Realms

Year 40 of Landfall on Brennia, late summer

Velika took a brief moment to pause from chopping firewood as she lowered her wood ax and let it rest on the cool mossy ground, its heel away from her brown leather booted foot. She held the wood ax knob loosely with her left hand encased in a fingerless leather glove and used the back of her right, strong, long-fingered hand to wipe the beads of perspiration that beaded her pale-skinned forehead. She pushed the free strands of her silvery blonde hair behind her ear so they did not fall into her bright blue eyes to become a nuisance. She looked above at the expanse of the night blue sky as it slowly started to lighten to its predawn color of a paler lavender hue between patches of clouds that promised a clear morning ahead.

She set her mind to her task to get as much firewood chopped before her departure. Who would have the strength or will to continue when she was gone? Her father and mother had both perished from the wasting illness that now afflicted her oldest brother and all his household.

She only had her younger brother Tarben now and his wife Sassa, a gifted healer who was near her wits end as she and the other living healers lost more and more of their people in Glacier's Tears Village to this strange illness.

She raised up her ax again and took it up in both hands with a firm grip as she spaced her feet hit apart and aimed at the smaller ash log set up on the much larger platform of an oak stump. The splintering of the ash logs were again heard as she focused on her task. Once the logs were chopped into smaller wood, she gathered them all into the cart pulled by her oldest brother's ox. She and the ox made the short walk back to her ailing brother Ulrik's house where Tarben and Sassa tried to tend to Ulrik and his remaining living family. Already two of the little ones, her twin nephews of three, had perished.

The path that led to her brother's house was thankfully still well maintained and clear of stones and fallen branches. The recent excrements of hare could be seen along the path and Velika wondered at how all nearby animals had remained untouched by the illness that claimed so many human lives. Even the livestock of Glacier's Tear remained unaffected and it left the healers perplexed as to how the illness had been contracted and where it originated from if not from their food, drinking water or animals. Would the animals not be affected if it came from the very air they breathed?

She stopped the ox not far from the door of Ulrik's longhouse and untied the ox from the yoke and cart to lead it to a small enclosed area where it would rest against the longhouse. She then gave a gentle knock at the door.

It did not take long for Tarben to pull open the door and help her bring in the wood. She would let him stack the smaller logs and pile them up once she had left. They remained silent as they worked. Words were of little use when she already knew the answers to any question she may have wished to ask in the time she had been gone. No change for the better would have occurred and she did not wish to know if any for the worse had.

It was an eerie silence that prevailed since those in their deep and deadly sleep did not stir and the awakened humans went about their task in a quiet, near automated and methodical manner. Many took shifts and did not sleep at night or for very short intervals fearing that to slumber in the dark hastened and caused one to never awaken again, especially now since the known plants that had alleviated this strange descent into eternal rest could no longer be found in or around any known areas.

It was why she had volunteered to go and explore the dangerous regions where no humans had been able to survive thus far. She had answered Jarl Asger's call for brave men and women to volunteer to go beyond their borders while healthy people remained who could try to undertake the journey northward with a reliable guide, if one who knew the way and had survived both the illness and the deadly Rimetide existed.

She gathered her materials, weapons, belt purses and backpack near her sleeping bench with its furs. She made sure she had all she could carry on and was ready to go. Her sister-in-law Sassa joined her and gave her a heartfelt hug and whispered blessing before Tarben did the same and saw his older sister to the door. No further farewells were given and only the soft creaking of the closing door heard Velika's soft steps that would take her to the meeting place of those who would venture forth at the appointed time by the group of volunteers who heeded Jarl Asger Havard's call at the entrance of his home. Any worries of war on the main continent was a distant thought at the moment for Velika of the dying village of Glacier's Tears.

He pressed his back against the solid oak door frame of the great hall, the wisps of smoke and aroma of cooking still clung to the air. It reminded him of the heavy breakfast he had finished several minutes ago, a bowl of thick porridge. He would much prefer a good slice of smoked bacon lightly cooked but meat had not been offered and he did not wish to seem rude by refusing their hospitality. He was an outsider after all and a Brythone.
His presence wouldn't have made much difference a few years ago but the recent outbreak of war in the homeland had now adjusted most people's view towards his kind, though the people here had their own troubles. War in a neighbouring land where all of these folks ancestors came from would worry them like a wolf watching sheep, the thought of armies arriving in ships to claim men and resources or to conquer by pillage and rape would place a great concern on Jarls and Thralls alike and no doubt those in the south were preparing for the worst but here people were dying without violence.
He pushed himself off the beam and rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness, his sleep had not been comfortable. Frosty blue eyes observed his surroundings once more as he still waited, he was prepared to leave now but he had been charged with the position of guiding one of the groups north so they could gather the supplies that were needed to help their healers cure this strange illness, if they could. He had his doubts, not all cures came from plants. Few of the hunters had volunteered to aid the other groups and had left already but none wanted to travel north towards the Rimetide. He himself had witnessed its unusual tendency to move, just like a coastal tide but this kind enveloped all in frozen crystals, tree and animal alike, the trees at least survived. Hopefully, his group wouldn’t need to approach the frozen border and they would find what they needed in the woods but even the woods posed a danger. Hunters had told tales of trees moving unnaturally.
What prowled out there, far from the safe warm heaths of homes was a world of wild dangers. Giant bears skulked in caves while wolves the size of oxen hunted elk the size of horses. There were also dark-skinned elves, they rode some of these great wolves as if they were mere tame beasts. These elves or Aelfaevargr, he had heard the name from one of the local hunters, came from beyond the Rimetide, they lived in that unnatural winter realm but they had been seen along the border, and there had been conflicts with groups of hunters, possibly territorial.
He picked up his leather sack and secured it over his shoulder and then placed the shield over his other shoulder and tightened the strap. He wore a bearskin cloak over his byrnie and clothing which not only protected his back from the rain and chill of an evening but it was also his bed. He huffed out a breath, expiration of impatience. How long would he need to wait, the others should be here ready to depart. The thought brought a scowl to his features. They only had several hours of light, the sky would begin to darken in late afternoon and if they took too long to find these ingredients then they would need to prepare for the night in the woods at one of the hunter camps. It would be best for them if he directed them to the camp first then they could search.
Stepping away from the hall, he stood where he would be more noticeable. The outside torches and braziers burned low but the sky was already revealing a new day. Watching out for the others he glanced around again. He was unaware of who would be in his group, he was not approached by anyone after the Jarl had requested his skills. Perhaps they were wary of him but their actions did not surprise him nor did it concern him. He would wait a few more minutes before he would offer an impatient call.

She stood solemn and steady at the bow of the knarve as the Eskiholm warriors slowed their rowing as they approached the wooden piers and docks of Glacier’s Tears Village. The kohl around her eyes made the young Völva’s appearance more fearsome as well as protected her from the sun’s rays reflecting on the water’s surface, though she along with the warriors and sailors with the same kohl marking around their eyes who accompanied her had been traveling through the night, guided by the stars, from Eskiholm to the mouth of Glacier’s Tears River.

Branwyn wondered if she had been appointed to this quest because she was the youngest of her order and this was her trial to become a true Völva. Though she was not one of them by birth, she barely remembered a time before coming to them except for the feeling of cold and hunger, of threadbare clothes and hard work where she was beaten if she did not perform her duties well or quickly enough. She remembered the sounds of ugly male grunts accompanied by cries and whimpering of an older girl at night who was a slave as she was to the same household of wicked people, if they could even be called humans.

She had laughed with savage glee as that village had burned when the Raiders of Eskiholm had come. She had been one of the prisoners they had taken, but to her, they had been her liberators. They had given her the name she now took as her own with pride as well as the purpose they had given her when they had brought her to the Völur.

She stepped lightly with a sure booted foot off the knarve. Her arrival did not go unnoticed, though not everyone knew who or what she represented. Some of the older sailors and merchants working on the docks moved, or bowed and made way for her as they saw the white wooden staff engraved with runes she carried with the raven feathers tied around it with sturdy leather strings wound around it. Only the eldest and most wise of her order were gifted with the iron staves that marked their rank in their order.

She turned to her people a final time as they stood and raised their shields. Raising her staff, she joined them in reciting a prayer to Freya :

Hail Freyja, Vanadis,
I ask for protection,
Under your falcon wings
And war-maiden’s shield.
Help me to make peace among my enemies.
Give me the courage to fight again
For if I am battle-slain in truth
May my actions be worthy of your choosing.

((Prayer to Freyja for Guidance and Protection
by December Fields-Bryant))


She watched in silence as they sat, placed their shield at their sides and at their captain’s command, pushed off and took up their oars again. Branwyn turned back at the gasp of disbelief from a young male voice and words of dismay. “This is all the famed Eskiholm Raiders send, one lone woman!?!"

She was about to glare at the young one when an older man cuffed the youth behind the ear. “Show manners before a Völva, pup, she stands higher than Jarl Asger.” The old warrior bowed before her as did those near him and the boy with the scruffy hair, the shade of pale sand who could not grow facial hair yet, also bent knee grudgingly.

She inclined her head to them in acknowledgement of their respect, but soon looked upward to where the smoke and the largest longhouse might be, for here laid the start of her real journey. She adjusted the bundle and satchel that carried her belongings and moved past the people at the docks towards the wooden stairs guarded by a few of the Jarl’s men that led to the village proper. It was clear that the strange ailment that affected her own people in Eskiholm was more prevalent here and causing far more ravishes by the lack of guards that she came to and presumed was Jarl Asger’s from the information she had been given.

Her sharp eyes spotted a lone man who seemed to stand apart from the few others, mostly because his appearance, dark hair and beard was different from those around him whose hair colourings ranged from the lightest of blond-white to a deep burnished red lighter than her own darkest red one. “Hail, I am Branwyn, one of the Völva of Eskiholm Isle come to lend aid, for our own people are now starting to suffer from the same sickness and we heed Jarl Asger’s call for aid. I would greet the Jarl if he is within.” Her voice seemed overly loud to her own ears as she announced herself in the strange, almost subdued quiet, of the early mourning.

"The Jarl! He slumbers within, in all likelihood." He retorted with a rough voice, displaying no concern for the Jarl's actions. His gaze fell upon the woman, carefully observing her vibrant features and the determined manner in which she carried herself. The unexpected arrival of someone from the harbour, or the offer of assistance from a small island, was not something he had anticipated, especially considering the shared plight of their people. Although it was still early morning, embarking on a voyage in the darkness posed its own risks. However, he was aware seasoned sailors possessed the ability to navigate using the stars and their knowledge of the currents, while also making offerings to the spirits for a safe passage.
He ruminated for a moment on the Brythonic sailors, known for their seafaring skills, who had a unique method of navigation that involved a fascinating charm. This charm took the form of a small metal whale, measuring around four inches in length and forged from fallen star ores. What made this charm truly remarkable was its ability to always point towards the north, serving as a reliable guide for the sailors on their voyages, even without a clear sky.
"The Jarl has taken the initiative to assemble multiple search parties in order to find a solution or at least something to impede the progress of this illness. I have been specifically requested, or rather, demanded, to serve as a guide and lead the way toward the northern region beyond Farwood." A subtle undertone of agitation could be discerned in his voice as he spoke. If this woman is the sole individual who has responded to the urgent plea for assistance in finding a cure or alternative methods to combat this affliction, then their journey would likely be arduous. He had initially expected the support and participation of other brave men, considering the perilous nature of the expedition that lay ahead. If this female was to accompany him, he fervently hoped that she possessed the requisite combat skills to defend herself effectively.

Jarl Asger's longhouse was one of the few in the village that did not have a sod or thatched roof. The roof of his longhouse was wooden and stood highest and longest at eighty-two feet with the head of two intertwined drakes above its entrance. As she looked up with her crystalline blue eyes, she doubted that even an outsider would not be able to tell that someone of importance resided within.

The sound of her booted feet on the widening path seemed heavier in her ears of late with the decrease in people going about their business in the early morning. She approached a young woman about her height, but with a slender build compared her own lean muscles. The woman's dark red hair and striking blue eyes did not give indication of her house, but the black Kohl around her eyes and the staff she carried marked her as one of the wand-wed,, the Völur. One such wise woman had come to Glacier’s Tear before to give counsel to the Jarl before Asger, when she was a little girl of six.

Not far from the other woman was a man she was not familiar with. His coloring marked him as an outsider, yet the old ties and disputes that originally came from the main continent where their forefathers and their foremothers hailed from before they settled on Brennia, held little appeal to the people of Glacier’s Tears. The people here, including her family, had found a new freedom and a will to make more of themselves in this new land than in their old countries. Survival and the need for cooperation in order to not only live, but to thrive tended to erode away animosities between humans, especially in times of crises such as these.

She only caught the last of the man’s words to the red-haired woman and perhaps she should have let the other woman answer since her status was above her own, but her purpose was aligned with this man’s and she did not wish him to think only others would volunteer to help her people.

Velika bowed before both of them, but she lowered her head and eyes before the woman with the staff whom she believed was a wise woman. “Hail, to you both. I am Velika Strand, daughter of the shipwright and warrior Runar Strand and his wife Daria. If you mean to lead a group beyond the northern region of Farwood in hopes of finding a cure, I come as one of the volunteers to aid in this task.” She informed both of them in a steady, though cordial voice, that made it clear in her tone she would not be turned away.

Her brows furrowed at what she perceived as a harsh statement from the dark–haired and bearded man’s words. Might the Jarl also be ill along with those of Glacier’s Tears Village? Was it kept from his people and others to keep order in the village and so that no one tried to profit from his weakened state? She preferred to keep such thoughts to herself and not bring unfounded gossip to the wrong ears.

“I stand ready to assist and lend aid..” She started to say, but stopped when another taller woman with a lean muscular build and armed as a warrior joined them and spoke of her desire to join the expedition to search for a possible cure for those afflicted by this unknown illness.

As a former slave it was still difficult for her not to bow before those she had once been told were her betters as free-holders, warriors and lords, but as her sisters had taught her, as a Völva and a messenger of the gods she now stood above them all. Branwyn simply inclined her head in acknowledgement of the blonde woman’s respectful attitude towards her. She kept a solemn expression as she revealed her own reason for coming. “I am called Branwyn.” she told the other woman and then addressed the man who had yet to speak his name.

“A trading party of nine returned to Eskiholm Island cursed with the same illness that afflicts many on Brennia now. It has not yet spread to other members of our community and those of my order work tirelessly to try to find a cure without success so far. I have been sent to find hope for our community and yours if the gods will it.” She answered humbly.