Ingvar was uneasy. Standing before the closed double doors of the throne hall, he was visibly nervous—not only because of the impending meeting with the ruler but also due to the unsettling rumors surrounding his person.

  The man had never served the previous king, Harold, nor the usurper of the throne, Rig. But he had heard certain whispers about the late ruler’s only heir back in Harold’s reign. However, comparing that meek young man from old gossip to the ruthless monster who had returned to the castle a year ago to reclaim his lost position and his father’s crown seemed nearly impossible.

  Ingvar could still hear the hushed whispers of the palace guards who had witnessed the massacre orchestrated by the newly crowned King Alv. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the thought.

  Beyond the castle walls, few took such rumors seriously—the people were far more concerned with the possibility of the successor resembling his late father, whose cruel nature had been well-known even before the carnage he had orchestrated in the heart of the city.

  But Ingvar had carried too many corpses out of the castle to doubt the words of the few surviving guards. And he knew that behind those doors, a true monster awaited him…

  One of the heavy doors creaked open, and the herald peeked into the corridor with a displeased scowl, searching for Ingvar with his eyes. He spotted him at once and gestured for him to enter.

  The man took a deep, nervous breath and slipped inside.

  At the far end of the hall, the young ruler sat upon the throne—his face strikingly handsome, yet devoid of the emotions expected of ordinary men. Alv paid no attention to the newcomer, still listening to the priest before him, whose fervent monologue carried on with great intensity. Judging by the king’s expression, however, the sermon barely touched him.

  Noticing the guest, Alv raised a gloved hand, signaling the priest to stop. Ingvar noted this small detail—just as the rumors had said, the ruler wore gloves. His gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the king’s neck in search of the mark from those same whispers, but the moment their eyes met, Ingvar abruptly lowered his head, chastising himself for his curiosity.

  He had heard from the former guards that Alv’s body was covered in countless scars from the mortal wounds inflicted upon him on the day he reclaimed the castle. That hundreds of blades had pierced his flesh, shattered his bones—only for every injury to mend in the blink of an eye, while the horror on his enemies’ faces had only made him laugh. And now, the young ruler hid those silvered marks beneath his garments, refusing even the servants a glimpse of his bare skin.

  - Ingvar… - Alv repeated the name in a quiet voice after the herald murmured it into his ear.

  The man instinctively lifted his gaze upon hearing it, and his eyes landed on a large, well-groomed raven perched at the head of the king’s throne. Ingvar inwardly winced—he knew of this bird all too well from those same relentless rumors.

  They said the bloodthirsty, mad ruler often conversed with his beloved pet, seeking its counsel on his decisions. Worse still, there were maids who swore they had heard the raven respond in a human voice.

  But this thought was swiftly shattered by Alv’s voice, cutting through the silence with commanding authority:

  - Ingvar, I order you to assemble a squad. By noon tomorrow, you will head south on a punitive mission.

  - Punitive? - the warrior echoed warily, his fears suddenly feeling far more justified.

  - Three days' ride from the capital, a group of heretics has gathered—a cult that denies Odin’s greatness and dares to worship the forest gods...

  - I entrust you with eradicating these blasphemers, so that the name of their god, who dares to challenge Odin, is forgotten for all eternity!

  Ingvar listened with his head bowed, stealing glances at the pleased expression of the Odin priest standing beside the ruler. The warrior knew that Alv’s father, King Harald, had been favored by the Allfather, and many believed that his son was merely following in his footsteps.

  But only those who had never glimpsed the monstrous nature of the new king could think so. Those who had whispered in the castle’s shadowed corridors that this was Harald’s final wish—spoken directly to Odin in Valhalla*—to see the crown returned to his bloodline. And now, Alv glorified the god who had led him to his father’s throne.

  - Do you understand? - the young ruler finished, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

  - Yes, my lord, - Ingvar answered quickly.

  He was eager to leave the hall, but a hoarse voice stopped him in his tracks.

  - Eradicate! - croaked the raven, beating its wings with an ominous rustle.

  - E-ra-di-cate… the heretics! - it repeated, drawing stunned silence from all present.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  But Alv only smirked as he glanced at the jet-black bird, his smile doing nothing to soften the harshness of his features.

  - Eir, - he murmured, reaching out to stroke the bird’s glossy feathers, - how lovely that you are always on my side…

  ***

  - Listen, Huld, all living things in this world are born from the fruit of Idras, and thus, no force is more exalted… - the elder preached in a didactic tone.

  Somehow, ever since their first meeting, the priest had taken to instructing the young god, and over time, it had become a habit for both of them. Huld never challenged the old man’s teachings, as most of them were quite reasonable. Especially the parts that spoke of the world's creation and praised the greatness of the Life Tree, Idras—Huld himself had been raised on such lessons by his mentor, Norn. So the old man’s grumbling never annoyed him; rather, it pleased him, stirring memories of the past.

  What Huld could never quite grasp was why the priest insisted on believing that he was merely a mortal child, chosen by Idras’s branch to be its guardian. And that it was reckless, childish foolishness to waste the sacred tree’s power on mere trickery, indulging human greed.

  Any attempts by the little god to argue about his true age and origins were immediately dismissed by the priests as childish fantasies. But even that did not bother Huld much—he enjoyed the company of the forest priests, whose only desire was to worship the great branch of Idras, grown into a colossal tree.

  Not even the nature of his woodland sanctuary unsettled him, though it was built by the priests from thick wooden beams and resembled a cage more than a dwelling. A cage from which the boy was sometimes released—only to perform elaborate rituals…

  The priest continued his captivating tale about the first guardian of the forest, Vidar*, who had withdrawn from the quarrels of the other gods and ventured deep into the woodland, where he had watched over the peace of nature’s embrace since the dawn of time.

  But Huld only half-listened to his mentor’s favorite story—too often had the old man spoken of it. That was why the boy was the first to catch the strange noise disturbing the silence of the untouchable forest.

  The rumble drew nearer, growing clearer until it became unmistakable—the sound of horses' hooves. Behind the latticed wall of Huld’s sanctuary, the old priest also perked up, finally breaking off his tale.

  Then, from the undergrowth, horsemen emerged, surrounding the glade from all sides. There were dozens of them, and their intentions were clear. Armed warriors mercilessly struck down the robed figures caught off guard.

  Despite his age, Huld’s mentor sprang up and dashed toward the trees, but a sword blow found him before he could escape. He collapsed to the ground and did not move again.

  - Commander! — someone called out to Ingvar, pulling their horse to a stop beside him.

  - We've surrounded and killed them all, as you ordered, — they reported.

  - No one escaped!

  Ingvar nodded, his gaze sweeping over the clearing—aside from his men, only the corpses of the heretic priests remained. He grimaced but showed no sign of remorse.

  At last, he turned his horse toward the enormous tree, its trunk wrapped in flower garlands and its lower branches adorned with colorful ribbons. The ground beneath its canopy was strewn with amber.

  - Cut it down, — Ingvar commanded, — there will be no idol of the godless on Odin’s land!

  Several men dismounted at once, axes in hand, and set to carrying out the order.

  - And what about the child? — one of his men asked in a hushed, hesitant voice.

  - Child? — Ingvar echoed, lowering his voice as well.

  - Over there, in the cage, — the rider gestured toward it. — We found a boy...

  - It’s unclear whether he belongs to the cult or was meant to be a sacrifice...

  - The order from Lord Alv was quite clear, — Ingvar replied. — To rid the land of heretics.

  - So that means we can take the boy with us? — his companion exhaled in relief.

  - I’m afraid that will depend on him, — the commander frowned.

  Two riders approached the wooden cage and spoke to the fair-haired child. Ingvar’s voice was stern, yet in his heart, he clung to the hope that the boy would be wise enough to lie to him—even if he truly was a heretic.

  - Who are you, child? — Ingvar asked.

  - Did these people — he gestured toward Huld’s dead mentor — keep you here by force?

  - No, — the young god shook his head.

  - I am Huld, priest of the sacred tree Yggdras, — he answered, just as the old man had taught him.

  Ingvar lowered his gaze, and so did his companion—none of the warriors took pleasure in the grim task entrusted to them by their ruthless king. But they had no choice.

  - Forgive me, child, — Ingvar sighed. — But your god is false…

  ***

  The priest of Odin had been searching for King Alv throughout the castle for a long time before finally finding him in the inner courtyard. The king lay directly on the grass, among the heather bushes, engaged in quiet conversation with his raven, stroking the bird’s glossy feathers. The templar hesitated and listened:

  - You know, as a child, my father never let me come here—he said Odin’s messenger resided in this place…

  - But to tell the truth, — Alv smiled, — I didn’t believe him.

  - Back then, my father forbade me many things…

  - Forbade… Punished! — the raven chimed in.

  - Yes, and punished, — the king agreed, his pale gray eyes fixed on the bird.

  - But look at me now—there is no one left who can forbid me anything or oppose my will, — Alv’s spirit lifted.

  - And none of it was because of my father’s teachings—rather, in spite of them! — he bared his teeth in an almost beastly grin, though his gaze remained sorrowful.

  - The only one I honor and will forever be grateful to is Lord Huld…

  - And if Odin is his god, then I shall exalt his name above all others…

  - In his glory! — the raven flapped its wings.

  ***

  The funeral pyre of sacred tree branches was enormous—easily large enough to hold all the bodies of the forest cult’s priests. Among them, a small child’s figure could be seen without difficulty.

  Ingvar, carefully avoiding looking at the blaze, turned away and ordered his warriors back into their saddles. The spicy fragrance of burning amber could not fully mask the unpleasant stench of charred flesh, and Ingvar feared this scent would haunt his nightmares for a long time.

  The riders quickly gathered and set off on their return journey. In the raging flames left behind, something stirred, shifting the burning logs—but no one remained to see it.

  At last, Huld stepped out from the pyre onto the withered grass, holding in his hand the unscathed top of the sacred tree. He brushed the ashes from his snow-white robes and unruly curls, then gazed after the retreating horsemen. In the god’s eyes, there was neither anger, nor pain, nor fear—only a hint of curiosity. For he did not yet fully understand what death was…

  deviantart