A/N: Review Responses are in my forums like normal. And yes, Fluffy was a typo, the wolf's name is Flurry. I don't go back to correct past errors, but I do use feedback to make sure the errors don't go forward, so thank you for pointing it out.
And now, the Blot.
Chapter Eight: Thence Wise Maidens
On Earth Bet, Taylor could fly many times faster than sound. But even before she had wings, she and her father could drive sixty miles an hour, if Dad was ever willing to get his old Ford pickup to go that fast.
On this strange world, they were lucky to make 15 miles in an entire day on flat ground with a good trail. Taylor felt she could have gone much faster, but once she got over the impatience to get there, she realized that the destination was only the smallest part of the journey.
The small group passed the time by singing, or telling tales and jokes. None of them were particularly good singers, and the songs were simple, jaunty tunes. It didn't matter-again, it wasn't about the song, but the singing of it.
Taylor took her turn with the rest, just like she did during her brief stay in White Tree. From John Denver to Janis Joplin, she had fun converting her mother's old record collection into trail songs.
On the third day of their journey, Flurry brought the largest dino turkey yet into their camp. The others stared, astonished, as he put the turkey at Taylor's feet and growl-whined at her.
"He doesn't like the feathers," she explained to the others. "But he'll let us keep a cut of the breast for stew tonight, if you wish."
"Any meat is good," Usha declared.
Taylor kept these feathers just like the last and cut a large portion of the breast off for their evening meal before Flurry took the rest for his day's meal.
Usha smoked it that night and added bits of the breast into the gruel for the next two days, making the nearly pound of meat last for all four of them. They gathered berries, mushrooms and wild onions or roots as they traveled to supplement the daily gruel or the white beans Taylor shared.
They reached the banks of the Milkwater River after five days. The river had carved a deep channel through the rock, and seemed to skirt the foothills of a huge, raw range of mountains that ran as far north as the mortal eye could follow. To Taylor's Bifrost eyes, the mountains continued north until they were lost in a strange mist of snow and ice that somehow obscured her vision just as the Wall to the south did.
From the banks of the river, Taylor got a good grasp of the land she found herself in. The forest ran unbroken from the Wall to a vast tundra, perhaps two hundred miles of forest, itself only fifty to sixty miles wide at the narrowest, that ran up the sheltered side of a vast isthmus that continued into the cold tundra of the planet's north pole.
Even from across the forest, Taylor could sense the spirits of the sea that brought the warming currents that made the forest possible on the eastern shores. The western currents ran further south, resulting in glaciation along the western shores beyond the mountains.
On the sixth day, they saw the first humans since they left White Tree. Five men and six women, all of varying ages and clad in animal pelts, traveled with a travois similar to what Birs dragged, that held various goods they hoped to trade. The leader wore old, rusted chainmail underneath his furs, and held a staff topped with a deer antler.
He and Morag's father approached each other while the others in each group waited anxiously. To Taylor, it looked as if both groups dreaded the possibility of a fight-the White Tree group because there were more men in the other; the other because the leader saw Flurry emerge from the tree line along the narrow bank of the river they used as their road.
These people, though, were the same as the White Tree group. They weren't raiders, they were subsistence farmers from a slightly larger village. And the two leaders were wise and calm enough to realize that. They made their agreement with a shake of hands, and just like that the group of five became a group of sixteen.
Taylor and Flurry got a lot of fearful, respectful looks, but none of the newcomers spoke against her presence. And when they saw how Usha and Morag acted around Taylor, they seemed more accepting. When Taylor sang works by Jim Croce and John Denver that night, the newcomers from Corban's Keep visibly relaxed.
"The gods speak through Bards," one of the women of the new group, Ulicia, said after Taylor described how country roads could take them home. "It was a bard who spread word of the Blot."
The most amusing part of the trip was watching the three youths from Corban's Keep interact with Birs and Morag. Even more amusing was how their mothers oversaw the odd dance. It seemed clear the blot was not just about trading goods.
As they grew closer to Ruddy Hall, they encountered other small groups from villages and nomadic groups from both sides of the river, all of whom bore poles with moose or deer antlers to make their intent clear. The narrow path along the Milkwater served as the region's best road, so it was little surprise that others used it as well.
For all the Crow's belief in the inherent savagery of the Free Folk, Taylor didn't witness a single fight as more and more people came to travel together. With their numbers, Taylor stood out a little less. That was especially true when a skinchanger joined them.
The man himself looked almost skeletal, with a sparse beard and a body so wrapped in furs he seemed scarcely human. But the massive bear he rode was almost fifteen feet tall on its hind legs. As Flurry moved to her side, clearly nervous about the monstrous snow bear, Taylor studied her first example of Free Folk magic.
The skin changer's soul looked like putty, easily moveable. He'd simply stretched a part of his soul into the bear, overwhelming the animal's weaker spirit. It was magic, yes, but an intrusive magic that Taylor found she did not particularly like.
The skinchanger himself glanced at her and Flurry but made no acknowledgement nor greeting. He could not recognize the fact she did not force Flurry to her will, but asked instead.
The skinchanger kept his own company as the pilgrimage continued north.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
Taylor felt the godswood long before she saw the bone-white bark or vast swaths of red leaves. The powerful veins of magic that ran deep under the earth seemed shallower the further north they went, so much so that Taylor could see some of the streams of magic flowing just under their feet as they walked. By the time they crested the foothills that led to the valley that sheltered Ruddy Hall, she finally had an up-close look at what was likely the center of Free Folk culture.
The hall itself looked similar to a Norse long-house, like one her mother would have known in her youth. The walls were made of reed-packed clay, but themselves only extended a few feet up. The thatch roof itself made up the majority of the structure. She spotted holes along the roof where smoke emerged.
There were other, smaller structures built around it. Stables, barns and workshops littered the area, with roughly made stone and wood houses roofed with sod to house the few other permanent residents. She spotted livestock yards with a few horses, but mostly sheep, goats, elk or a large, broad-antlered deer.
She froze when she spotted the corner of another larger corral. Within moved a pair of massive, wooly elephants. No, mammoths. I'm looking at wooly mammoths.
Morag and Birs, and in fact all the youths in their traveling party, were as astonished and excited as Taylor was at the sight of the incredible creatures. She had no doubt she would be able to see them soon enough.
They continued down the hill, now following a well-trod dirt path. As they came further down into the valley, Taylor saw conical tents made of massive furs surrounding the hall and its lands, each looking like a cross between yurts and teepees, and everywhere people spoke and traded and courted.
Dominating the far side of the valley, at the base of a hill that rose steadily into a high, raw, snow-covered mountain, Taylor spotted the godswood. Four massive trees dominated the entire side of the valley. All other trees seemed to keep a distance from the bone-white bark and sparkling red canopies. Like White Tree, the trees had faces carved into their bark, each one unique from eons of growth.
Unlike White Tree, bodies hung from the branches of each tree. She focused through her blindfold and saw that each tree held a male human, a male dog and a male deer, each hanging from their feet with their throats cut to bleed into the root mass of each tree.
Usha saw how she stared through her blindfold. "So the gods grant us a good blot and gentle winter," she said. Her truth spoke of respect and fear for herself or her kin that the gods would not accept the sacrifices.
Taylor, unsure what else to say, just nodded. "I understand."
As the crowds grew denser, so did the smells. Wood smoke, animal dung and unwashed bodies began to permeate the air. But for all the stench, the air was also filled with singing, and children laughing as they chased each other or kicked a leather ball in something that could have been anything from rugby or soccer to full-contact bowling.
In an open field past the long house, she saw men and women alike in an archery contest, and further than that in a contest of spears or staffs. Though they numbered far fewer than the men, Taylor saw women among the contestants.
Her nose could detect the scent of mead and ale, and everywhere she looked men and women alike were drinking.
"We must pay respects to the lords of the hall," the elder Shaen declared. "Let's see if'n the great Redbeard's brother still lives!"
Not every new arrival made their way to the long house. In fact, most didn't. Shaen, from his stories, was one of the few survivors of the great raid that killed a Stark of Winterfell, and so more than most he wished to see who from his band still lived.
"I'll remain here with Morag and Birs," Usha decided.
Before Taylor could say the same, Old Shaen shook his head. "You must come, Telos."
"Why?"
"You have a hall, now," the old man said.
Taylor glanced at Flurry. With the handful of skinchangers, the direwolf did not get as much attention as she was worried he'd get. "Will you stay with Morag?"
He answered by leaving her side and moving closer to the wide-eyed Morag. With that, Old Shaen walked into the log-beamed entrance built into the near end of the house. His son and namesake followed, and finally Taylor herself.
What she discovered was that Hollywood was utterly, ridiculously wrong. There was no Kirk Douglas or Tony Curtis, nor fine medieval banquet halls. Janet Leigh did not stand nearby in fine silk. Instead, she saw a long, single open room so filled with smoke that she was astonished anyone could breathe, much less see. Three bonfires ran down the length of the house, and though they were positioned under the holes, the air was stifling since there was no draft to carry the smoke up.
An unbelievable number of people were packed inside, laughing or telling stories or drinking. There were only a few tables, so most stood. Taylor followed after the two Shaens as they navigated the rowdy, drinking crowds.
The lord of Ruddy Hall proved to be an old, gnarled oak of a man, with broad shoulders and a belly long since gone to fat. His vast, bristling beard must have been red at one point, because it had gone a snow-white now, with just the hints of ochre at the corners of his mouth. His long, filthy hair was just as white.
He wore no crown nor sign of authority other than a well-cared for suit of mail. He didn't sit on a throne, but instead sat at a table drinking with several other older men. One clear and one rheumy eye looked up when old Shaen approached, and his angry countenance suddenly split with a smile.
"Shaen of White Tree! You old goat fucker, you're still alive!"
"Arven Redbeard! I had to choose between the goat or your woman, and the goat was prettier!" Old Shaen shouted right back.
The riposte sent waves of laughter roaring through the crowd as the old man stood, stepped between the tables, and wrapped Shaen in a massive hug. "It is good to see you well, old friend! Is this the younger Shaen, then?"
"Aye, my eldest boy. He leads White Tree now, and does fair enough. Ten months ago raiders came from the ice caves, and my boys beat them back. He's blooded and strong for it!"
"Good! Always good to see the young earning their keep."
The one green eye turned to Taylor. He saw her staff, and the hilt of the sword rising from her pack behind her back, and went still. "And who is this, old friend?"
"Telos of the Trees," Shaen said. "A bard and a healer blessed by the gods. She has built her own hall. She struck down three Crows that meant us harm, and saved my eldest granddaughter. The sword she carries is from one she killed. The staff was gifted to her by the god in the tree itself."
"Never seen a woman stand so tall," Arven Redbeard, brother of the last King Beyond the Wall, declared. "Are you half giant, then? Did your pa fuck himself a giant to push out a girl so big? And how could you have killed a crow with your eyes covered?"
The truth of this man was unyielding, and a deep, old anger. He did not insult her for fun; she could see in his soul his insults were to test. Was she just another woman, or was she a spear wife? Would she wilt under his harsh words, or stand firm?
"I'm not tall, Arven Redbeard. You're just short. Perhaps you need more red meat in your diet."
Redbeard stared back at her a long moment before laughing. "Ha! I'm short! I stand taller than any man in this room!"
"Being a trout among minnows does not make you a leviathan."
The man laughed again; this time truly so with humor. "Aye, what a mouth you have, girl! Has a man stolen you away, yet? What fine children you'd push out!"
A man close to the younger Shaen's age joined them, also leaving the table. He had a voluminous, bright red beard and a flame of red hair that he'd braided on one side, with the other side shaved and his skull tattooed. He carried a hand ax made of actual steel, likely taken from a Crow. "Aye, pa, this one has a mouth. That sword doesn't belong with a blind girl, quick wit or not! Heads of halls bring a gift to other halls they visit. Hand that sword over, girl, and let that be your gift."
From coloring and the shape of his cheeks, Taylor knew this new man was Arven Redbeard's son. But unlike his father, there was no challenge in his voice. His soul spoke of naked greed. He wanted the sword.
"Are you the lord of this hall?"
"Not yet, he isn't!" the older Redbeard declared. "But Kingsblood speaks true. Shaen of Whitetree shed blood with me, his due is paid in this hall 'til the gods take him. The sword would be a fine and worthy gift."
"True," Taylor said. By this time, all other conversations in the long hall had gone silent. How not, when the head of the hall yelled his words. He was, she realized, partially deaf. "But I can offer you a gift much richer. I can restore your eye and your ears, and give you back your health. That pain in your back that keeps you from sleeping? The pain you feel when you try to piss, but can't? I can heal them with the blessing of the god trees. Would this not be a worthier gift than cold, lifeless steel?"
"A liar and a coward!" The man called Kingsblood pulled his ax. "Are you so craven and selfish you'd deny a gift to the brother of Raymund Redbeard?"
It took her a moment to make herself believe that this arrogant little man was…
He was a man who had no idea who she was, or what. He saw only a slim, young woman in a blindfold. In his life experience, he saw no threat. Even spearwives were not strong enough to stand against Kingsblood in battle, or so he believed.
She bit back her first angry response; everyone in the hall waited to hear what she said. If she gave in, her words would be proven false. If she resisted, then in their minds she was taking on a fight she could not win, and Kingsblood would get her sword anyway.
Or so he thought.
With a thud of her staff against the earthen floor of the longhouse, Taylor commanded the spirits. She did not ask; she demanded their obedience and they did as commanded. The air throughout the long house roared as fires suddenly went out and the swirling spirits of the air captured all the smoke and blasted it through the holes in the roof.
The sunlight that shone in cast more light than the fires ever did, and in the sudden, brittle silence that hung in the perfectly clear, unpolluted air that followed, she could hear how Kingsblood's heart thudded.
"You have called me a liar, Kingsblood, who was a guest in your hall. You have called me a coward. I shall prove both false. With the first, I shall restore your father's health this very day, and that shall be my gift to Ruddy Hall from Wolf Hall. And then I will beat you into the ground until you cannot stand; until your limbs are shattered and your pride bleeds, and I will either take your head or your apologies."
Though she was talking about his son, the elder Redbeard looked to the elder Shaen. "I like this girl! Her words sound fair to me! Bring me healing, and beat the shit outta my boy, and we'll call the day done!"
"Pa!"
"Your mouth dug the hole, boy, now sit in it. And if the girl's as you say, you'll prove it in time. Telos of Wolf Hall, how do you propose to cure this eye o'mine? Or let me piss free again?"
Taylor stepped past the man and lifted what looked like a beaten copper tankard lined in turquoise. She sniffed the contents; mead. Strong, raw mead.
"This is your cup?" she asked.
"Aye!"
"Drink it empty, and then follow me with it."
The old man doffed the mead with a grin and handed her the cup.
As she led the way back out of the hall, she heard Kingsblood whisper to his father, "How does she walk if she can't see?"
"Lad, if she walks like she can see, then she can see. Maybe the blindfold is 'cause she's so ugly she scares men to death."
Taylor bit back a laugh as they walked out of the hall. She saw a basket nearby with pears and briefly considered using Idunn's spell, but changed her mind. This was no longer just about healing the lord of Ruddy Hall. This was about establishing her place with these people. As a bodiless head once told her, not even her mother was above theatrics when necessary.
She walked straight toward the four weirwood trees, pausing at the banks of a free flowing stream to gather water for the cup. The ice melt within felt numbingly cold, but ran pure over rocks and sand.
A small wooden bridge allowed for passage over the stream; Redbeard followed, as did almost everyone from the hall. As she approached the trees, unfortunately she caught the sickening smell of rotting flesh.
At her urging, the wind surged. She whispered silently to the trees and the gods within recognized her. All were connected; all were both one and separate. The wind blew; the branches that held the bodies sharpened, and the ropes broke. Four sets of three bodies all fell simultaneously to the ground.
Behind her, she heard alarmed gasps and even screams from people, no longer so festive.
"What beauty is there in a soul stolen before its time?"
Taylor's voice echoed across the hillside. She didn't shout, she just asked the spirits of the air to carry her words to every set of ears. "The gods in the trees are ancient beyond your ken. They watched the water and ice carve this valley from the rock; they watched the first men walk these shores, and mourned as those men suffered through the years. The gods find beauty in lives well and fully lived; the gods find beauty in a soul that has found itself and its place. If you wish to honor the gods with death, then lay your natural dead at their roots. Killing does not impress them, only living does."
She continued up the sharp slope as she spoke, though the others had slowed as her words worked their way through their ears. Finally, she reached the nearest tree. Stepping over the bodies of the week-old sacrifice, she continued forward until she stood near the ancient carved face.
With her hand against the bark, she searched for the seedling by her unfinished hall. To her delight, she felt it. The seedling had finally connected to the globe-spanning root system of the trees. It responded to her like an infant might, grasping toward her. All of the trees around her felt the connection and whispered in their fashion their welcome and joy at the birth of another of their kind for the first time in many, many centuries.
She took a long piece of dried sap from the tree and put it in Redbeard's cup. Just like she did for Sattie, Taylor summoned flame from her palm and directed the heat into the potion. As she walked down the steep hill toward the waiting Free Folk, she spoke the ancient Vanir spells and let the magic fall from her fingers into the cup.
To Redbeard's credit, he didn't shy away. While many behind him backed away in fear, he kept his feet planted at the foot of the hill and watched as she approached, until finally the potion absorbed her magic and transmuted the raw, unshaped potential of the weirwood sap into a powerful agent of healing.
"So, you'd lecture us about our own gods, will you?"
"Say that to me with two good eyes, Redbeard," Taylor told him. She handed the cup over.
Grinning like a madman, the old warrior took the cup and guzzled it down. The effects of the potion were striking and immediate as the cloud over his bad eye retreated back. His lips parted in wonder as he stared, before turning to face the people. He raised the cup and screamed. No words, just a triumphant howl.
Then he looked at his son. "How's that for a witch, boy? Still keen to try your blade with her?"
Kingsblood was, in fact, no longer as eager to fight as before. His eyes kept shifting back to the weirwoods. However, he'd given insult and then challenged her. His own pride required that he not back down. "She's still a woman, and there ain't no woman alive I can't beat in a straight fight. But a witch's magic makes no fight right!"
From the crowd bustled a tiny, withered woman leaning heavily on a gnarled weirwood staff. It bore no runes nor ornaments, but it was topped with the skull of what looked like a child. "Do ya not see the gods themselves talkin' to her? This girl ain't no woman to be stole, ya young fool! And you gave insult to her! Likes o' her could call lightning from the sky! Make the earth swallow you whole! Redbeard, do ya want the boy to die?"
The old man shrugged. "He's a cunt; I have others."
Taylor couldn't help it. She snorted laughter. She tried to bite it back, but couldn't keep it quiet. Kingsblood looked stricken, as much from his father's comment as from Taylor's uncontrollable laughter. And in that moment, the young man lost himself to anger.
Taylor watched it happen; she watched as his father's words opened an old wound, while her laughter poured salt into it.
And because she saw the wound bleeding in the young man's soul–because she saw the pain transform to blinding rage–she was prepared. The games her father played with her every summer at White Mountain guided her arms and legs as she stepped away from the strike, spun her staff, and then struck him.
The staff channeled her magic exactly as she'd designed it to. With a flash of bright light, Kingsblood, son of Redbeard, went flying high into the air with a startled scream. Even Redbeard ducked in shock as he watched his son arc over the heads of the entire valley population. Taylor raised her staff and called to the spirits of the stream which swirled up in a funnel to accept the young man a quarter of a mile down the hill.
What would have killed him instead just bounced him a little along the stream.
"Fuck me," Redbeard muttered, no longer laughing.
Taylor ignored him and instead looked down at the tiny witch. "You're Mother Mele. The trees know you. You want the boy to live?"
The tiny old witch sighed. "My great nephew. Quick to hurt and anger. Just like his pa. But strong and skilled."
"Do you wish him to live?" She asked again.
"Aye. The old fool of his father may not care, but I'd have the boy live for the sake of our people."
Taylor considered the old woman. Her magic was not in the changing of the world, but in listening and understanding it. There was within her a deep wisdom gained through years of hardship and a life lived as well as possible.
She stepped past the lord of Ruddy Hall and knelt down in front of the old woman and studied her soul. And Mother Mele straightened and studied her right back. "You're but a child," the old woman said in wonder.
Taylor couldn't help but smile at the woman, because she was wise enough to know in her heart what Taylor was. With the acceptance came faith, strong enough that Taylor could feel it. She placed her hand on the woman's bowed shoulder.
"You are wise, Mother Mele. Bless you for that wisdom. I need some breeding sheep for my hall. That would make a very nice apology, I think."
The old woman smiled wryly. "The least our old fool could do, me thinks."
Taylor stood and started down the hill. The Free Folk made way for her as she walked the long way back down to the cold river stream. Kingsblood had washed up on the rocks, stunned from the magically enhanced blow. If she'd struck with force alone, the blow would simply have pulped his head. But with magic, it propelled him in a way he couldn't quite understand.
He looked up when he saw her coming and struggled to reach for the ax he'd dropped when she hit him. When he couldn't find it, he stumbled to his feet and pulled a bone knife. He could barely hold his arm up.
Taylor continued walking until she stood right in front of him. When his knee buckled and he collapsed to the stones on the edge of the stream, she knelt down with him. "Just kill me and be done with it," the man shouted weakly at her.
"I should not have laughed at your father's cruel words. Whatever insult you gave me, I should not have laughed at your hurt. You are Aberck, son of Alum, brother of Raymun Redbeard, the great King Beyond the Wall. Kingsblood. Be better than your father, Aberck. Be better to your sons than he was to you. Do so, and live."
The man blinked back tears as he gasped up at her. "What do you know of fathers?"
"Mine was a god of war. He carried thousands of years of blood in his soul. And yet he loved me, and would never hurt me. He was a monster, but he was my monster. Be that for your people. For your family."
With her piece said, Taylor stood. Without waiting for the others, she asked the spirits of the stream to hold her weight and walked across the water to look for Flurry.
And perhaps get a bite to eat.