The Calling - Blood and Snow

06.

By the campfire the three silhouettes gather; Axil cooking rabbit, Miya draped in Faris's coat while Faris secures the makeshift tent, binding the final knot. Crickets chirp loud, owls hoot and fireflies glow in distant fog. The comforting light and warmth of the fire works magic as Axil cast its delicious spell upon fresh rabbit rubbed in clove, aniseed and garlic infused oil.

"Food's ready!"

Axil announces over the tense atmosphere with a smile.

Unanimously moving in a little closer to eat, Axil offers Miya first pickings to a stoic decline.

"Don't be shy, I'm an excellent cook."

Axil says in a most friendly manner.

"He's alright."

Jokes Faris, smiling as such to make Miya feel welcome.

"It's not that."

She says, on the verge of tears.

"You're hurt?"

Faris says, noticing the blood on her long red sleeping dress.

"I'm not hurt."

Miya sobs.

"You managed to kill one of the wolves?"

Asks Axil, still in wonder about why they were after her.

"It's my sister's blood!"

She cries.

Axil and Faris look at one another, feeling guilty for not realising any sooner something so tragic was bothering their guest.

"I'm… so sorry, what happened?"

"We were at home when she decided to run off. Zeeta does that a lot. I never knew she was gone, I was just cooking for us. Once I realised she was gone I chased after her, ... But she was just, just so fast! I heard her screaming my name so I ran out! I kept running towards her screams but..."

Miya begins to cry heavily.

"...The wolves came from nowhere, I've never seen them in these parts. Why would they attack me or my sister? She was just a girl!"

Axil looks at Faris, unable to answer such a weighted question himself.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. Wolves are usually skittish."

Faris says, unable to offer an explanation.

Miya is unable to lift her wet eyes, weighed down in sorrow, glowing in reflection of the fire. Wiping her cheeks Miya sinks further into the large coat she is wrapped up in as if it shields her from more than just the cold.

-

Through thick trees and foliage through the mountains pass, twigs snap and dead leaves crush in this foreign land. The mist of the sea follows under the clouds cloak of thunder. Warriors on a path caught in the web of Wyrd. Rain runs through war paint and braids of blonde and black, Blue eyes like burning ice of the north through open face helmets, each pair as vicious as the next. Wind against their backs pushing forward heavy footsteps and large strides, shields painted in dye of forbidden design. A heavy roar echoes from the mountains high above the village of Sadeef. Horses wildly rearing, sheep panic and cats flee.

"What was that?"

Questions young Faolan looking up at the mountain trees.

"A dragon?"

Conor answers to his slightly older brother.

"A dragon?"

Faolan sarcastically laughs.

"Dragons are not real."

"What do you mean?"

"Really?"

Questions Faolan wiping the rain from his face. "Alright, ... If dragons were real then why has nobody ever seen one?"

"Of Course people have seen dragons, that's how we know they exist in the first place!"

"No, people just make them up because chasing dumb sheep and throwing seeds is a lot less exciting."

"Are you really saying dragons don't exist?"

"I'm not saying they never existed, I'm just saying they do not exist today."

"Of course dragons still exist, they just hide in the fog of mountains to stay alive. If they were to fly around during the day we would all be scared and somebody would get some hunters to wipe them out. Dragons are not stupid, they are clever and millions of year's old."

"Do you really believe dragons live on the mountains?"

"Well what do you think that noise was?"

"I don't know, a bear? Wolf maybe. Some kind of wild cat?"

"A wild cat? Do you mean like a lion?"

"I don't know! Whatever it was it's not a dragon is all I'm saying."

"You hear a dragon roaring and think it's a cat, and people say I'm the crazy one."

"You are crazy!"

teases Faolan, pushing Conor aside.

"Daaad! Faolan pu..."

"Shhhh!"

Faolan says as he places his hand over his little brother's mouth.

"Alright, I admit dragons exist. Happy?"

Conor smiles, nodding his tiny muddy face.

The earth trembles from the trees as the cursed rage through wild eyed and monstrous.

"Ruuuuun!!!!!"

Yells a farmer as he is chopped down.

Raving axe first the village guard on the woods side split bloody with mighty wrath. Villagers run from the beasts to their cottages, locking and hiding. Guards rush to duty, gathering to stand off what unholy surge has come. Steel unsheathed, standing together under the rain ready for battle. The two forces face in the wet mud under the watch of crows. These foreign warriors are like giants compared to the locals, tall and broad as bears. The painted witch of the clan shrouded in a midnight tethered cloak carries the aura of a raven from Hel, guarded by evils beyond. Nerves of those trained by the king's army are not so easily shaken, but these bare chested heathens only smile in the face of royal steel. Fur soaks in the rain as axes beat against round shields, awaiting Mjölner to strike thunder through the skies...it storms!

Agnaar removes his helmet, drops his shield reaching behind for Brenn to pass him a second axe and steps forward. Steel soldiers charge. Agnaar charges, roaring from the depths of Nilfheim! Crashing through the weak like a mace through bone, he destroys in primal rage. Agnaars strength can only be measured by his speed. Blades swing, weapons clash and blood spills in the mudded waters. Blocking every swing and dodging every lunge, countering with a force like an avalanche down upon his prey as if every attacks in slow motion. Throwing his right axe he burst an oncoming attacker's skull through a helmet of royal forge. By the throat he launches whoever's in reach, spinning the axe over his back landing in a right handed swipe splitting the largest guard in half. Agnaar is barely scratched amongst the guts and giblets below his feet. Peeking from under the door, eyes widen in panic. The invaders begin kicking down doors for screams and blood, taking whatever is worth its weight. Pulling Kayleigh out by her hair, her husband thrusts a pitchfork in a threatening manner at the black haired Brenn.

"Leave us alone!"

He threatens.

The barbarians laugh at the insect yelling in foreign tongue. Brenn pulls the fork free of it's wieldier, thrusting through the farmer raising him in the air!

"This one!"

Agnaar orders Fenrir.

Conor and Faolan watch as their father is lifted and thrown like muck by the giant scary woman. Terrified watching as their mothers hands are forced behind her back and her wrist wrapped like a spider taking a fly.

"We need to do something!"

Faolan says in panic.

"No."

No a terrified five year old says to his seven year old brother.

"We've gotta save her!"

"Don't go...."

Conor pleads

".. They'll kill you too!"

"You run for help while I go save mum."

"I'm scared!"

Conor cries.

"Listen! You need to be brave. Mum needs us. Now you need to run for help as soon as I distract them."

"How?"

Sniffles little Conor.

"With this!"

Faolan says showing the dagger their sister gave him just before she left.

Brenn watches the pretty slave as the others bag and bring whatever they find, cutting down all they see. Saddles and sacks lay full of jewels, metal appliances and all in between that can be traded. Deep groans can be heard from one of the barns against weak squeals and crying. Olcan, the largest of the pack gathers the steel of the fallen, wrapping in sheets, leather straps and rope.

A boy runs at Brenn brandishing intent on being a hero but he is not fast enough against the Queen of the cursed. She catches the hand, crushing it with her mighty grip and looks at what the runt came at her with.

A dagger of exceptional proportions: a pummel circular embossed with a vortex emblem and draconic runes along its outer ring. A handle wrapped in fine tightly woven steel thread, a hilt more in scale to that of a large sword formed from a twisted bar with a ring guard over the left side. A blade the size of one and a half large hand spans covered in large runes half defaced from unorthodox modifications . The rear half of the blade is a flat sharpened edge while the front stands more unusual: grooves carved in as uniform as a deep serrated edge. The weapon was clearly once a sword that had previously been snapped in three quarters down the blade to a dagger's point. These kinds of weapons are known as sword breakers however the excessive use of runes suggest perhaps once it possessed some kind of enchantment. Strangely the steel appears to have sharp jagged veins running through it visible through the blades surface.

Brenn leans in uncomfortably close

"Where did you get this?"

She asks with a voice of the evil gods.

Foalan's eyebrows raise in fear and shock as the heathen speaks his tongue.

"Let my mum goooooo!!!!"

He screams with every ounce of his soul.

Kayleigh's unconscious body is just out of reach. Brenns pale blue eyes do not flutter but a subtle smile, keeping hold of the boys hand as he fights, taking the wooden scabbard from his waist.

"Agnaar!"

She yells.

Agnaar exits the barn fastening the belt around his waist. Strolling over to his woman, he kisses her free hand and looks dead at the boy.

"Look!"

Agnaar takes the weapon, holding it in both hands. He has never seen a weapon made in such a strange way yet it lays familiar.

The black war paint of the raider covers her eyes, lips, and runs down her forehead, accented with white runes of nature's betrayal. Her black hooded shawl drapes over her like crows wings.

"Please...keep it. Just let us go."

Brenn looks at her lover and says something that has Agnaar nod in approval. She lets go of the boys hand knowing he will not be foolish enough to move.

"Where did you get this?"

"My sister, she found it."

"Where?"

"It was buried! In a cave somewhere!"

Brenn looks at the boy curiously

"Why does this belong to you and not your father?"

"We were close, she always took care of me whenever my mother was busy with the chickens and stuff."

...

"I swear!"

Brenns painted black fingers reach for a leather purse tied to her belt. One by one cubed stones fall from the sack till filling her rough hands. She throws them across the wooden crate spreading her fingers over the runed faces. Foalan has no idea what the stones are or what the symbols mean, he just knows his fate is being decided.

"What does that mean?"

...

"Is that my future you can see?"

Foalan worriedly asks.

Brenn Stands, glancing at Olcan and Fenrir loading the stage with treasures. Ignoring the child she enters the stable startling the horses. The horses fight in panic to break free of the ropes kicking and going wild. Taking hold of the darkest horse in the stable she whispers forbidden incantations delivering the mount from fear, repeating upon four more simple minds.

The rain calms. Foalan is cuddling his mother unsure of what is to happen, hoping to help her regain consciousness.

"Mother, wake up! Wake up mum! Mum, wake up!"

Foalan is far too small to lift her but he knows he can only go unnoticed for so long. With all his might he tries to lift his mother but Fenrir stands before him, like a mountain of muscles and tribal markings crowned beneath a bearded helmet.

Agnaar takes the largest mount and climbs on top, his tribe follows as he rides into the distance on heavy loaded horses, west towards the stone crown of the kingdom.