Without more specific knowledge, Soren knew not from where or how. His dreams were filled with images of fire and war. And standing stones and brochs, like the ones that seemed to fascinate his grandfather.
He hoped that Ander had been able to decipher the strange words or images. His friend had sent him a message to come to Kirkwall that day. A hint of excitement in the words gave Soren a sense of optimism that he would finally have something tangible to follow to discover his grandfather’s secrets and what they meant for him . . . and Ran.
Soren promised to send one of the workers from his farm to help Ingeborg pack when she was ready and he rode to Kirkwall.
“Where did you get this, Soren? Truly, it is a marvel.” Ander looked up from his place at the large table and pointed to the parchment Soren had left with him. “You must tell me or I will not tell you what I have discovered about it.” Priest or not, Ander could be ruthless when it mattered and he’d clearly decided it mattered now.
“This remains between the two of us?” Soren asked. Then he repeated it as a demand, his tone sharp enough that Ander blinked several times as he spoke. “This remains between us.”
“Very well,” Ander said in all seriousness.
“My grandfather.”
Silence and a knowing expression met that admission.
“I would not share this with many, even without your orders, due to its very nature and content.” Ander smiled and then put the sheet down on the table. Pointing to the top line, he nodded. “I did not recognize it at first, but comparing it to several other documents and manuscripts, it is actually Latin from a very specific place.”
“Latin? It is no Latin I have ever seen,” Soren said, leaning in closer and studying the shape of the letters. He’d been tutored in Latin, writing and reading, as part of his upbringing at his grandfather’s hand.
“Not unless you do this,” Ander advised as he lifted the parchment and held it up to the strong light coming in the window of the tower chamber.
The sun pierced through the parchment and the writing could be seen. It was Latin, clearly.
“Written backward?” Soren asked, reaching up to outline several of the letters and words.
“Aye. Here is the transcription of what it says.” Ander held out a document to him.
On the sheet were two sections, one in Latin and the other in Norse. But as he compared one to the other, Soren saw that both said the same thing—
And in those days when the Old Ones were no longer worshipped, they left humanity in the care of those descended from their Bloodlines who would protect mankind from the one of Chaos and Fire.
If called upon, those Warriors of the Stone Circles can rouse the winds and sea and earth and war and sun and beasts to their cause. Fire will serve both sides and will choose good or evil to triumph at the end.
Soren looked at Ander who was grinning like a loon. He read the passage again. “What does it mean?”
“It refers to old myths, passed down through the ages, of old gods, now superseded by the one true God. Your mention ofTaraniswas the clue I needed.” Ander moved to one of the bookshelves in the corner and drew out an old book. “This is a history from an area on the continent, from before the downfall of Rome. It speaks of gods who governed those who lived there and worshipped their different forms.”
“This sounds like blasphemy, Ander.”
A sin and supreme offense of which Einar had been guilty. But this gave written proof to any claims made against his name now. Soren was glad his grandfather was already past the reach of those who would see to his downfall. But, having these kinds of documents in his possession could bring the same charges against him now.
“I prefer to call it a historical treatise on fanciful old customs. Similar to tales of the gods worshipped in err by the ancient Greeks or Romans in their day,” Ander said as he put the book in front of Soren and motioned for him to sit. “Here is the list I found.Taranisis mentioned here.” He pointed to it. “It is written in an archaic language, similar to ancient Greek and yet not.”
“And you can read this?” Soren asked, moving the book closer and looking at the indecipherable script on the page. If Ander said the word wasTaranis, he would believe him.
“According to the bishop, I have an uncanny ability to discern old and unused languages as well as those we use now.”
“Pride, Father Ander,” he warned. But he was glad of his friend’s gift at this moment. “Read on.”
“Taranis is said to have controlled the sky with his power over storms and wind and lightning.” Soren fought the urge to touch the lightning bolt mark on his arm. “Along with several other ancient gods, they managed to banish some evil one from the earth.” Ander met his gaze now and smiled. “’Tis quite a wonderful story. Good against evil. Gods of the elements and nature.”
“And who wins this battle of good against evil?” Soren asked, suspecting that this was no story at all but a historical record of a very real battle.
“According to this account, good did. But the ancients did not think evil would be defeated forever so they left their descendants with powers to return if needed. Descendants . . . bloodlines.” Ander squinted as he read the words again.
“And how will the descendants defeat the evil if they need to?” Soren asked, trying to remain calm even as his breathing grew shallow and his heart pounded. Damn Ander! His careful studying of Soren’s face told him he’d not fooled his friend at all.
“This does not say that. It ends with a warning to the faithful to be watchful and prepared at all times.”
