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Author: Adena
consciousness,
half-remembered. They were all unfamiliar to him—strange faces,
unknown places, but all somehow infused with an insistent familiarity.
The carbuncle felt almost hot in his hand. With an elaborate air of
negligence, Leifr put the stone on the table. “I don’t believe I want
this,” he said as casually as he could.
Gotiskolker snorted. “Don’t be afraid of it. In fact, everything
depends upon your wearing this jewel next to your skin for the next
several days. Without it, you may as well stand up and shout that
you’re not an Alfar, with no powers and no family memories to guide
you. Sorkvir in particular would be impossible to deceive without this
carbuncle. It was Fridmarr’s, and if you wear it, other Alfar will
perceive you as Fridmarr. Mere physical appearance is easily altered
among Alfar, but the signals from this little stone will be forever
Fridmarr.”
Leifr touched the stone tentatively with one finger, and was
rewarded instantly with a glimpse of a girl’s face and tendrils of
mist-colored hair. He drew back and scowled at Gotiskolker. “I’ve
heard of things like this and I want nothing to do with it. I don’t want to
be taken over by Fridmarr’s memories and ideas. This would be like
giving myself up to be possessed by a fylgjadraug.”
Gotiskolker sighed impatiently. “Leifr, I promise that you’ll be
able to get rid of this stone whenever you want—but you’d be wiser to
think of it as merely an identifying badge among Alfar. If you wear it,
the others will have the sense that you belong, instead of regarding you
as a stray goose among swans.”
Leifr grunted, considering the comparison and not liking it much.
“What is a rotten slinker like you doing with a stone like this? If what
you say is true, then this stone is the most precious thing in the world to
Fridmarr.”
Gotiskolker returned his suspicious glower. “Calm yourself, and
I’ll tell you exactly how I came by it. Before this bodily destruction of
mine occurred, Fridmarr and I were friends— practically brothers. He
didn’t get away from Sorkvir and his guards unscathed. He was ill for
a long time, too ill to return if he had dared, not for a good long while,
at least. He also left behind a very sorry state of affairs in Solvorfirth,
which tormented him unmercifully. I told him I would go back and do
what good I could—or harm, in regard to Sorkvir. Since he could not
be there to advise me, he gave me his carbuncle, much as I’m
giving it to you now.”
Leifr folded his arms obdurately, his eyes resting upon the
carbuncle. “I’m not taking it,” he said.
“It’s harmless, I tell you,” Gotiskolker insisted. “Every Alfar is
born with a tiny grain of this substance. It has to do with powers
and recall of past ancestors’ words—nothing more than basic instincts
for survival. What’s so frightening about that?”
“The more I hear, the less I like it. I think Fridmarr is dead, and
you scavenged this gem from his corpse.”
“Not quite. He still lives, as far as I can tell. The carbuncle
shows life yet, does it not?”
Leifr eyed the sparkling ruby interior and was forced to admit
it appeared almost alive. “It will die when he dies?”
“Unless it finds a place with another host. Haven’t you noticed
the wartiness of old wizards and witches? Those warts are carbuncles,
their own and others they have bought—or stolen. The larger the stone,
the more valuable it is.” He rubbed his scarred left eyebrow absently as
he talked, his gaze fastened upon the glittering stone. “This stone is
actually rather a small one, or you might well fear being taken over by
it. Should you one day choose to become more an Alfar and less a
Scipling, all you would need to do is carve a small slit in your skin
and sew this stone inside with gut; in a very short while, you would
never wish to be a benighted Scipling any longer.”
“You must be mad!” Leifr
half-remembered. They were all unfamiliar to him—strange faces,
unknown places, but all somehow infused with an insistent familiarity.
The carbuncle felt almost hot in his hand. With an elaborate air of
negligence, Leifr put the stone on the table. “I don’t believe I want
this,” he said as casually as he could.
Gotiskolker snorted. “Don’t be afraid of it. In fact, everything
depends upon your wearing this jewel next to your skin for the next
several days. Without it, you may as well stand up and shout that
you’re not an Alfar, with no powers and no family memories to guide
you. Sorkvir in particular would be impossible to deceive without this
carbuncle. It was Fridmarr’s, and if you wear it, other Alfar will
perceive you as Fridmarr. Mere physical appearance is easily altered
among Alfar, but the signals from this little stone will be forever
Fridmarr.”
Leifr touched the stone tentatively with one finger, and was
rewarded instantly with a glimpse of a girl’s face and tendrils of
mist-colored hair. He drew back and scowled at Gotiskolker. “I’ve
heard of things like this and I want nothing to do with it. I don’t want to
be taken over by Fridmarr’s memories and ideas. This would be like
giving myself up to be possessed by a fylgjadraug.”
Gotiskolker sighed impatiently. “Leifr, I promise that you’ll be
able to get rid of this stone whenever you want—but you’d be wiser to
think of it as merely an identifying badge among Alfar. If you wear it,
the others will have the sense that you belong, instead of regarding you
as a stray goose among swans.”
Leifr grunted, considering the comparison and not liking it much.
“What is a rotten slinker like you doing with a stone like this? If what
you say is true, then this stone is the most precious thing in the world to
Fridmarr.”
Gotiskolker returned his suspicious glower. “Calm yourself, and
I’ll tell you exactly how I came by it. Before this bodily destruction of
mine occurred, Fridmarr and I were friends— practically brothers. He
didn’t get away from Sorkvir and his guards unscathed. He was ill for
a long time, too ill to return if he had dared, not for a good long while,
at least. He also left behind a very sorry state of affairs in Solvorfirth,
which tormented him unmercifully. I told him I would go back and do
what good I could—or harm, in regard to Sorkvir. Since he could not
be there to advise me, he gave me his carbuncle, much as I’m
giving it to you now.”
Leifr folded his arms obdurately, his eyes resting upon the
carbuncle. “I’m not taking it,” he said.
“It’s harmless, I tell you,” Gotiskolker insisted. “Every Alfar is
born with a tiny grain of this substance. It has to do with powers
and recall of past ancestors’ words—nothing more than basic instincts
for survival. What’s so frightening about that?”
“The more I hear, the less I like it. I think Fridmarr is dead, and
you scavenged this gem from his corpse.”
“Not quite. He still lives, as far as I can tell. The carbuncle
shows life yet, does it not?”
Leifr eyed the sparkling ruby interior and was forced to admit
it appeared almost alive. “It will die when he dies?”
“Unless it finds a place with another host. Haven’t you noticed
the wartiness of old wizards and witches? Those warts are carbuncles,
their own and others they have bought—or stolen. The larger the stone,
the more valuable it is.” He rubbed his scarred left eyebrow absently as
he talked, his gaze fastened upon the glittering stone. “This stone is
actually rather a small one, or you might well fear being taken over by
it. Should you one day choose to become more an Alfar and less a
Scipling, all you would need to do is carve a small slit in your skin
and sew this stone inside with gut; in a very short while, you would
never wish to be a benighted Scipling any longer.”
“You must be mad!” Leifr