Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) by Alaric Longward

fail to be noble. When they are selfish, violent, out of control, the Norns stir, and gods rumble. Your grandmother is a seidr-maddened woman, a völva. She was one, at least. She has sacrificed for the gods for decades and quit after a bout of near deadly fever. Her family is related to ours, she met Friednot and fell in love and then she had us, Bero and me, played a dutiful mother, a good wife—and yes, Father had another woman—but she has dreaded the day she would see the Bear roaring. Being a mother doesn’t shut down the gods in her head, and—‘
    ‘She saw bones,’ I said stiffly and pulled myself from his grasp. ‘Bones. Not even bear bones. Damned cow, I think.’
    ‘Horse,’ Aldbert whispered near, ‘Saxon horse,’ but we ignored him.
    ‘You threw the bones, and there was a terrible warning in them,’ Hulderic continued sternly. ‘One you should heed. Your grandmother thinks you are the Bear, and the Bear is the herald of evil times, my son. She thinks you might be the weak pebble that will cause the boulder to shudder, to move, and finally to roll. She thinks that men Woden created were cursed so that this world, Midgard, the gods, their Nine Worlds will be swallowed should they fail to be as noble as Woden is, and the evil of the vile gods who hated Woden—still do hate him—will come to pass. We shall be no more. And the Bear, it will be there, at the beginning, and that is why she fears. And why I do, as well.’
    I stared at him aghast. I swirled to look at Aldbert, who looked sheepish. He had told the poet. Why ? I decided it didn’t matter and tried to think about what Hulderic had said. The end? Ragnarok, I thought. End of the Nine Worlds. It would be the final battle, the bane of the gods and their lands. There would be horrible destruction of the Aesir and the Vanir and even the wily Jotuns, and finally, the birth of a new, lesser world.
    I quaffed. I had promised myself to believe, but this?
    Then I laughed and everyone turned to look at me with astonishment, and then frowns of deep disapproval. I could not stop, and tears ran down my cheeks, until I managed to stifle the roaring, shaking laughter into barely controlled chuckles, now anticipating a slap from Father, which never came. He was shaking his head.
    ‘You damned fool,’ he said sternly. ‘I don’t see anything funny about that. You live amongst the miracles of the gods, and seek to outdo them in arrogance. You really don’t believe in them, do you?’
    I got a full hold of myself and sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I want to. I killed two men in the battle, and perhaps they do occasionally help us. But not everything is magic, Father. I was sitting on the hillside the day before yesterday, looking at Maino strutting in his gear, and the dolts,’ I nodded at Dubbe who chortled, knowing somehow I had meant him, ‘and I was thinking how I’d never amount to anything. Now I am “The Bear”, terror of the shaking gods and the Bane of Midgard! And that’s because I kicked a plate of horse bones to the dust and the dogs didn’t want them? Perhaps they were sated. Even dogs can be full.’
    He did not see the humor. ‘Well, think about this, then. You are not the first one.’
    ‘There are other fierce bears in the family, ready to gnaw on the old Midgard’s bones?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said darkly. ‘There are. Were. Have been. In this cursed damned family, when a völva or a vitka of the blood sees such terrible signs it is no small matter to be ignored and made fun of. Ask Hughnot, if you wish. They had a brother like that, wild, unruly, and he, Maroboodus, was given to Donor and the god took him and now he is dead. Boat-Lord condemned him. There are boys and girls who have been sacrifices all through the ages.’ He frowned at that and waved his hand weakly. ‘Or sent far, far away. And let me say this again. Understand. Listen. Some have been sacrificed to the gods. Laugh at that, Maroboodus.’
    ‘You … ‘ I began and