The Caverns
of Osberg

Chapter 2:

The Guilds

~an excerpt

The Cult members were still gathering but those already in the lodge were a boisterous bunch. As was common of the lodges in this part of the world, most members were content with nothing more rigorous than showing up, drinking mead or beer, listening to the leaders complain about whatever was bothering them that evening and then heading back home with a bit of a swaying motion thanks to their intake of beverage. In short, it was a place where men could gather outside of their daily grind. So many of the men of the Honellaken valley looked forward to these gatherings.

But not all. There were a number of farmers that were within easy walking distance, whether by foot or by hoof, who not only didn’t attend but were harsh in their assessment of the value of the lodge and its proceedings. The Skulstads were such men, but they were not alone. Guild members at the lowest level were content to be unaware of why some of their countrymen would not join them. It really didn’t matter to them one way or the other, as long as they had their drink. And the special occasion gatherings, like this one tonight, always included a feast of roasted foul and meats: pigeons, geese, pig, goat and lamb. Since their diets consisted primarily of the fish that the Honellaken port was known for, these special meetings were a treat.

However, the leaders of the Cult of Fire—the name of the Honellaken Freemasonry Lodge offshoot—cared a great deal that some of their countrymen refused to attend. The Grand Master took a very dim view of them, in fact. But he knew from whence their hesitation came, so he made some allowance for his unthinking neighbors. He did not entertain any forgiving view of the source, though. He’d sat in church too many times, listening to the Reverend Wilhelmina preach against the guilds, recommending that the menfolk of the community focus their attention on their own families, the raising of their children, their responsibilities as husbands, as well as their obligations to the church itself. He’d lost count of all the times he’d left the ancient stave church with a throbbing tongue, from all the biting he’d given it.

That problem must be resolved—and soon—but his attention was needed here and now. The recitations were about to begin. He shifted in this ornate chair, almost a throne, carved from a solid piece of native spruce. It was much older than he was, and had been used by his father and his father before him. His chair was flanked by two others, smaller and somewhat less ornate. All of them were perched on a platform about a meter tall, thus providing them a clear view of the room and its occupants.

Birger called out, “Hear ye, men of the Fire! The time is upon us! More so it is upon Ulf, Njal, Rune. Their preparations either find a foothold this evening, amongst this host of witnesses, or they fail and are banished from the Lodge.”

The men in the assembly responded in a chaotic mix of yells and grunts. The group was feeling quite festive.

Birger continued, with even more volume. “Then, I ask you. Is this assembly prepared to hear their invocations?”

The Cult’s members raised the volume of their yells and grunts.

“And will you judge rightly, with no untoward favoritism or prejudice to any of the men here?”

“Aye!” the group yelled back, understanding that a clearer response was becoming required.

“And will you judge them impartially of emotion, knowing full well the power you cast with your vote?”

“Aye!” they roared back.

“And will you bestow upon them the rank of Fellowcraft should they recite the Articles in their entirety?”

This time the shouts were overwhelmed by the collective stomping of heavily booted feet of more than 50 men in the hall.