Chapter 10: Revelations
Pairing
Hot and dry. Arid, where ever this maybe.
I look around myself and can't recognize the place. There are trees, grass sprouts from the ground in a formation that could only be designed by men, with those tall shoots of greenery acting as a natural wall.
Then there is the rolling hill that slopes down into a valley. A village lays along the base before sprawling into the valley. I can hear cries of the people running into the canopy of the trees up the hill. They want be on the top where I am. Need to be to survive what is coming.
Looking right, at the bend of the valley, I can smell before I hear or see the marching lines. I have never seen an army like this before. High in the air are pikes, long, gradually tapering off into sharp gleaming points. Hundreds of them. Each no more than a hand's width apart from the other in rows of six or maybe more.
"Hopilite," I turn down to see who spoke. The Shade, oddly sitting in my shadow, by my feet. It points out further, "Gymnetes. See them, Kris?" The hue of the afternoon and the orange-yellow of the ground had almost completely concealed the naked men running before the 'Hopilites.'
My focus is broken by the rumbling I feel beneath my feet. Looking over my shoulder, I see the horsemen approach and halt not far from where we watch, dismounting, and excitedly setting up a camp. They speak in a tongue that sounds like the Constantines, a Greek, but it is far too heavy of an accent for me to comprehend.
"They are just glad. The show is about to start and they feel they're on time," the Shade explains to me. I take a note that the Shade is still watching the valley, but in the opposing direction that the army is coming from. Not seeing anything at first, there being a cloud, like a storm of sand billowing through the valley and creating a fog-like atmosphere through the hilly trees.
After figuring out that the cloud is kicked up dry dirt, I focus more on what is marching within, and that is when I catch the glimpses of those shiny tipped spears gleaming in the hot sun.
One of the men behind me, nobles from the looks and sounds of it, shouts and points at the other army approaching to apparently meet in the middle. Those villagers are caught in the center. Why are they not running up here?
"Because they will die by their hands," the Shade points at the nobles sitting and watching what they find to be entertaining.
Inside of the settling clouds of dust, I hear the sounds of drums pounding rhythmically, setting a beat that both inspires and directs, and the lines of these opposing hopilites rush to form into a tight-nit group. They are not in time. Those naked men, their swords glinting in the light of the setting day slash out, and a chaos ensues.
Some of the nobles are hooting or cursing. One of them, no longer sitting in their make-shift camp, walks to where I am at. He is incredibly handsome. Far more than normal, like the combined majesty of a divine beauty to both sexes.
The Shade tugs on my leg, "Sit down. We can still see everything from here." Taking one last look at the majestic noble, I obediently sit with the Shade, and turn back to the carnage in the valley.
Despite the initial chaos, the opposing hopilites manage to cut down the vulnerable bodies of the gymnetes. Unfortunately, that gave the first hopilite army to set up and form an odd row upon row of spears.
"Phalanx. Think of it as a spear-wall," note taken from the Shade, I can see why. Those spears are ranging in lengths, some being short, others long, and the ones in the middle of the formation being at least nine or ten meters. Even if I were to shuffle sideways towards the phalanx, I wouldn't fit between the protruding points.
A number of the nobles begin to pass around fruits, meats, drinks, and at least one is enjoying the company of a young lad. The majestic noble never faces away from the valley, but he does appear to be looking beyond, further out to the other hill running along the valley opposing our position.
"By the way, Kris, there-," it points at the hill that the majestic noble is looking at, "-there is a division awaiting. When they-," it points out the army that had been disorganized by the gymnetes, "-they meet with the phalanx, they'll be flanked... At least, they would." The Shade looks up, annoyed, at the majestic noble.
I follow the Shade's stare and see the majestic noble's smile beaming brightly, his teeth so white that they are blinding, and for the first time his face becomes ugly with howling laughter. He quickly turns around and begins making some gestures while jumping and hoping around the other nobles. Then, kicking the lad out of the one noble's lap, he makes some kind of demand from the kid.
"He wants instruments. Tiresias is going to perform," the Shade translates the meaning behind this Old Greek. Without having to wait long, more children pull out of the thick walls of shoots with a variety of drums and odd flutes being propped around Tiresias.
All the drums have a child sitting at it while Tiresias holds a flute in his hands. He points at the flute and announces more of some kind of demand. I don't need the Shade to translate this much. Basically, he's telling his small retinue to follow his lead.
Tiresias plays. I sit mesmerized by the sounds he makes. It brings out the vigor in me, wanting to stand, pounce, and flourish myself in front of everyone. In tune, I listen to the drumbeats following.
I slowly realize it matches the same rhythm that the army had been playing earlier. My ice-blues dart down to the valley and I see the phalanx formation of the initial army break. They are falling back and reforming. On top of the opposing hill, I catch the movements of the ambush party running along with the broken phalanx units.
They are reforming to meet a new threat. A non-existent one.
Tiresias stops playing and screams out in joy. Throwing his arm up in the air and hopping on one foot, he nearly jumps out of his skin when a noble cries out at him, and he falls majestically on his ass. A snake? No, a couple, entwined, writhing in the grass together were nearly hopped on by the flutist.
"Here is where it starts," the Shade announces. A boy hands over an odd shaped sword, curved, to Tiresias. He stands back up, allowing the boy to dust himself, watching with disgust as the two snakes mate.
A foot stomps on their heads and he hacks at their bodies repeatedly until they're pieces lazily wag for the rest of their miserable lives. Handing the blade back to the child, Tiresias smiles, then looks back out at the valley, ignoring the dead at his feet. That is when he cries out.
Both heads of the snakes bite his foot.
I hear the Shade suck in its breath. Turning to look at what had happened, I see the dark figure rub its own foot, but still watching the valley below as the new formations of phalanx start a pushing match with spears pinging off the shields or whacking into the extended shafts.
"This will last for an hour. Really, kind of boring from here on out," the Shade explains in a flat tone. It stands itself up as the afternoon darkens into a blue hued evening...
It is a chilling blue morning sky I am capturing in my blurry vision. The back of my head is snugged warmly between the thickness of my sister's thighs as she strokes the blonde from my forehead. I don't hear much beyond her muffling my ears with those legs, but I can catch the wash of the waves breaking against our ship.
"Did you sleep well?" I give Gunhelle a single nod in response, not wanting to break from the warmth she offers my temple or the comfort she gifts me with.
I could not sleep during the night of when the runes were cast for me. The vision that both I and my sister shared was far too real for us to remain calm enough to rest. We remained awake until it had been time to board the ships for Skane.
It had been exhaustion that finally took me. The first day at sea, I watched my sister finally take her peace in slumber, while I remained watchful of the direction we were heading in. The second day, I couldn't take it anymore, and I nearly fell overboard.
I had my hand wrapped around a rope, idle and gazing out at the waving waters, before I had let go in my instant of blacking out. It was less than a second. Nodded once, my eyes blinked, my strength in my legs buckled, and I fell forwards.
As I had been staring out at sea for the land I yearn to return to, Gunhelle must have been watching her only brother, falling into her hands embracing me from behind to pull me away. I slept where we fell and found myself awake in the same position.
"Do you remember dreaming at all?" The ocean-blues of my sister's eyes observes my ice-blues in wonder. Is she thinking that I had another vision, a nightmare, or some prophecy? I think I'm jumping to conclusions on that assumption.
"I did, but I don't know what it meant," I reply honestly. This is the first time I had a dream of battle that was not my own.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" I consider the chance to confess my confusion to my sister, but abstain putting our heads together. It may have been random gibberish that I once heard from a skald, storyteller, in the Constantine states. My head gently shakes a rejection to her.
I shift my head to see who was about. This causes my sister to have a chance to move me so she can be free. Some how, I have a feeling that she was in need of relief in more ways than one.
Sitting up, I catch the sight of land not far from here. Has the second day already passed by? I rub the heel of my palm into my sockets to remove the blurred crude out of my vision. One more look at the coast confirms what I am seeing.
Skane. Home.
We approach within the next couple of hours. The delay was to sail along the coast for a point to beach ourselves near other landings. A long row of dragon-ships were positioned all over the coast.
I was told that a gathering was to be here, that all jarls are to attend, but I had not discerned which jarls. With this many ships, it had to be more than just the Danish, but also those who see us as their sovereign nation. Too many to count.
Helsingborg is a great town settled in Skane. There are a number of villages that litter all over, but this is the greatest of them. Lines of people are eventually seen to be flooding in and converging into ethnic districts.
There are Scanians, Jyylanders, Sjaelanders, but I stop noting who was who when I spotted a surprising bunch. Holstein? Saex Christians, baptized when their Saxon brethren were massacred by the first Frankish Emperor. This is far more than just jarls.
That part worries me a little. Searching around, I confirm my fear when I see a group of Livs far down the lines. There is heated tension sparking between the voids buffering everyone. It would only take a little push to have my home turning into an instant battlefield.
It is overwhelming to my ears, how many languages are being spoken at once, but it doesn't take much out of me. I can tune it out, since it is not directed at me, and pay close attention to the party I came with.
My sister pulls on my arm, "We can go ahead. I don't think they mind their own blood visiting." I give in and follow.
The great hall of Helsingborg is incredible. It doesn't compare to Jyyland's, but it beats Sjaeland's, and blows Hammerhus's hall out of the water. Rows and rows of tables line the floor, doorways that leads to ever more compartments housing more doors to rooms filled with comforts surround the awesome space, floors that reach high above my head and further to allow a continuation of what lays behind each door, and the roof decorated with the hanging skeleton of a great whale of a beast like some dragon out of myths and legends.
Far down the great hall, I see my aunt running around to inspect each individual preparing for the masses awaiting entry. Beyond her, my father lays on an ornate couch, watching something or simply looking out into the oblivion of space.
His mind had shattered from falling off his horse. Since that time, it had been one of his own men that had acted as regent. Myself, being sent away, for safety, to the Kievan-Rus had been suggested by my aunt; Dorte Hremdottir. Gradually, she took hold of the reigns as acting regent. Not officially, but there was no one better at knowing how to run things than her despite being a woman. The jarl's tolerated the change, but never voiced their acceptance.
From off to the side, I could see my other sisters assisting in the preparations. Each of them would be married, but like Gunhelle said, we are direct kin and allowed in.
Dorit Gyriddottir, the eldest of us all, is married to a great man named Ryygfin Sdjalgison. Their home is in Blekinge, of the house Bleike, who had joined in the breaking of the Scanian Kingdom. Age seemed to be creeping up on her or much stressed her back. She bowed, hunched as she paced to each table, but never seemed to express discomfort.
Britt Gyriddottir, the second eldest, had married Bjaern Bjornson. To call him a large man is an understatement. He is as tall as he is round with his thick limbs jiggling with a power that could crush just about anyone in a hug. It is a wonder how this sister of mine isn't the one with the back issues. Their home is in Halland under the house of Falk.
Lykke Gyriddottir, the third eldest, married into the same house as Britt to a man named Magnar Bjornson. Not nearly as big, but just as tall compared to Bjaern. There is a pretty quality about my sister that gives both Bjornson brothers pause to admire. Maybe that is why Britt has yet to break her back?
The fourth sister I fear. We all fear her.
Solvej Gyriddottir, married to Asteinn Hrodslaugson of the house Styr. Their home is in the lands of Alfheimr. This is a place that only the Jotnar are welcomed and yet they call it theirs. It is land, once unoccupied, and I suppose it would make sense for someone to take responsibility of handling it.
At the time, it filled me with dread when I heard about my sister marrying the man laying claim to it. No one else dared set foot there. Now it is bustling with activity and trade that has the region in conflict over beliefs. The lack of Old Norse who respect the land has given way for converts of the Christian faith to settle there. As such, Solvej has converted, and looks all the more regal in her outfit compared to the other siblings.
I don't know what to call her. In respect to my family, it would be Solvej. To her, Abella. I had refrained from mentioning my baptism in fear of what Hammerhus's reaction would be. Unfortunately, if I am to keep my pride, I would have to confess and reveal my converting.
Though, recently I've been questioning if the old ways were the correct path to follow. These strange incidents have continued to sway my beliefs back. Returning to Hremod Gyridson.
A sharp inhale from me causes Gunhelle to stop pulling on my hand and turn to look up at me. I've dug the heel of my palm into one eye while hunching over in silent agony. My mouth hangs open, wanting to cry out, but nothing flows from my lips or tongue.
Shakily, my world spins, looking on at the faces turning to me in their halted busy day. Several people rush to me as I watch them grow into giants. No, I have fallen. My body was just too numb to feel the crash to the floor.
A dark figure kneels down to me and shakes its head sadly, "Kris, I told you to forget." Its words are terribly base in my mind. The image blurs as the face of Dorte, my aunt, fills in the space like someone parting smoke. She shoos off everyone crowding around me and inspects my face for a moment.
Gunhelle, I can see her frantically telling Dorte something. My aunt shakes her head a few times, but looks down at me, then back up at my youngest-eldest sister. Instantly, with a strength that I never knew my aging aunt could possess, she raises me off the ground in a cradle, and walks us off someplace before my world becomes darkness once more...
I watch a pair screaming at each other. The woman looks familiar, but I can't quite pick out where I've seen her before. Then their Greek dress hits me.
Tiresias? I had thought she was a he? Suddenly, I feel pain shoot through my head. My eyes close in a wince as the keen pierce of agony seers itself through my temple.
When my eyes open again, I see a woman hanged. The change startles me and I back away to only fall into a hole. A darkness envelopes in rapid waves as clumps of dirt are thrown in over me.
I try to reach up and out, but each portion of the earth throws me back in. I'll be buried alive if I do not find my way out of this. Quickly, I reach out, my height helping me greatly, and I grab a hold of someone's ankle.
As I pull myself out, I note that the man I have grasped is being assaulted by another man. The hanged woman is no where in sight and the hole I crawled out of is gone. In my confusion, I had been slow to realize that the man that is being held down by me and is under attack happens to be the same man Tiresias was screaming at.
Blood blossoms over the man's face. I look up to see the attacker plunging a blade into his own heart. His body trembles before the blade is ripped from his torso. The spray of life-fluid catches me in the eyes and I am once again blinded.
Smearing the stain of violence from my eyes only greets me to more to come. An elderly woman holds out her own beating heart before laying it on the chest of the dying attacker. At this point, I am beyond confused. I'm annoyed. Is this some play? Am I up on a theater on one of the Greek Cyclades?
"Oh hush. That's his mother," the Shade gives the back of my head a smack.
I turn to look at the dark figure, once again wishing to speak, but only feeling my way towards it with what I want to know. Why am I seeing this?
"Different approach. Learning from mistakes is a common thing. Maybe if you witness some experiences of me fucking things up, you might be able to get us out of harms way... At least, I hope." This is the first time I'm hearing it refer to only itself and not as if we are the same person.
Looking away from the Shade, the whole scene had changed once more, and I am witness to the man that I had held down again. Only, this time, I see him sitting before many subjects of his. A manner of his posture makes me think of him as king.
"There is going to be a war," the Shade informs me. "All, but the father, have killed themselves. That father happens to be a very powerful king himself."
Why is this so confusing. Father? What father?
"Oh, the lover, he was his son."
Now I am all the more confused by what the Shade is telling me. I see it sigh and shake its head. I can feel it being frustrated. Why can't it just tell me what the fuck is going on?
"Because I want you to see it. Feel it. Experience the mistakes I made so you can stop fucking things up!" This time I am thrown back in surprise. The Shade's voice changed into a feminine one...
Multiple women's voices are arguing over me. I barely crack my eyes open when I hear one of them say, "She's waking up."
"Hremod? You are Hremod, right?"
"What are you talking about. Hremod is our brother. This bitch needs to be dragged out of here immediately!"
"She is Gunhelle's guest. Respect your sister, even if it is too difficult, and keep your mouth shut."
"I can see it. She looks a lot like Oma."
"Leave our grandmother out of this!"
"SILENCE! ALL OF YOU!" That voice is recognizable. My aunt shuts up all of my bickering sisters. I'm actually kind of glad too because that headache felt like it was coming back.
"Dorte, this whore needs to be taught a lesson for imposing on us in a time we need to be united. Falsehoods are only going to-"
"I SAID SILENCE!" I get startled fully awake when I watch my aunt grab and lift my sister Lykke up from the floor by the scruff of her neck single-handed. Immediately, she is walked out, like a sack of refuse, and thrown out of the door with a scream. Whipping around at the four sisters, "ANYONE ELSE!?" She is pissed with a capital P and O.
All of my sisters, those that remain, are all very quiet. I scoot to sit myself up, finding myself in a bed, unsure which room this happens to be, but I suppose many have the same luxuries. My aunt walks back to where she had been and stares down at me.
"You are an exact image of my mother. Taller, but certainly as beautiful," Dorte lifts her sky-blues towards Gunhelle's ocean-blues. "Do not speak. Nod or shake. Lokkemand? Are you serious about this?"
Gunhelle had been about to open her mouth before Dorte snarls at her. A very deep nod is followed after shutting her trap.
My aunt doesn't stop snarling, but at least turns away from all of us. She walks towards one of the walls and stares at it. Without warning, well maybe the snarling was a sign, she begins to punch and smash her knuckles into the barrier. Splintered and bloodied, I watch my aunt slowly come down from her rage in heaving breathes.
A glare is directed over her shoulder at me. Her tight lips and deep gaze is weighing on me before voicing a decision, "I'll inform my brother of his son's return." Not one second passes before she storms out of the room, startling Lykke at the doorway by shoving her aside, and disappearing with fading stomps towards the great hall.
Everyone exhales at once. I feel Gunhelle's hand on my shoulder and Solvej's, Abella, on the other. Britt rushes to close the door in Lykke's face before another tantrum erupts in the room. I hear a muffled, "BITCH," be screamed behind the closed portal. Those two never got along and being married to brothers didn't help.
Dorit, the eldest of us all, stares down at me. "You are in a lot of trouble if the Gods did this," she waves her hand over my figure. What trouble?
"I didn't do anything," I exasperatedly tell her. My ice-blues scans across the surrounding faces of my sisters as I continue, "I had done nothing any other man would have." This, as far as I am aware, is true. What had I done to deserve this?
The headache, that agonizing pain, was pushing through my skull once more. I could feel Abella's hand grip tighter on my shoulder as she leaned down to my face. "That is your sin," she whispers to me, "You do not recognize the evil you welcomed into your soul." Abella lifts her sapphire-eyes up, catching the looks she is getting from the other three, and shakes her head with a sigh. "Sinners, all of you," her hand removes from my shoulder as she stands straight as a pillar of salt.
"How are you still alive? I would have expected a Norweg-," Gunhelle lets go of my shoulder as she argues with Abella. The pain in my head doubles and I no longer can keep up with their talking. I wince and feel dizzy.
I lean myself back to lay down, seeing Dorit gaze down at me with pity, Britt with curiousity, Gunhelle with concern, and a knowing nod and frown from Abella as she clasps her hands together in prayer. Did my pain manage to shut them up?
"Not really. You actually blacked out again and didn't realize it," the Shade is laid out beside me with its feet kicked up and crossed while laying both hands behind its head. "It lasted maybe a minute?" It shifts to prop itself a bit up onto the side. "You did stop them, but only when they noticed you sweating."
My hand comes up to wipe at my face. It is wet. Why am I sweating?
"The deal. Remember? You go without saying, 'What,' each day and I will strip more layers of my change from you." It smiles, "It is a nice sign. You have it in you to better yourself."
"I'll be back with water," I hear Abella state. I guess she was getting stuffy in here with us heathens.
"FUCK!" Both of my hands shoot up to my temple as the pain nearly causes my head to explode. I can see the Shade stare at me with an incredible amount of anger pouring from it.
"I told you again and again. If you won't change your mind," it snaps its fingers, "I will make your life Hell."
"What am I doing wrong?" I breathlessly whisper.
"Heathen? A heathen. You considered yourself a fucking heathen. Don't start believing in their crap. Norse Gods? Are you fucking crazy! They should not exist!"
"Sh- Should?" My voice comes out, regardless of being in pain, and I catch the Shade stiffening. It made a mistake.
"Should? Hremod, are you fine?"
"Of course she's not fine. Look how drenched she is!"
"What are you still doing here. Go get that water!" Dorit yells after the fleeing Abella.
I stare at the Shade for a moment. I've decided. I've had a enough and am going to confront this head on, as I have promised myself so very long ago, and get to the bottom of this. "Are you Lokkemand?"
There is a whisper. A hiss. Then a scream as one of my sisters backs away from me. Dorit quickly stabs down her hand between my legs at a slithering lump beneath the sheets. I watch it writhe its body as her hand holds the very end of its bulbous mass from snaking its way closer to me.
I reach down to grab the slithering body and bend it, break it, and crumple the whole until the sheets stain red with blood. I let go of the sheets around my crotch, Dorit not letting loose the lump in her hand, and we look at one another before deciding to pull back the sheets.
Nothing. There is nothing there. Plenty of blood, but no snake. All of us are stunned into silence as we watch the empty void between my legs.
Abella comes back with a filled bowl and a rag to see us gathered around the bloody mess on the bed. "Oh... That time, is it? Don't worry, you will get used to the flow."
"What?" I stare at Abella in complete confusion before realizing what I said. "Fuck..."
