I'll provide some definitions of words that will be used by the people in the fic below. If they're not there, I intend to clear them up as this story progresses. The idea for this AU was coined by lupinlu and I; we hope you enjoy it!
Tarr: An animal similar to a caribou, these animals stand at around 1.5 metres at the shoulder, and possess antlers of up to 2 metres from tip to tip. They are usually a patchy white-brown colour, and graze primarily on grass. They migrate over frozen water every year to reach warmer climates, and return in summer via a land route to the hunting grounds of the tree tribes. Tarr make up an important food group for all three tribes, despite living mostly in the low-lying areas around water, which makes it difficult for any tribe other than the Tribe of the Full Moon to make use of them through the two seasons they are available.
Liufr: Large, dangerous predators, these animals are similar to gray wolves. They are about 2 metres in length fully grown, and can come in almost any shade in the regions of white, black and brown. They usually hunt in massive packs of about thirty, but don't often attack humans. They prefer to stay in the mountainous regions, but with food scarce, they have been coming down to attack tarr. Their numbers have been dropping dramatically over the last twenty winters, and there is thought to be only one or two packs remaining in the tribe areas.
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Summer had finally come for the Three Tribes of the Light.
Hot sun had erased any trace of snow from the long winter months weeks ago, and the tarr had returned from their winter migration to graze at the new grass that lined the forest. With them they brought the birds, eager for the fruit that hung heavy on the bushes that had rapidly bloomed in the hot sun.
Sigurd Bondevik, Shaman of the Tribe of the Full Moon and the oldest living member of the group, hated the season.
Now, he didn't hate every aspect of summer. Having enough food to live comfortably was certainly an upside, and the spirits always got chatty and let Sigurd share their energy with him. However, the light hurt what remained of the old man's vision, and the bugs that buzzed in his ears and landed in his hair were a constant hindrance – it wasn't like he could just stand up and move away from them anymore. Sigurd's legs were far too weak for that sort of thing a nymore. By the Spinners, he hated being old.
Nevertheless, there were many reasons for him to hate summer, and so he continued doing so with a vigour that did not quite match his age. Of course, Sigurd had always hated with a surprising passion, considering his usually-flat expresssions and the way that he ignored the small things.
"Tino!" The only possible upside to being old, Sigurd observed as he called out for the boy, was that he got people that were younger than him to do whatever he wanted; hence, having Tino as an apprentice was clearly a logical thing to do.
"Yes, Sigurd?" The soft voice of the boy he'd taken on around six winters ago distracted Sigurd from his thoughts, and he turned his head in the direction of Tino's voice. He'd never seen the boy, of course, as he was mostly blind, but he enjoyed imagining what he might look like. Was he tall? Would he have dark eyes and light hair, or neither of those features? Whatever he looked like, Tino had a voice that sounded like the too-cheerful birdsong he was forced to listen to throughout all of summer. He liked Tino more than summer, though. If anything, Tino reminded him of spring, of new life and excitement and things he'd long lost interest in. It was refreshing, the old man decided.
"I need you to write down something."
"Another story?" The note of delight that entered the voice Sigurd had come to know so well over the last few years amused him a little, and he gave a slow nod. When he'd first taken Tino on, he'd checked with his chief (his name was Erzbet, and much like his mother, made an excellent leader) as to whether the boy could write, and when Erzbet had confirmed that he could, Sigurd had instantly begun telling Tino stories. Tino wrote them all down, too, which comforted the Shaman. Even when he was gone and he became a spirit, his stories would still be here. Hopefully the people he would leave behind could make some use of them.
He only had one story left. This one was a story he was ashamed of, but the Shaman supposed he had to tell it sometime. As much as it pained him, there were people who had suffered more because of what had happened... and he wouldn't allow anyone else to suffer because of human foolishness.
"Mmm. Sit down." A rustle as Tino settled down into the furs next to the Shaman indicated he should start, and he cleared his throat, turning his head in the direction of where he knew the opening of the cave was. "It began when I was only eighteen winters; the Lights were fading, although I didn't know it at the time."
"Fading?" Tino was clearly bewildered, and Sigurd felt himself smile ias he ran the hem of his fur coat through his fingers.
"Yes. They were being sucked away, into a sort of vessel."
"But aren't the Lights the breath of the Spinners or, ah...?"
"You should know this." Sigurd rolled his milky, unseeing eyes as his apprentice trailed off, and waited for Tino to elaborate a little more.
"Well, there are three Spinners. They created the universe that we exist in, and the universe the spirits live in. Then they created the gods." There was a pause as Tino flipped through the heavy book on his lap, the parchment crinkling in a way that gave Sigurd some sort of childish satisfaction, then continued. "The gods created our world, but only because the Spinners had planned it. The gods' breath are the Lights, and the Lights are what create the bridge between our world and the spirit world. The gods exist there, too... without the Lights, there is no way for the spirits to leave our world when they die. It's also impossible for 'new' spirits to enter this world and become a soul for someone."
"Better." Nodding slowly, Sigurd stretched, feeling his joints creak in protest at the movement. "The Lights where being taken, unwillingly, by a boy born of the Clan of the Crescent Moon. He was born on the longest day of the year, which was the last day the Lights appeared in all their fullness for a good eighteen years, and his eyes... they changed like the Lights the moment he was born. I wasn't blind then, of course." The second statement was added with some haste, simply to cut off the question he could already feel coming from his apprentice. "I can remember what they looked like." Quietly, he brushed his hand through his hair, feeling the bugs that had settled in it scatter, then took a breath. The wave of longing had come and passed in a mere moment, and he had to move on. "When I was twenty one winters, however, the Lights vanished completely."
"What?!" Tino dropped his book, and Sigurd restrained a laugh as he felt around for the worn volume and handed it back to Tino.
"Yes. At the time, of course, it was a complete disaster; it happened in the midst of winter, and we had nothing to light up the night other than the fires we constructed."
"How did you hunt?" His apprentice asked softly, and the Shaman shrugged lazily.
"Badly. We lived off dried meat, and when we had the chance, fresh meat from the liufr." There was a long pause, and Tino touched Sigurd's arm gently.
"Is that why the only liufr is that spirit that follows you around?" He asked, voice heavy with caution. The words sent a shiver through the Sharman, and he shook his head slowly, heaving himself up and grabbing Tino's shoulder with a faint grunt. The spirit he spoke of was nearby, pacing by the entrance of the cave, and it quickly padded over to support Lukas' other arm. Shamans were gifted the ability to see the dark shapes that drifted over the landscape, the spirits of everything that had not yet moved on to the next world. Some, like the animal under his arm, chose to stay.
"No, no, we didn't eat them all. Something worse happened, but I'll get to that. Help me outside first." The trio struggled to the entrance of Lukas' small home, and the sudden wave of heat made the Shaman shiver in disapproval. The sweet smell of the blooming flowers was enough to encourage him to take another step forward, however, and he tilted his head upwards, feeling the wind brush his hair back. The spirit next to him nudged his hand as a silent reminder to keep talking, and Lukas curled his fingers in the animal's fur. "So, one day the hunters started setting traps for this boy. We had to catch him, after all."
"What sort of traps?"
" Steel-tooth traps." Tino inhaled quite sharply at that, but then shifted around a bit, clearly thinking something through . Sigurd almost anticipated the question before it was asked, but it didn't change the thrill of fear that went through him when it was.
"Is it true you and him had a relationship? You... you were lovers?" Sigurd knew the word had long been w hispered around all three tribes, and he sank down quietly onto the sun-warmed rock that he had pushed there himself, years ag o, as he thought through his answer.
"... You could say that. However, that's not relevant quite yet." Turning, he eyed where he knew Tino was. "Anyway, one day when there was a break in a blizzard, they found him and brought him into our camp."