Historical Setting: 793 C.E. Skåne
Sleep last night wasn’t a peaceful conclusion for day. It was only gifted me by fatigue. The fire and ruin of walls may have provided a bit of warmth and shelter from the wind, but snow fell lightly inside these walls, as though we had no shelter at all. I expect we will move toward more civilization today, but for now, I tend the fire.
The seiðr is spending these morning hours in deep contemplation. She seems not the least bit concerned about food or roof or any of the earth things we should probably think about.
I’ve been collecting snow and melting it in an iron pot left with this hearthstone where I keep the fire going.
“You should have some water here before we move on.”
Saying nothing, she pours the water from the pot into her empty wineskin, and sloshes it around before drinking it. Apparently, she prefers the flavor of old wineskin to the flavor of the old cooking pot. I drink the water, rusty, as it is.
Finally, I ask her, “Should we prepare to continue our journey, soon?”
“Our journey to where?”
“I don’t know this land. Where are we going?”
“You know all this perfectly well. Does it not answer the question you had that brought us here?”
All along this way I’ve been asking about the people here. What was the tragedy that befell this land and made it a whole world of men and only a few women so that raiding communities on other lands, slaughtering its men and capturing the women becomes the way of life. When I asked for answers possibly buried in the writings of their history, Marian, the slave child led me to this seiðr. And the seiðr showed me no stories of tragedy, only the etched stones telling of gods and heroes. So, what is the root of all this cruelty and suffering? Why is brutality a way of life here? Grief hangs heavy on this land, yet it seems no one knows of the reason for sorrow. Their gods are loveless. The wives are slaves. Children are a rarity. And seeing one ruin of a cottage by the sea doesn’t explain all this pain to me.
The seiðr asks how I see this.
“What I see are walls left of something that may have been a cottage – a home – maybe for a family once. Was this your home?”
“How is it you can live all those years and still be so ignorant of human nature?”
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 