Chương 37: Through The Lens Of Immortality
My heart thrummed, threatening to leap out of its cage as the spiritual figure came to a halt, exuding a blinding radiance. They shone with such purity that the mere act of heeding their form felt blasphemous, substantiated by the stinging of my eyes. Still, I dared not turn away lest this vivid hallucination comes to an end. The light gradually receded, drawn into what I could now see was a man. Gracefully dismounting the beast that did not lose out to its rider in any way, the distance between us closed till he loomed over us. Audible gasps and exclamations sounded out when his full stature was revealed, others probably having similar thoughts as mine.
'This is no human.'
Flowing hair, a brilliant shade of blonde gold, weightlessly drifted about like silk threads in the wind, aloof, free of earthy tethers. Milky skin that rivalled that of a virgin accentuated a robust frame that held the promise of immense strength. The anatomy expected of a human male did not persist from his waist down, flesh transmogrifying to ashen bark and bleached lichen; if one still needed convincing, he was not of this world. "This is most surprising. It is not often docility trumps all other emotion," he wondered in an airy tune that reverberated through my being.
<PIC>
An awkward silence ensued until a woman stepped out of line and bowed. "Devotee Sofie Afkadóttir humbly greets his grace, landvættir Dargomoth. We place ourselves at your feet." Her head remained firmly pointed at the ground all throughout her speech, something that did not change even after it ended. Glancing around, I saw that everyone held a similar position, bar my cousin, who seemed far too captivated by the spirit's countenance to look away, which didn't surprise me. His features were sharp and decisive yet beautiful, giving rise to an appearance that toed the line separating masculinity and femininity.
"Your wit has served you, well, serpent worshipper. For that, a gift is due," he said, plucking one of the many bits and bobs dangling from the crowning antlers of his steed and placing it in the woman's cupped hands. Her blonde braids concealed her expression, but one could assume it was an item of significance from how she quivered. Sadly, my knowledge stopped short of differentiating if the gift held sentimental or practical value. He then caught sight of the dumbfounded Mardǫll and me, who didn't fare much better, cerulean irises darting back and forth. His demeanour cracked, edged brows creasing ever so slightly before regaining a regal poise.
It happened in the blink of an eye, but that was all it took to set my pulse racing. His detached gaze swept me from head to toe, stripping me to the bone with a harrowing similarity to that of the crucified god and someone far, far worse. No longer was I curious but terrified, terrified of the man in white. I shut my eyes, choking for air, and clung to the earth's unwavering fealty, utilising a breathing technique trainer Galti taught me for scenarios such as these—when fear descended like an avalanche. A weight pressed on the crown of my head, and his heavenly voice entered my ears. "I mean you no harm, young one, be at ease." By some manner of sorcery, my psyche was liberated from all notions of errancy, returning to stable consistency.
Hesitantly, I looked upwards, sighting the deific entity stroking my hair, tinged by a smile, dissecting aura absconded. A thousand thoughts bloomed in my mind, for a single step may very well spell disaster. Do I remain mute and hope my silence was not taken as impoliteness or speak, risking myself further? Prompted by the peace within, I decided to take a chance as such an opportunity could only come once in a lifetime. Mustering up all the courage one could gather under such circumstances, I brought my palms together in prayer, saying, "A lowly one such as I am unworthy of your benevolence mighty spirit. I sincerely apologise for the unsightliness of my behaviour."
Short and to the point, I dared not assert myself further lest I overstep the bounds. More importantly, it happened again, the panic attacks. It was rare, but in particular situations, I found myself debilitated by extreme fright and all the accompanying ailments. At first, I assumed these incidents were one-off, untethered to the next; however, a common thread linked them all, memories. I had always been different, 'unique,' even before I was out of my mother's womb. Instead of starting out as a lump of clay, untouched by the world, mine was already half-formed. This gift had saved my life at birth and allowed me to get to where I was today was a double-edged sword.
It was harder to… change and adapt than learn something new without the burden of prior biases. I shuddered at the thought of the troubles I initially faced with the language and the toilets. Childhood innocence was lost to me, never to know what it would be like to frolic in the fields without a care in the world, forever aware that one misstep could sever the proverbial sword of Damocles from its string. Though the worst of it all came in the form of the discarded corpses of my past resurfacing in all their decayed glory. A past I vaguely remembered yet haunted me ever so doggedly after it awoke in the tending wards of Thrudsalr.
"You think too highly of me," he said, shaking his head. "I am no more important to the grand cycle than you or her," he pointed to Mardǫll, who scrunched her face as another tide of serenity washed me clean, "therefore, belittle yourself no more, Draumi."
I was left to stew over the abstract orations of the land spirit once he moved on, stumped for meaning. 'Grand cycle? Dreamer? What truths have you bore themselves to you after peering behind the veil of creation, O' Great Spirit... Is this what truly sets us apart?' The insight gained over an immortal lifetime was by no means comprehendible by the likes of us who could barely last what the equivalent of an instant for him was.
Still, I tucked this piece of information away in case it proved useful in the future, and who knows, maybe teacher Fróði could shed some light on it as well. Despite all this, if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that mankind, with his insatiable thirst for knowledge and power, will eventually eclipse a being that's lived for numerous millennia. All we needed was time.
The devotee woman was in the middle of relaying something to a few men when I finally came to. Some headed back towards the house to accomplish whatever they had been tasked with, while the shining spirit moved to the head of our little group. Crackling fires played out in the night as he regarded us with the two brilliant sapphires that were his eyes, declaring, "It is not often I show myself to your kind, but when I do, rarely am I received with such civility and respect. I vow to all those here that you and your kin will never go without!"
His words carried a power, unlike anything I have ever known, anointing me and, by the looks of it, everyone else with spiritual warmth. With haste, the others returned cow in tow, the one uncle Morði had been searching for when I met him on the way here. They directed the bovine to the side of Dargomoth, the top of its head up to his waist. At his nod, the men working in unison encased the bovine's legs in stone, denying its means of escape. Once the men had rejoined their families, he spoke. "May this sacrifice serve as proof of my will!" A gleaming sword was wrested from his hip, exuding a crystalline hum under the stars. He hoisted the blade, which shone lustrous platinum, high above his head, the moon waning in its presence.
A scream followed by an arc of silver entered my vision, which was now red. The cow's head fell with a thud. I barely had enough time to register what had ensued before a deluge of sanguinity was freed from the now headless bovine. The ethereal warmth brought forth by the blessing was vivified by the shower of blood cleansing my physical form. A glint ushered a new colour to sight painted crimson, a wetted blade presented for all to see. The sword that was akin to a greatsword if wielded by a man was held horizontally, the tip resting in the palm of Dargomot's free hand.
"On the name bestowed to me by my father, I Dargomoth The Blessed, honour those standing before me, those of their blood and their descendants with unending happiness and prosperity!" Obscure runes shimmered along the weapon's spine, roused by the melody of its master, who swung it across, coating us in one final spray. At that moment, I lost all sensation of the mystical force suffusing my body, the tang of freshly spilled blood invading my nostrils.
The worshipper was the first to break out praising the land spirit. "Words cannot describe what this means for us, Landveittar Dargomoth. We will sing of your kindness for the rest of our lives." Following suit, the others chipped in, with promises of remembrance and enshrinement ringing out. Their lauding did nothing for the spirit who leapt onto the titanic elk that somehow managed to meld with the foreground till it was needed.
Dargomoth turned to us while straddling the beast, saying, "Live your lives to the fullest! Most only have one!" With those departing words, the pair shot back from whence they came, a trail of luminous tracks left in the wake of the galloping animal. I stood there mesmerised until they disappeared over the horizon, a beacon of light in a land embroiled in darkness. The hallowed scene was disrupted when a rushing group of guards, torches alight, rushed into view, the clatter of steel heralding their arrival. A few blood-soaked individuals went to sort out the situation, much to the fright of the gasping guards who kept them at more than arm's length.
Before the inevitable discourse broke out, I silently left, strolling towards the dwindling bonfire illuminating cluttered tables laden with half-emptied mugs and bits of food. Lazy flames feasted on the remains of what used to be tinder logs, licking at my outstretched palm. It was a different kind of heat, destructive, unruly, unlike the purification of the blessings. Someone brushed up beside me, dancing light illustrating the profile of a petite girl, Mardǫll. The flames flickered in the wind, playing off her black hair and silhouette, giving one the sense that she was phasing between existence, perceivable yet out of reach. Something made me reach out, out of necessity more than anything else.
The sight and sensation of my finger poking her cheek caused a wave of relief to spread across my face, though the person in question didn't seem quite as pleased as I was. "What do you think you're doing?" she spat, pushing my hand away.
"Just making sure you're real and not some ghost that's gonna haunt me in my sleep," I said.
She harumphed, chirping with crossed arms, "Don't give me any ideas. Drag-whatever said I have the potential to become a seeress, so mama will be taking me to a Niðarödd soon."
I perked up at the statement. The members of the Nidarodd were known for possessing esoteric abilities, techniques and rituals, from curing illnesses to predicting the future. "Oh really?" I questioned with a raised brow. "Then you better work hard, so you don't disappoint the family."
"Huh! Stop smirking! You really don't think I can become a seeress, do you!" Mardǫll glowered, stomping her foot in anger.
"Do your best, and maybe you can finally catch up to me…Mar?" She froze, then burst out in a flurry of half-hearted kicks and punches.
"Your one to talk, you sorry excuse of a warrior seed! This is why you have no friends! I'll show you! I'll become the bestest seeress that ever lived!" she squawked, chasing after me as we ran rings around the dying firepit moulded by the flame of ambition.
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