-Ovid
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PURGISTOK
Our God is great, and should He require of anything, He will slake Himself;
these shaitan worshiped as gods by the heathens tremble in His shadow,
and they require great offerings of blood to work their dark magics.
-Selem il Bushard, 'Idols'
It was more people than Thea had ever seen in one place, thousands of them, five thousand or more spread across a square mile of mountain valley. There were tents, a pavilion, several smaller amphitheaters, and event areas. A stream perhaps ten yards across ran right through the middle of the valley, cascading down from meltwater above and disappearing into some sunken depths at the end of the valley. There was music and dancing, drinking and brawling, and naked revelers bathing in the stream. It was the sort of place that Thea might have liked, were it not for the sacrifices. As they passed through the celebration, they witnessed this firsthand.
"Welcome to Purgistok, pilgrims!" a voice called out. Another person pushed foamy amber beer in a wooden cup at her and Thea accepted. Enemy territory or not, she wasn't one to refuse beer.
A cordoned off area, muddy and dark with blood, was the site of sacrificial combat. Two old men - old but in decent shape, their bodies nicked with scars, faced off against one another with bucklers to defend themselves, and nothing else but boots and a loin cloth. One had an axe and the other a spiked mace, and they faced off, taking lethal swings at one another. The man with the mace made quick work of the other man's buckler and broke his arm with a second strike. The man with the axe cried out, but they kept fighting.
"They're going to kill one another!" Larian said. Matthias tried to cover the girls' eyes, and managed to cover up one eye apiece, doing absolutely no good.
A woman behind them pushed a mug of ale or mead into Larian's hand and laughed. "Is this your first time at the great festival?"
"It is. We're from a small village, and have only now come upon better fortune," Thea told her.
The woman took Thea in and nodded. "A yeoman's daughter... or a jarl's?" she said. "Milady, these men are too old to raid, and in a few short years they'll die gasping for air in the comfort of their beds. Better to die a warrior, is it not?" The woman had the same dark hair and blue eyes that Thea had, though her features were far plainer and her face was nicked with a dozen small wounds. Did the Soenwomen fight, as well?
"Of course," Thea said.
The woman sighed. "That each Purgistok could be my first. Well, newcomers, I, Ushti High-banner shall be your guide. Before us, each man fights up to thrice, each time either dying gloriously in combat, his life spent to Soenim, or reigning triumphant. Those who reign victorious and survive the night are the honored Battle-Fathers, treated as lords of this valley for all the year until the next Purgistok!"
"What happens then?"
Ushti pointed to three charred thrones accommodating three charred bodies, one of them still trailing smoke. The corpses sat beyond the field of battle, three dead men presiding over the tournament. "Soenim always gets his offering," she said. "A year as a lord is more than most get."
The fight ended with a final wet thump, the man with the mace swinging his weapon into the face of his opponent. The crowd cheered and more drinks were passed around. This, apparently, was the last fight for some time - a mixed group cleared out the body, sprinkled straw and sand across the muddier parts of the field, and sledged in hundreds of cords of wood, as well as a few chopping stumps.
"What's going on now?" Thea asked.
Ushti nudged her shoulder. "The contest for Battle-Maiden! Ah, to be in your boots - tell me, friends, what are your names?"
"I'm Thea, and this is..."
"Laki," Larian said - hers being a decidedly un-Soenwoman name. "Laki Tale-teller."
"Well, Thea and Laki, if you are unmarried and have no progeny..." Ushti took a step back and regarded them, her eyes flitting over their figures. "And few so slender of waist have borne a babe... you should compete to be Battle-Maiden."
"I have no desire to die today," Larian said.
Ushti laughed. "Nor do any of the maidens! Death is for the old and the sacrificed - the Battle-Maiden need only compete in a handful of events for the honor of sitting at the high table with Rurik Koenig and his lords. Where the best food and the best action are, and she shall carry with her tales to last a lifetime!"
Ushti pointed to the main pavilion, where several officials were huddled in discussion and where thralls were busily setting up a banquet table. A great stone face in the side of the mountain, an impassive and battle-scarred bearded countenance, loomed next to it - if Thea had to guess, this was the altar of Soenim, where most of the sacrifices were to be made. That made it prime real estate for getting to Cano.
"I'm participating," she stated.
"Then I am, too!" Larian said.
"Me, too!" Maddie said.
Ushti laughed. "Perhaps next year, love."
+++++
The woman who presided over the Battle-Maiden contest was hardly less intimidating than the warrior men. She was broad, scarred, and as tattooed as most of the men - not the magical tattoos of the Runed Men, but the sort of green and blue geometric patterning that many of the warriors had. She stood upon the little stage overlooking the competition field and announced in a booming voice:
"It's no secret why the men go wandering and raiding - the poor souls are burdened with a third leg!" She dangled her arm between her legs for emphasis, earning laughter from the crowd. "We women have the important job - to defend the home and make it a fit place to live, for the menfolk will not civilize themselves."
"That's right!" Ushti screamed from behind them.
"So while the boys are off having their fun, it's we women who keep things together, isn't it? Today's contest will see who among the maidens - that is those unmarried women without children, for I think I can count the true maidens on one fat finger!" She held her middle finger high in the air to more laughter. "Our contest today, then, will consist of four events to judge who among you is best suited to keeping her home safe and fit for living. Do well and you'll soon find yourself a yeoman's wife! To start with, what home is any good without a good fire, and what fire can be made without firewood? The winter comes fast in the south, so you'll get two minutes to split as many cords as you can!"
All things considered, this was an event that Thea was better prepared for than most, as chopping firewood had been a substantial chunk of Theo's employment. She rolled up her sleeves, took one of the hatchets provided, and got to work. While she had neither the strength nor the callouses she'd once had, two minutes wasn't such a long time. She situated herself toward the middle, with women and girls chopping away to either side. There were about twenty of them in all, running the full gamut between scrawny and hefty and between mid-adolescence and close to thirty, and most of them looked like they knew how to handle an axe.
Thea didn't get first, but neither did she embarrass herself. Among the twenty women, she placed third and Larian placed twelfth - not bad, considering that she could probably count the number of times she'd made firewood on her fingers. A group of thralls with carts rolled into the arena, loaded up the firewood, and trundled it off to the pyres that light the night. Next came a contest to which Thea was less prepared - or so she thought.
"A fire's fine, but it must be defended at times, for the frontier and the jarldom are both rife with violence. A thrown axe is more useful than a chopped one for dealing with a charging foe - best to get to him before he gets to you and yours. Five throws for five foes, take your marks, our maidens go!"
Large logs with targets on their sides were rolled out and slim throwing axes placed at each maiden's feet. Thea reached down and hefted one of them - the whole pile of five axes weighed less than a stone. She'd never thrown an axe before, nor anything else for practice. But, she realized, some of the other women certainly had, and she could watch them. Thea looked down the line to either side, witnessing fifteen or twenty throws.
"Don't be a laggard!" the contest matron boomed. "If you've not thrown your fourth by the time the next-last axe is thrown, I'll not count the fifth!"
Most of the throws that Thea could copy were a bit up and to the left of center, so she aimed a bit lower and to the right, hitting the log but badly off target - too far down and right. She watched a few more women throwing. There! That throw was dead center. She tried to copy the aim and technique... so close! She tried again and the next two landed right next to one another, dead center in the log. and her fifth one wedged between those two, cracking the log clean in half.
"It's hard to see how that's not a winner!"
Thea looked up and down the field - few of the logs had five axes embedded in them. Larian had managed three, and she was around the middle of the pack. And of those who'd managed to hit with all five, none had three so neatly in the center as Thea, let alone had anybody else managed to crack her log in half. She turned to the crowd, beaming, and blew them kisses and curtsied when they cheered.
"Now that the foe's defeated and the fire's warm, it's time to make the home a welcoming place! Be it song or dance or tale, how will you wile away the time on those cold winter nights... beyond the obvious, I mean!" The contest matron wiggled her hips. "My stage is yours for a minute apiece to show what skill you've got!"
From the scoring of the events thus far, Thea was in second place, which meant she'd go second to last in the 'entertainment' event. Most of the women sang songs or did dances, and she watched on carefully... it might be gauche to copy another contestant, but it would be better than doing nothing at all. Larian delivered a thundering verse of epic poetry from the Three Trees saga to wide applause - that much, Thea definitely couldn't get away with copying. And, at one minute apiece plus a few moments in between to get situated, it was much too soon that Thea found herself being nudged to the stage.
"And what's the name of this maiden fair, and what shall you be performing?" the matron asked.
"Thea Frost-blessed, and I'll be singing... make that playing a song known to you all!" she said, inspiration suddenly striking. "Men, get me a lute and some ale!"
The crowd cheered, and a lute made its way through the crowd, passing from hand to hand before reaching Thea's grasp along with a brass goblet of ale. Thea didn't know how to play the lute, not with the fluency of a musician, but she could splice parts from the few dozen songs she'd seen together closely enough to mimic the drinking song she'd heard in the common house the other night. She lifted the ale to her mouth and drank it in one go, tossing the goblet back to the crowd.
"I sailed across the churning sea
and could not take my drink with me,
but here I stand on balmy land,
so put some spirits in my hand!
We warm ourselves with Sigurd's mead,
but our steel is cold, so all take heed:
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
with the midnight sun, where the ale doth flow.
We come from the line of the god of war,
throw your heads back, friends, and we'll drink some more.
Oh!"
Her voice was silvery and clear over the crowd, louder in her ears than she thought it ought to be... and the crowd loved her singing, and they adored the song. Thea got to the third stanza and the third round of drinking from the crowd before the matron decided that a minute and a half was quite enough and nudged her from the stage (to some boos and shouts for more from the crowd). The last girl, poor thing, thought to try her luck with a drinking song, too, but had neither the strength of voice nor skill on the lute to pull it off. Which put Thea in first place going into the final event.
"As a maiden who'll be wed soon, there's one more thing you'll need experience with: handling a big and slippery pole! And you'll not likely to find a pole bigger or more slippery than this! Your task, if you be a brave, is to venture to the end and take your husband's flower before he can take yours!"
The festival matron led the contestants to a long log about half a yard wide sticking out over the deepest pool of the valley stream. It was coated and dripping with something white - a heaping helping of goat grease from the looks of it. In the dying light, Thea couldn't make out the bottom of the pool, but she assumed it to be at least three or four yards deep because she'd seen people diving from the rocks earlier. But now the area had been cleared and was ringed by throngs of people chanting, "Pluck! Pluck! Pluck!"
Each maiden walked down the log, the first few steps only slightly slippery, but quickly becoming absurdly slick above the deeper parts of the water. Some of the women tried to edge out slowly and sideways, always quickly falling off, caroming off the log and tumbling into the pool with a splash. Others ventured out more quickly, generally with better luck. Some of them made it half-way out or a bit past before flailing wildly with a shriek and spinning down into the water. Larian, when it was her turn, took a running start and then froze, gliding all the way down the log, her balance perfect. At the last moment, she dipped to pluck the flower before somersaulting into the pool with a perfect dive.
"We have at least one pretty plucker here! Let's get another lily back on the poll so the rest of the girls have a chance!"
The next two girls tried the same thing as Larian, albeit with a lot less success. If her balance wasn't as good as Heath's, it wasn't far off. They made it as far as the earlier speedsters - half-way or a bit past. Then all eyes were on Thea. Despite her perfect performance, Larian hadn't captured first-place after her mediocre showing in the first two events and a solid but not top-tier one with her epic poetry. But Thea could win (or at least tie) if she went past half-way or so. The log had seven little white marks evenly-spaced along its length, plus three lily blossoms on the flower - ten points possible. She'd need four to tie and five to win...
Thea took a running start, but she didn't slide. She was three drinks in and, if her balance was usually close to Larian's, it certainly wasn't now. Her bare feet patted against the log, soon slicking along the impossibly slippery surface. Was she half-way yet? It was impossible to tell. It felt like her feet were every which where, slipping too far back and hardly making any headway... and, suddenly, her feet stuttered, slipped forward, and Thea pushed to try to get a last little forward motion before she plunged off. Instead, she pushed herself into the air, the whole world flipping and wheeling about. In an instant, she saw the lily dangling at the end of the log arcing above her head… and she grabbed at it. And, still completely out-of-sorts, her body plunged into the water feet-first, barely tapping against the muddy bottom before she struggled to the surface, trying to remember how the other women had moved their limbs to swim.
"Thea Thrice-Blessed wins the contest!" the matron cried out.
"Thea Thrice-Blessed! Thea Thrice-Blessed!" the crowd roared, pulling her out of the water and pushing more drink into her hands. She'd just won the flowery crown of the Battle-Maiden.
+++++
They took Thea to a secluded back-room to change into a fresh gown, placing a crown of mountain laurels, white and fragrant, upon Thea's head, and led her up to the high table, the crowd cheering her along. At the last moment, right before she ascended the stairs, somebody jostled into her - Matthias. There was an urgency in his expression.
"Take the girls to the table with you," he whispered. "I... in a minute, I might not be too safe to be around."
"Where's he going?" Maddie asked. Thea couldn't tell her - as quickly as he'd come, Matthias retreated into the crowd.
"Can my nieces accompany me to the high table?" Thea asked the yeoman overseeing the stage.
"Your... nieces?" His gaze was directed at Maddie, her dark northern features clearly out-of-place among the free folk here.
"Adopted... from a shipwreck... blessed by..."
"Thielsklas, who rules the sea," Maddie said. "His roar is the storm and his fists are the thumping of waves."
That answer satisfied the yeoman and he waved them up, at which point Thea was introduced to Rurik Koenig, who squinted, smiled, and kissed her hand. He was a big blond man, maybe fifty years old, broad and tattooed and slightly gone to fat. Next to him sat his son Rorik. The prince was just as tall as his father, though not quite so broad and exceedingly trim. He kissed her hand with far greater reverence than his father's functionary peck and ran a calloused hand through her hair, picking out a laurel blossom to pin to his jerkin.
"Four times blessed if you ask me," Rorik said. "None of the other maidens were half so beautiful."
"Four-times-blessed doesn't have the same ring, does it?" Thea asked, blushing.
"No, I suppose not," he said with a chuckle. His voice was pleasant, not quite a man's, and his golden beard was only a year or two grown, a few parts not yet filled. He pulled out the chair next to his and gestured for her to sit. "And the man on your left is Ubba Wyrlock, my father's sorceror."
Ubba was an older man, perhaps seventy, his beard braided and white, his hair shaved with tattoos winding across his spotted scalp. His left eye was as dark as Larian's, and his right was completely clouded over.
"I see great things of this one, Rorik," Ubba said, not unkindly. "Her soul is twice her size!" Then he frowned in consternation, pulling out a handful of bones and casting them into a little wooden bowl at the table. "You are not with child?" he asked.
"No," Thea blushed. "No, milord. It's been ages since I did anything that might lead to children."
"Curious," the sorcerer said, noting how she examined his rune-bones. "And you read bones? Perhaps we'll speak after the festivities, just the two of us?"
"Of course. And... my lords, if there are any seats for my young nieces, my brother's entrusted me to their care."
Ubba spotted them, shuffled over to Rorik, and whispered, though Thea could hear him clearly enough:
"The dark lady traipses upon hallowed grounds,
with hounds white and black by her side;
upon the great feast, shall she bear her two crowns,
through which death and victory twine."
"We're not dogs!" Maddie said a bit too loudly - she was a clever girl.
"These things aren't literal, my sweet," Ubba said with a chuckle. "It is for the canny to perceive the signs and the wise to interpret them. And for the humble to know when he is not yet canny and wise enough." He chuckled and then looked to the horizon with a wistful expression. "My koenig, the moment of last light is close upon us. Would you like to say words before I order the sacrifices?"
Rurik did, though he was clearly a bit drunk already. He wobbled to his feet and then boomed on for five minutes, toward the end of which the sorcerer was clearly growing testy, tapping his feet and glancing toward the great torchlit face on the mountain's side - he was afraid to displease his mountain god. As far as Thea was concerned, though, the longer the better. The sacrificial yard before them was a forest of the dead, the bodies of those killed in the day's combat already hoisted high before the stony face of Soenim. At least two dozen posts remained unfilled. And, as the king's speech drew to a close, a group of oxen drew carts of prisoners out - among them was Cano, secured in heavy, rune-studded chains. His face looked bruised, but his eyes were alert. As the king finished his speech, the carts drew to a stop.
Rurik finally brought his speech to a close: "...and so we thank Soenim for another victorious year, our enemies beaten, our homesteads safe, our halls well-stocked with gold and silver - and lots of mead!"
Ubba Wyrlock strode over beside the king, straight and healthy for a man of his age, and raised his staff in the air. Its head had the skull of a ram and the black wings of ravens, and its shaft was brass twined with leather.
"Good people," he said, "Purgistok is upon us! In the early days, when Ulthe, mother of Soenim, ate from the great tree Vintrebra, she ate the tree's fine fruit. She lay in its shade and dreamt, and in so doing brought our world into being. It is said that when she awakens, Eschaton, the end-times shall begin. At Purgistok, we make our offerings, to Soenim, to Ulthe, and to the other great gods that her troubled sleep may be eased and our world lives another year, that the songs of battle and glory may soothe Ulthe's sleep with her son Soenim roaring triumphant. Shall we please our god this evening?"
The crowd roared in response, and the sorcerer nodded. "That is well. In that case, great Soenim, we beg you accept these offerings from your children. These already dead in battle, these revered fathers, these faithful thralls, these valiant fanatics. And these yet to come... bring in the foreign hero!"
They unchained Cano, though he was still heavily shackled, and two Runed Men, each Cano's size or a bit larger, led him to one of the sacrificial posts. An acolyte standing on a ladder reached down to accept his chains, to lock them to the post. But they were stopped with a sudden flurry of motion from the crowd.
"Wait!" A cloaked man bellowed. "I beg you wait! I wish to be Soenim's first this evening!"
Thea gasped when the man threw back his cloak - dark skin, dark and woolly hair, his eyes like burnished bronze in the light. It was Matthias!
"Matthias!" Thea shouted.
He nodded to her and strode forward, the crowd parting before him. He knelt before the high table. "Mighty Rurik, mighty koenig, long have I followed your ways, and when my lord named me a freeman and adopted me into his household, I thought that I was Soenmen... but I didn't understand until I saw my sister, adopted, but as true as any sister by blood, Thea Thrice-Blessed. Thea with the spirit of our great god inside her, with the spirit of Soenim! I beg of you to let me, Matu, son of Hurir Frost-blessed, who is called Yronfist, be the first!"
Thea gripped at the table, her knuckles turning white. What in the world was Matthias doing? Had he gone mad? Was he under the sway of a potion or some form of sorcery? But from his glance and the way he nodded to her, he seemed to be in possession of his faculties. The king and the sorcerer conferred for a moment before Ubba nodded to his acolyte.
Ubba raised his staff again: "Let it be spake: Matu son of Hurir the Yronfist, who was enthralled and freed, devotes himself to Soenim, who shall consume his soul in fire, that honored Matu may feast in the great mead-hall until he is called to Eschaton!"
Matthias took Cano's place at the sacrificial post, and the acolytes and thralls quickly built a pile of logs and kindling beneath his feet, soaking the wood in kerosene and sapper's oil. Matthias took one last look in their direction, nodding again, and then the pyre was lit. It burned quickly, crackling up, licking at his feet, smoking at his clothes, and suddenly the flames engulfed him. Matthias didn't scream. He didn't make any sound at all, until the flames had consumed all of his body in a brilliant white light.
"Soenim!" he shouted.
"Daddy!" Maddie cried out behind Thea, her fingernails digging painfully into Thea's arm. Svilga clutched around her waist, burying her head into Maddie's shoulder.
Thea forced herself to watch, watching even as the fire died down, even as tears streamed down her face. She wasn't quite sure what she expected to see. A badly-burnt corpse? A charred skeleton? There was nothing left to see but a ruinous rubble of black coals, the embers of the fire still smoking.
Then Thea felt a rumbling from deep within the mountain, as if the earth itself was roaring. She felt a strange power coming from the great stone face on the mountain - and, as she did, she realized that her crown of mountain laurels was glowing... though, of course, it was her other crown that really glowed.
"Soenim is pleased!" Rurik Koenig roared. But Thea wasn't so sure - and neither, she noted, was the sorcerer. "Now for the foreign hero! A second great offering for our great god!"
But before they could chain Cano up to the sacrificial post, arrows started zipping in from the dark of the night, and two of Rurik's guards fell, dead. As the crowd roared and started to panic, Heath dropped in from the night, his bow held high. He hadn't abandoned them after all!
"I bring a message, Rurik Koenig!" he shouted.
