To Traverse Kráka Land
by Epiphany-Induced Rant
"Margr Fjall Darl"
She tilled the land with her amma's worn arðr. It was laborious work and even the years upon years of completing the task had not lessened its difficultly. The high upswing, swift downswing into the rock filled soil still bit into the muscles of her arms and back. Beneath the heavy sun, the resulting dehydration made such a chore worse, yet the girl continued to do her work without complaint.
"Hurry, Bergljót. You must be faster," her amma called.
The girl swung the arðr down more rapidly, striking its metal into the dirt and dragging it forward at nearly twice the speed she had been using before. Bergljót understood that her amma was not purposely being hard on her in spite. Without the extra hands of her systir or afi, Bergljót and her amma were forced to work doubly hard. Being that the snows of death had already crept into the latter's hair, this meant most of the work now rested on Bergljót's shoulders.
Bergljót tried to push thoughts of her lost family out of her mind, but she found that she could not stop now that she had started. Her afi had died the summer before, succumbing to a plague, which had taken the lives of many from her village. The absence of his presence was still greatly felt by her and her amma. It stung even worse because before they were given the proper time to mourn, Bergljót's systir, Iðunnr, was taken by the Fróðleikr Mær. The wise, elder woman had traveled from the outside to rid the people of the Margr Fjall Dalr of the plague and had chosen Iðunnr as her trainee during that time.
Being chosen by the Fróðleikr Mær was a great honor. The Margr Fjall Dalr people could not remember the last time one of their own had received such a right. Regardless of this, Bergljót, using the quietude her mind afforded her, could not help but curse at the Fróðleikr Mær blessing. She was truly happy that her sister would receive such magnanimous training, but now felt painfully lonely in the elder girl's absence. Years would pass before she would see her sister again.
If she would see her sister again...
Bergljót dug the metal into the dirt with more force than necessary as she halted the track of her thoughts with force. Refusing to think of anything that troubled her heart and mind, Bergljót lost herself in the steady upswing, downswing of the arðr.
Though it moved by slowly, Bergljót found that time in the Margr Fjall Dalr did move. A year of tilling, sowing and harvesting the fields with her amma and preparing the food for meals and storage dragged by. She attended boð after boð, though her companions were few and her passion for them was even less, and listened every weekend she could spare to the story-weaving of a kerling who was not known by any name. Mostly, in her precious and rare moments of freedom, Bergljót spent her time amongst the few animals her amma possessed, imagining what her systir was doing.
Barely in a whisper even within her mind, Bergljót wondered if Iðunnr missed her too.
Bergljót awoke out of a pleasant dream, one were she was reunited with her systir, to the sound of screaming. Before she even had time to process the panic such a sound was stirring within her, the smell of smoke reached her nostrils. She choked in response, not from the smoke, which was still thin on the air near her, but from the stench it carried. Bergljót knew that smell. It was one of burning flesh. Bergljót had smelled it when her afi was placed on his funeral pyre.
She swallowed back a scream, which begged to rip loose from her throat. Bergljót's immediate concern was locating her amma. Fright could have its way with her later.
When Bergljót stood up her knees gave out. She bit her lip as she focused on forcing herself back up. Once she was certain that her legs would not fail her again, Bergljót wrapped her shall tightly around herself and made her way out of the cottage.
"Amma! Amma!" she called, but no response was forthcoming.
She turned left, found nothing and then turned to the right. At was at this point that Bergljót realized it was still too early in the morning to see clearly on her own. She raced back inside and threw items aside as she searched for a candle. Once she located one she abruptly lit it using the dying fire in the corner and returned to finish her search.
As Bergljót took in the sight before her, a scream ripped from her throat. Her amma's body lay mangled and bloody to the right of the front door. Three, deep slash marks had been left from her chin down through her stomach. Bergljót could not believe how much blood had leaked out. It did not seem possible that all of that thick liquid had once fit inside the elderly woman's small body.
Bergljót emptied the contents of her stomach to the point that her throat burned. She then crawled forward, dug her arms beneath her amma and sank down. The burn in her throat transferred to her eyes, which were drowning the dead woman in the spilling, salty liquid. Bergljót did not have to possess the gift of healing to know that her caretaker of so many years was gone.
She was alone. She was entirely alone.
Another scream pierced through the downward spiral her thoughts were taking and snapped her back to the world of the living. It was as if she had momentarily shut herself completely off from everything else. Now that she was out of that fog, reality snapped back with a vengeance. The smell of scorched flesh drowned her and she had to drop her amma in order to vomit again elsewhere.
Bergljót knew she needed to move now and discover what had happened. She was not particularly close to any of the people of the Margr Fjall Darl,outside of her family, but there was a calling ringing through her bones. It pulled her in the direction of the smoke and the stench.
When the town's center came into sight, Bergljót found that her stomach no longer held anything that it could be emptied of. Regardless, she bent over and dry heaved until she could again get control of herself. Once she was steady, she rose back to her feet and made her way past the largest pyre she had ever seen. Ignoring the terrifying sight, which would dominate her dreams for many, many nights to come, she began her search for survivors.
"Bergljót, child. Be that you?" A familiar voice called out.
She turned her head in the direction of the voice and saw the story-weaver. She smiled, hoping against all odds that this meant she was not alone, but the gods were clearly against her. A smaller yet similar gash to the one covering her amma's body had been torn across the stomach of the kerling.
Bergljót made to place her shawl on the kerling'swounds to stall the bleeding, but the story-weaver shook her head.
"No, child. You'll be needing it where yer going."
The girl could only blink in response.
"I know yer searching for survivors and it pains me to tell you this, but they wiped the Margr Fjall Darl clean of our people. It be only you and I now, child and I fear I only have little time left. There be so much I must tell you."
Bergljót stayed silent and emotionless as she tried to absorb everything the kerling had to tell her.
"Many moons ago yer Mother came to us. She was a powerful Fróðleikr Mær from a far away land. Her clothing was unlike anything we had ever seen and while it was indecent, the woman proved herself not to be. She called herself Jin and the child with her, yer sister, Iðunnr, Kikyou. She still carried you within her."
Shortly after you were born your Mother sensed a great evil rising outside. She went to fight it, saying that she had to protect you. She begged yer amma, the one who helped her give birth to you, to take you and your sister in. She asked that your amma and afi raise you without the knowledge that I tell you now."
She said, if she could not come back, to tell you all of this when nobody else could. She also asked that I give this to you when you be ready. She said that it would guide you.
I didn't be understanding everything Jin said until now."
Slowly, the kerling reached toward a tiny pouch attached to the woven rope around her waist. She pulled back its flap and dug her shaking hand inside. When the hand came back up, a silver necklace dangled from her fingers. From its end a pendant, a tiny, perfectly clear ball, hung.
"She called you Kagome," were the story-weaver's last words as she pressed the necklace into the weeping girl's palm.
It was well past midday when Bergljót pushed herself away from the dead body of the story-weaver and tried to shake some life back into her sore limbs. Even though she knew in her heart that all of her village people were gone, she forced herself to go from door to door searching anyway. By the time the sun was setting she gave up her fruitless search and made her way back to her home of so many years.
Bergljót burned her amma's body and said the prayers to the tívar, wishing her sál safe passage into the afterlife. She did not give herself any time to mourn before returning to the resting place of the kerling and repeating the process with her body. After she was finished, Bergljót returned to her straw mat and collapsed into a restless sleep for two days. When she awoke she packed a satchel with food, a brush, spare clothing, flint, some candels and a knife she wouldn't even know how to use. Satisfied, she made her way to finish her task in town.
There had been forty-seven people in the Margr Fjall Darl, excluding herself, her amma and the kerling. Ignoring the daunting number, Bergljót took the time to say prayers for each and every one of them. From the detached place she found herself resting somewhat comfortably in, Bergljót thought it was a pity that she didn't have time to prepare the erfi. Of course, there would not have been anyone, save herself, to participate in such a feast.
She reserved her last set of prayers for the girl named Bergljót. In her mind, that girl walked the path to the afterlife with her amma and afi.
"Kagome," she whispered, rolling the foreign name across her tongue. It was odd and would take some time to get used to, but something about it sounded right to her.
"Kagome," she said a little louder.
Satisfied, Kagome took a deep breath and made her way toward the treacherous path, which lead out of the Margr Fjall Darl. She did not once look back.
My Notes: I wanted to do something different that the usual InuYasha fanfiction. Kráka Land is not set in Feudal Japan, Sengoku period or otherwise. We will see some Japanese culture as well as a bunch of other cultures, real and imaginary, in this story. We're also going to see a mixture of our favorite main characters, some minor characters and some new ones all in different guises. Basically, Kráka Land is a magical place full of secrets and surprises, which I hope you'll all come to enjoy.
I tried to choose Norse names for Kagome and Kikyou, which were similar in their meanings. Bergljót means "rescue light" whereas Kagome means "everlasting light". Iðunnr means "again to love" whereas Kikyo means "Chinese bellflower", which stands for "unchanging love".
Disclaimer: I don't own InuYasha, its creative concepts or its characters.
Translations:
Old Norse – English
Kráka – crow
Land – land
Amma – grandmother
Arðr – plow
Systir - sister
Afi – grandfather
Fróðleikr Mær – Magic Maiden
Margr Fjall Darl – Many Mountain Valley
Kerling – old woman
Sál – soul
Tívar – gods
Erfi – funeral feast