to shape the life-bloom of plants. Mokosh for the gift of weaving fate and commanding water. Devana to amplify the hunting prowess of others and gain instincts to see the future ahead or uncover mysteries. Lada to gain the power to heal or seduce. Nox to attain dominion over the Astral Ocean, darkness, stars and dreams.”

The hexagram she drew for Nox stayed in the air the longest. It looked like two triangles facing each other or a stylized sideways number eight.

“Dagaz rune,” Vesna said with a somber expression. “This one was tattooed on my back. The Dawn of Night Everlasting. Death and rebirth. Eternity.”

She drew another rune in the air. It looked like four crosses or four swords pointed at each other. “Nox was also defined by some Nordstaii scholars as Mora. The Mora rune represents four knights of the end times. Four heroes. Four souls bound as one. This one was tattooed on my chest.”

“The four horsemen of the apocalypse?” I commented.

“Yes,” Vesna said. “It is written that Mora brings them together to destroy the lawful gods at the end of everything when the Wormwood Star bathes the planet in all consuming storms. They are thus named: The Architect. The Champion. The Understanding. The Leader. Statues and carvings of the four were put up around Svalbard at the threshold of its peak.”

“What was the city like back then?” I asked.

“Magnificent,” she answered, spreading her sparkling wings, black and emerald feathers fluttering atop her head. “Magic flowed through its streets like water along precious metal channels, illuminating the grand boulevards at night with floating spheres of cold light within brass lanterns.”

Her golden eyes grew distant, seeing something far beyond the ruined pub walls. “My family was well-positioned. My father served in the High Magister’s council. We lived in the Upper Quarter, and I attended the Academy of Harmonics for my education.”

“So you were formally trained in magic?” I asked.

“Yes,” Vesna nodded. “I was considered… exceptional. My voice could shatter glass when I was angry. When I sang to the flower seeds, they would bloom out of season.”

“That must have made you popular,” I remarked.

“The metal hexagrams magnified my talents, made them visible to everyone.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “It made me valuable and also very expensive to keep. Like a prize mare. The tattoos were costly to refresh.” Her talons flexed unconsciously. “By my fourteenth year, I was already being courted—not as a person, but as a magical asset. The great houses wished to bind my bloodline to theirs.”

“Courted?” I raised an eyebrow. “You mean…”

“Marriage contracts,” she confirmed, voice hardening. “My father, for all his position, had accumulated debts to the northern trading houses. He saw in me a way to clear those debts and elevate our family’s standing in a single transaction.”

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter outside. “He tried to sell you.”

“He did sell me,” Vesna corrected, talons digging deep into the bench. “The contract was signed on midwinter’s eve, binding me to Jarl Volandr—a massive man four times my age whose previous three wives had all died… trying to birth him a magically gifted heir.”

Her golden eyes flashed with remembered rage. “He wore their fingers as trophies on a necklace. Preserved by magic so they would never rot, each one still bearing its wedding band.”

“That’s…” I struggled to find adequate words.

“The custom of the Northern Houses,” she finished for me. “I was to be delivered to his estate when I turned sixteen. My blood mother wept as she helped me pack my ceremonial robes, but she did not interfere. She could not.”

She made a somber pause.

“I fled the city three days before my scheduled wedding. The cold was brutal—a forewarning of the ice age to come, though none knew it then. I waded into Glinka’s waters where they ran beneath the city walls, the ice breaking against my shins as I called out to her. Her waters were black as pitch that night. I sliced my hand with a knife and was about to make the pact with the river.”

“You were stopped?”

“Yes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They found and knocked me out with a concussion spell before I could make the pact with the river. Jarl Volundr’s huntsmen with their spelled hounds that could track a specific bloodline. They dragged me from the river, half-frozen and barely conscious. The Jarl himself came, regarding me with pure contempt.”

She shuddered visibly. “He said I had damaged the value of his investment by attempting to escape. That a few of my fingers would join his collection early as punishment—one joint at a time, until I learned my place. He took out a ceremonial blade of black glass and seized my hand…”

Vesna’s talons clenched into a tight fist. “The fear and rage that filled me then—I cannot describe it. Something broke open inside me, and I sang a note I had never known before. A killing note.”

She fell silent once again, blinking tears from her eyes.

“What happened then?” I asked.

“I burned through almost all of the celesteel runes covering my body. His huntsmen and servants died instantly, blood pouring from their eyes and ears. But the Jarl… he bled but did not perish. He only smiled. His bloodline and personal might protected him from my magic. He struck me across the face, ordered his guards to bind me in spelled chains that prevented me from singing anything else.”

She looked down at her hands. “They imprisoned me in a high tower room close to the river to await my wedding at dawn. No one came to my rescue.”

“How did you escape then?”

“In my desperation, I did what we were expressly forbidden to do—in absolute darkness of night I reached into the deepest Astral with my soul, burning through the Dagaz rune on my back.” Her feathers trembled at the memory. “I called to Glinka from across the veil, offering anything—everything—in exchange for freedom.”

“And she answered.”

“Yes.” Vesna nodded. “I was apparently still bound to her with my blood. Glinka’s voice filled my mind, cold as the glacier’s heart, asking what price I would pay for true freedom.”

“What did you offer?” I asked quietly.