A Lesson in Balance

A new Lýsenngead learns the full significance of her first posting

Written by Grimbjorn

At the uppermost levels of the citadel, the wind howling outside was almost a song, beating against the thick stone walls so that even within, it could clearly be heard. Arsha focused on the haunting sound to still the fluttering of her heart as she followed a heavily armored guard up the winding stair to the office of the citadel's commander. On this, her first posting, the young Aisling had never thought to be so honored as to be invited to the legendary Gýðvjak, Citadel of the Sisterhood, but apparently the reputation of her schooling had preceded her; she had been asked for by name.

Eight years she had trained as Lýsenngead, an ambassador for the Aisling people to the lands and peoples Outside, and four more as a healer; for among the Aisling, none but the Lýsenngead ever journeyed Outside, save perhaps in the trade towns nearest Efalain, and then only across the river. It had been a tremendous honor to be chosen at the tender age of eight for the training, and even more when her exceptional talent for healing was noted and she was personally selected by the Head of the order for the Shan'Mael School. Now, at twenty years of age, twelve of those spent preparing, she had been assigned to one of the most prestigious posts among the Wylden of distant Hrafnawyld, a rugged and savage island far to the north and west of her homeland.

One of the most prestigious postings... and one of the deadliest.

The mighty fortress Gýðvjak, Vigil of the Goddess in the native tongue, stood indomitably below her, a veritable mountain of superlatively carved stone, which legends said had been raised by the reclusive earth trolls of the Black Mountains, and which had stood thousands of years, guarding the most precious treasure of the Wylden. For somewhere beneath her very feet Arsha knew, in the heart of the citadel, rested the spear of Gáðæn Worldfather; Binnigðúm, the spear by whose power was held captive and bound, long leagues away, the last of the dark gods.

Ice Queen... Life Foe... Frostmaiden...

Ísje.

The name sent a chill through Arsha, a sensation to which she was unaccustomed. For a moment, she grasped her trinket and meditated, closing her eyes and following the climbing guard by the sounds of the woman's footsteps. Slowly, a sense of calm returned to the young Aisling, and she opened her eyes just as the other woman halted before a thick, iron-strapped wooden door.

“The First Sister awaits you within, Arsha Aisling,” said the guardswoman politely, using the form of address Arsha had been taught to expect from many Wylden. She nodded in return.

As she entered the office, the guard pulled the door respectfully closed behind her, leaving Arsha alone with the commander of the citadel and leader of the Sisterhood of Binnigðúm.

The First Sister rose respectfully to greet her, offering a formal bow and saying, “Welcome to Gýðvjak, young Aisling. You are Arsha, our new Shan'Mael, yes?” Her voice was clipped and precise, and might have even seemed impatient had Arsha not known the pressures this woman faced.

“I am, First Sister Ásjvíð,” replied Arsha, returning the woman's bow. “I am honored to have been asked for directly,” she continued, “for even among my people, it is a rare distinction for a first posting to be so...” Words failed her for a moment, then she finished, “important.”

Ásjvíð, First Sister of Binnigðúm, was an impressive woman, fully a head taller than Arsha, and wore the robes of her station as though prepared at moment's notice to don the heavy plate armor that stood ready near one wall of her office. The golden hair that barely brushed her shoulders was held straight back from her face by a wide woolen band, and her gray eyes were bright and sharp as they looked the young Aisling woman up and down.

“It is good that you are honored,” said she. “The true question is, are you able?”

Arsha looked the First Sister in the eye and nodded once, simply.

“I am,” she repeated. “I have trained more than half my life. I will not disappoint you.”

“Good,” Ásjvíð said, nodding in return. “The life here on Icewall is dangerous, deadly so, and we have need of the finest of healers. I am told you are one such.”

Arsha bowed once more, saying, “Again, I am honored.”

“Have you seen it then?” asked the First Sister.

“It?”

Ásjvíð's stern demeanor gave way slightly as the corners of her mouth curled with a slight smile. “The spear,” said she. “Binnigðúm.”

---

Entering the chamber, Arsha was filled with awe. The place was cavernous, its vaulted ceilings barely visible in the gloom above, with dozens of narrow columns supporting the perimeter of a colossal dome, under which rested the spear of the Worldfather himself. From tip to butt, the spear was twice as tall as the tallest man Arsha had ever seen, and it stood upright, its barbed tip nearly long as the blade of a sword even above where it pierced the stone below it; for Binnigðúm was thrust deep into the floor of the citadel, placed there by the god who made the world itself. Though Arsha had no shortage of experience with deities, having personally met each of the seven Sun Trees of her homeland, the artifact before her dated to the time when the Trees themselves had first come to this world. Its maker was as old as time itself.

Ásjvíð stood beside her, and Arsha was surprised to see a look of wonder on even the First Sister's face as she gazed at the spear. Noting her scrutiny, the other woman said, “Aye, even after half my life spent guarding it, I cannot help but feel its power when in its presence.”

“Is it true,” asked Arsha, “that it was crafted from a piece of the great axe?”

The First Sister nodded. “The World Axe, aye. Ræðbjand, axe of the giant god Sigdurn, with which he clove Hrafnawyld from the land, and aided the gods in achieving their victory.” She spoke of these things with such familiarity, it almost seemed she had seen them. Arsha smiled at the woman's conviction.

Four of the Sisters of Binnigðúm stood sentinel around the spear, facing each direction of the compass. Their armor and helms were particularly ornate, marking them as members of the Heart Guard, the final line of defense should the citadel be penetrated. Arsha knew that approximately two-hundred more of the Guard patrolled the corridors and halls of the citadel, while some five-thousand of the Sisterhood guarded the grounds and walls of the fortress perimeter, and held the three towers known as the Three Sisters that surrounded the central fortress. It seemed a vast number to protect one item.

“I have heard,” Arsha said musingly, “that some five legions of your Sisterhood guard this spear. Though it is clearly the work of a god, and feels of a power beyond measure, I confess I remain unclear on why it is so well defended.”

Ásjvíð gave her a quizzical look, asking, “You know of the importance of this posting, but not of the spear itself?” Arsha shook her head, and the First Sister continued, “Perhaps you believe Binnigðúm is invulnerable then? That it cannot be destroyed, and the Ice Queen released?”

“It is the work of a god, after all, is it not?” asked Arsha. The other woman sighed and shook her head slowly.

“It is that,” Ásjvíð answered. “And though the Frostmaiden is a goddess, it is true that she cannot touch it, nor can she come too close.”

“Her minions, on the other hand,” she continued, her voice lowering as she sought to impress the importance of her words on the young Aisling, “are under no such constraint. And Binnigðúm is not indestructible; no indeed. Forged in the blood of the Unmaker it was; undone in his blood it can be.”

The First Sister's gray-eyed gaze bored into Arsha as she said, “So you see, my young friend, that is why we guard the spear as though Gæðí itself depended upon its defense; every time a mountain erupts, every time the earth breaks under the ice, every time Ísje's ice trolls strike against us, it is indeed, the world itself, that is at stake. For Binnigðúm is the key.”

“Binnigðúm is The Balance.”