Chapter 1 - Change

Glöyn shrugs. "I do not work for him, I travel with him and his companions. He seems to be the one in charge of this group and we are moving in the same direction, east, for our own reasons, but mutual cooperation is never a bad thing. Tell me, Gann, where are you headed? You can remain with me should you choose and I will help heal your wounds with the help of the druid. If my path diverts from theirs before we reach our destination, I could use a strong arm such as yours. There will be silver to be had, lots of it, but it will be dangerous. Think on it. I will let Magan know you wish to speak with him and that your mind is clear now. I do not have your ring, he does." With that she nods and wanders off to seek out Magan. "A good hunt, Guthric! Next time, I shall join you if do not mind. I am quite the skilled hunter as well." She nods at the large warrior and taps Magan on the shoulder. "The man, Gann, asks to have words with you about the return of his ring and information about who he is should you be curious."

Gann leans back, answering with a detached, hollow hoarse. "Wherever the wind takes me and the clouds go. Far from people. Ei wish no harm to anyone." His forehead furrows as memories flood the gates of his fuzzy mind. Even if revived by the long sleep after days of feverish haze, the disheveled man still struggles to put long words together. "Ei've been disposed of, like you abandon an old cur you no longer wish to feed." His eyes have been cast away, staring unfocused at the camp behind. "Will think of your offer, Glöyn."

Magan grunts, clearly not too worried. He walks over to Gann and tosses the ring onto his chest. "Are you in control now?" 

Gann rests in the litter shoulders naked under the thick furs, and turns to meet the man called Magan as he approaches. Some cold sweat glistens across Gann's face but there's calm in his eyes. "Yes." He attempts to grab the ring from the air but with his wrists tied well, he falters. Gann twists his sinewed wrists to palm it and put it on an index finger. It fits. "Dark spirits had taken over me, drawing me into the soil. Ei may not yet be feast for the worms. Ei owe my life to Glöyn, and your healers." He hesitates. "And you, for not acting upon what you saw. Had I startled any, a woman or the child?" He carefully mentions them, uncertain of their role in the group.

Magan shakes his head. "They have seen worse and had worse happen. You should rest, we have a long ride today and I am not of a mind to stop."

Gann agrees with a nod. "Ei shall not be a burden to any of you. What direction are you heading?"

"North, then East. You?"  Magan is a little gruff in his tone, almost uncomfortable being drawn into the conversation, but keeping the harshness on his voice is clearly an effort and the longer the conversation continues the more his shoulders drop and his feet begin to shuffle as legs relax. He runs his fingers through his beard, gripping tightly and tugging it as he wrestles with himself. 

Gann's behavior is still either weak or subdued, almost docile. There is a stark contrast in the almost savage appearance honed for combat, and his current state of peace. He maintains eye contact with Magan but it feels like a drawn-out survey is uncomfortable to him. "I follow the winds South, there is nothing for me far North." He swallows, feeling his throat burning dry. "I have tried to find a band of men that would make use of my swō̆rd hōd, but my plight... it doesn't inspire trust. How far North are you heading?"

"Not far, our goal is to the south east, but the road is easier through northern Wessex. You are a mercenary?" Magan pulls up a loose log and sits next to Gann's litter. Uncomfortably rubbing his face still he continues. " We were once a large band. I am all that is left of what was once the Red Wolves though. Now it is just me and those I have picked up along the way. Perhaps we could make use of your seax against the Christians, if you have experience."

Gann waits for Magan to settle down for a conversation at a face level. He shakes his head in an honest response. "The life of a hired blade is new to me. I've turned to it since it's all I can do." He barely raises his ring-adorned hand. "Ei have been þeow to Lord Ocg Eopping of Bamburgh  since I was bought as a lytel boy. Spirits guided me so I could prove myself to my lord, and he saw use for me. He had me vested into a vocation of a sworn guard, I passed with the blessing of swordmaster Oldwald Gurric of Alnwick. I've been by Lord Ocg's heir at all times, to protect his life and honor. Until they had a use for me." He pauses, "Ei've shunned from people for the most of my travel, so I only heard a fleeting word or two. When I recover enough to walk firm, I want to show you my skill. Maybe then we can talk."

"We shall see." Magan sways his head a little and scrunched his lip. "First rest. We all have wounds to heal, but you most of all." He stands and takes Ealing by the reins, "Time to go. Let's move." He calls out across the camp before mounting up and taking position at the front of the group. Not quite as far forward as usual, keeping a closer eye on the wagon.

Gann raises his tied wrists up as Magan stands up. "Am I to be captive still?"

"For now, when we stop to make camp I will let you loose, where we can keep watch on you more easily."

Gann nods back, then rests in the litter. He doesn't appear concerned by the answer.

The road from Ogofhole is a steep climb east and up into the wild hilllands of  Mynyddhop . The 'road' is in fact more of a beaten track, and it's tough going for the carriage, but Branok somehow manages to make it work, guiding the horse skillfully through the uneven terrain. The view from the top stretches far and wide, and the rolling hills make for a much more comfortable walk than the ascent. The small convoy of travellers spends the morning trekking north across the untamed, shrub-covered hilltops. The sky is overcast, but dry, and late in the morning the  Cyw valley opens up before the group on the far side of the highland. A short distance east the great Wansdyke can be seen, marking the beginning of Saxon lands. By noon they have arrived in the village that sits at its foot. It's a quiet place, and there's a calm in the air. Few people are to be seen, although here and there common folk toil in the fields. At the rear of the village, closest to the dyke itself, sits a great earthwork mound. "This is a sacred place," Branok chats to anyone who will listen as they ride into the village. "They say the great dyke is a scar across the land from where Woden once hurled his spear. Many wise men make the pilgrimage here. Perhaps we will find a gifted healer to see to our wounded."

Magan nods his agreement, looking back at the wagon with a guilty mournful look.  He leads the caravan in the direction Branok indicates. 

Glöyn stares at the wondrous sight before them, feeling a strange sense of reverence that she had never before felt in the presence of a man-made object. In the highlands of her home she had seen many things that had taken her breath away from the wonder and beauty, but nothing had felt so different to her. She looks about to see if the others feel the same sense of wonderment as she follows carefully behind Branok's wagon, keeping a careful eye to Gann's litter.

Branok draws the carriage up outside the village's guest house and begins to release the horses to stretch a little, after half a day of dragging everyone up and down the hillside. The large earthen mound is at the far end of the track that runs through the middle of the village, closest to the dyke.

"Branok, we should see to the horses and get moving immediately. We have suffered I'll luck whenever we have tarried longer than necessary. The gods will is to be swifter."  He helps with the horses harness and finds a stable hand to pay to look after the wagon. 

Kara shakes her head and sighs. Magan was rushing about, trying to force a march that seemed to rush. Only bandits and mad men rushed like this, and when she got a chance, she tells him "You are good leader, but foolish in this. Do not press your men to hard when they still have wounds when no victory comes from it. Let us heal first from one battle before another is upon us."  And she really wanted to know what it was that was here. Something here, far from her homeland, held an answer to her ancestry. To her that was baffling, but she would be ill to miss it. Bringing it up to Branok, she asks him in Norse "Now elder, where shall I find what the priestess meant? I have been asked twice of my heritage, and the answer lies here it seems. Is there really a priestess of Freya o far from home here?"  Her question was not one of insolence as it was wary hope. It was well known many of her kind put great stock in their ancestors, and having some she could not honor, while at this point a long stitched wound, was still a open wound nonetheless. 

Magan scowls at Kara. "What do you think I an pushing for? If they have healers on the mound, that is where we need to go. Not lunching in the village while a fever sets in."

"Then go , Magan," Branok tells him, gesturing up the road. The dyke is only about a hundred meters further, at the end of main track that runs into the village. "They'll be ready when you return." The old man continues to go about feeding and watering the horses, until Kara addresses him. "A priestess ? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Frija is not unknown to the Britons. There is much wisdom of all kinds in this place. You have displayed extraordinary blessings. If anyone can find meaning in them, then here."

Gann has been silent for the whole travel save for occasional grunt when a bump or a slope on the road had sent his wounded leg scraping against the ground. Glöyn had been considerate enough to leave him a half-filled waterskin and through his stomach struggled he kept to himself and did not trouble the rest. His exhaustion helped pass the time as he slip into short drowse and back. There was a shade of dire exigency that followed the group and he could almost smell it. The breathtaking magnificence of the wide-spanning valley is lost to him for all he sees is the muddy road and the horse and carriage marks left in it. When Gann hears the first distant voices of the populace, he swiftly attempts to look around and take a good look at the village outskirts. While the carriage turns and closes towards the guest house, he leans back against the litter so his gravel voice can be heard by the rider. "Glöyn, I need clothes. I cannot afford to be seen like this."

Magan nods at Branok. Taking a knife he cuts Gann's bonds, and puts some simple travelling clothes from the wagon next to him. "Can you walk or should we lead the horse with you on the back?" His voice is gruff but no longer hostile. He steps back into the wagon and emerges, carrying Theli in his arms and with Isolde following behind. 

Gann tests his foot on the firm ground before answering. The pulsating burn is still there and across the whole length of his calf but the limb responds to his will. He nods back to Magan, then turns to look at Glöyn as well. "Ei will not slow you down." He quickly grabs the offered clothes and with few brisk movements, he puts the short tunic over his exposed skin before setting the furs aside. Standing up by Glöyn's side, Gann hops by and takes a good look at the small village, taking in sounds and faces. Then he lowers his head before drawing any unnecessary attention. "How long shall do we stay here?"

Glöyn nods to Gann. "It is good to see you back on your feet, Gann. I trust you will tell me or Gawen if you begin to feel the fever coming. You need something to eat and I will speak with Gawen about trying to find some tinctures here."

Gann makes few uncertain steps forward moving with difficulty but getting used to shifting balance to his good leg. He keeps his head low and voice quiet, avoiding side glances longer than a moment or two. "Ei will not waste your effort keeping me among the living." He appreciates her concern, but his attention has shifted to Magan bringing Theli out and the child following them. "She looks bad," Gann speaks, enough for her to hear only. "Ei've not heard her speak once."

Glöyn nods thoughtfully. "Likewise, given her wound I am surprised she has lived this long. Magan seems to have much concern for her. This could be a good way for us to get on their better side in case we need their help. Anything we can do to aid him with her would be warranted."

Gann nods in agreement lost in thought, then snaps out of it and turns at Glöyn. "Is there anything I can aid you with? Ei may be limp, but am not useless." There's tensed eagerness in his voice.

The mound at the rear of the village has two paths before it, one leading to a dark, stone jambed entrance, and the other up atop the mound. The area is quiet and serene. Birds sing in the trees and there's no human to be seen in the area.

She glances over at Gann, with ill-concealed surprise upon her face. "Help me ? Uhhh... nay. Just keep yourself healthy and make sure you secrets do not get me killed." She looks away quickly, irritated at the clearly evident shock upon her face at the simple gesture. Just how long had it been since someone had asked what they could do for her? A very, very long time... The thought instantly saddens her and she takes a deep, steadying breath and turns her attention back to the tasks at hand. "Magan! Do you need assistance getting her to the healers? I would love to meet them, if they will allow. I imagine I could learn much from them."

Gann stiffens in return to the unexpected retort but says nothing. Only after Glöyn hurries to engage with Magan and the rest, he makes leaden steps to check on the horses and Branok followed by one more survey at the vicinity, then turns to approach the group at his own slower pace.

"I can carry her, but you are welcome to join me." Magan half looks over his shoulder at Gloyn as he walks towards the mound. As he staggers closer up the path and reaches the fork, he looks carefully both ways. Perhaps inside. He takes the left path, shifting Theli's weight uncomfortably he frees up a hand to tap at the stone entrance and calls out to announce his presence. "Greetings, we come seeking wisdom and healing."

The interior of the mound is dark, silent and empty. Stone pillars line the edges of the circular chamber, surrounding a central area with well worn floors. Only a few isolated pieces of furniture line the edges of the room.

Getting no reply, Magan turns to leave and try the top of the mound instead. 

The outdoor air is cool and tranquil, but there doesn't appear to be anyone near the mound.

Magan drops to his knees in frustration, laying Theli on the ground he kneels over her to begin another prayer to Wodin, and the other deities in turn. He once again feels the strange healing energy flow from his hands into her as she continues to moan softly in discomfort. Feeling for Isolde's hand beside him he guides her to her knees beside him and tells her to join him in prayer. 

As Magan grips Isolde by the hand, he feels a familiar cooling sensation flow from her and into him, easing the tightness in his chest. The birds grow quiet in the trees and Theli's eyes flutter open. They focus in awareness and recognition. and her lips purse to say something, but instead she must wince in pain and clutches at her throat.

Magan takes her hand in his, joining it with Isolde and letting the healing energy wash over the three of them. Continuing his prayer out loud, tears streak his face as he feels Theli's pain. 

Kara watches as Magan tries with no result to find someone near the mound. For all the holy site it seemed that visitors while not unwelcomed, were also expected to know how to help themselves, or find how to get the help. After watching for a bit longer, Kara wanders into the small cluster of buildings that seemed to hold people, her sword at her side, and her shield on her back, the large Freyan symbol clear, but dinged. She then attempts to talk to some of the people, though her broken command of the language was clear. "Priestess for Freya yes? You possess one? She is here?"

This place was beautiful, and full of a strange life. Guthric had been a wanderer for many seasons, and had seen much of the land. However here, more than anywhere else, he felt a strange connection beyond anything he could plainly see. Despite this otherworldly aura, everyone seemed aggravated by something the Pict could not place. Magan seemed frustrated when priests did not receive him and Theli with open arms and healing hands. Kara wandered about pressing people with questions. Branok was very displeased by...something said to him. Oddly enough, it seemed the only one most at ease here, was the one not in their right mind or at all whole. Gann was less a healthy leg, but left behind like the beasts of burden. No pack should act as such; its strong and healthy are there to keep the sick and hurt safe, unless they prove too far-gone. Gann came back from the very edge of death, seemed very lucid when awake, and was now walking. As far as Guthric was concerned, he deserved no less place than in the middle of the pack. Fang and Claw fell in with their leader, though Claw was still feeling the effects of the skirmish against slavers. Guthric too Gann by the shoulder to help him along and ensure he was not left behind. Upon arrival to the sacred mound, Gurthic urged his three friends inside. His hounds followed eagerly, and he allowed Gann to carry himself across this threshold. The inside, though austere, was captivating to the Pict beastmaster. He wandered around the chamber, running his hands along the earthen walls, taking in the sights, then settling into the middle of the room. He waved his hounds over, and sat on the bare floor. "We've come far, and I tell you there is so much more. Here, the Great Wolf, and all other great spirits, come to speak with us, to let us know they walk with us." Fang sits patiently and looks around, I see dirt and rocks. Where is the Wolf who called? Guthric chuckles a bit and rubs the mastiff's head, "So quick to see, so little seen," he taps a finger on the hound's nose, "But you have to see past what's at your nose. I've seen the Great Wolf, run with it. We  ran with it just the other night, did we not?" Claw lays down next to Fang, giving a small whine from its prolonged injury, I wasn't there, but he's right. Even back at the wagon, I could smell it. It was only us, but I smelled more, and something large. What do we do? Guthric crossed his arms for a moment, then put a hand on his packmates, "We speak, we call, and we wait. If the Great Wolf does not come, it means we go to the forests." Claw perked up and nudged closer to Guthric, and the Pict pulled both closer. The three sat for a moment, listening to the still room, then slowly a solemn howl rose from the three. It was never loud, but in the chamber it echoed threefold. Outside the chamber, a passing soul would've been unaware of anyone within.

Gann stood still at a short distance from the mound when Magan emerged with the injured woman in both hands followed by the child. He observed silently as they climbed up then joined in a desperate prayer. The moment heartfelt and forlorn, it felt as if approaching would somehow interfere with it. When Kara stormed in the direction of the village resolute to find help, Gann turned sideways to follow but the burn in his foot -- growing in intensity since he started using it again -- reminded him he would only slow her down. Unable to assist anyone, he nods to the approaching Guthric and accepts his strong shoulder as support. "A healer can't be far," he reaffirms softly. "Meanwhilst, even a midwife would know how to ease her pains." He casts his eyes down at the two large mastiffs following them, noting one of them shared a similar fate to his. He felt its pain though animals had stronger spirits than men. Once welcomed by the stale darkness in the womb of the earth, Gann stays behind and let the large pict have a moment with his dogs. He keeps silent and only lets fragmented words reach to his attention. The darkness calms his senses and the veil of exhaustion, still heavy on the lids of his eyes, calls him into its soft embrace. But then as the air resonates with an all-encompassing call of the wild, that veil is torn asunder and Gann's nostrils flare instinctively, his heartbeat intensifies and his breathing breaks a soft wheeze. Confused and unable to explain the sudden longing, Gann pushes himself off the wall to limp outside.

The peasant starts as Kara addresses her and looks somewhat taken aback by the sudden questions of the tall northern woman. She raises one hand and points meekly towards the inn where Branok has stabled the horses. It's a classic single-storied longhouse-type building.

While this turn of events is not at all surprising, and in hindsight even very stupid on Kara and well... pretty much everyone who could speak up parts, Kara nonetheless thanks the peasant, telling the woman "Thank you kind sister, may your death be glorious."  And then she quickly moves back to the inn, the place this all started it seemed, and she goes in the sturdy door.

The woman pales, clearly not used to such talk. She gives Kara a brief nod and hurries on her way. The mood inside the guest house is jovial and raucous. The midday meal is in full swing, and Branok can be seen sharing ale, bread and cheese with another older man dressed similarly to him. Pen is zooming up and down around the big table that runs the length of the room, scavenging scraps wherever he can. "Kara! Kara!" Branok calls when he sees her enter. "Come! Drink! Eat!"

Gann breathes fresh cool air out of the mound, putting his heart and mind at ease. Whatever caused his instincts to flare did not any good to anyone, and as it faded away what was left only amplified the feeling of futility. Heeding to the voices of prayer coming from above, he puts more effort in his limping towards the village despite the blistering pain. "More of us can ask around." He turns at Glöyn but doesn't wait for a reply from her though his slower pace it can easily catch up on him.

Gawen dismounts from his horse as Magan and the others head to the mound. Gawen is tempted to follow immediately, but with the others' departure Branok is clearly in need of some assistance with the horses and he decides it can wait until after they've eaten. Once the animals are stabled, he heads inside the guest house with the monk, and obtains food and ale. He sits down next to Branok and the man in similar garb. "Well met," he says to the newcomer. "Are you a friend of Branok's?"

"Aye,"  the man replies in a strong west country accent. "Brother Branok is always welcome in Wansdyke! " He raises his mug of ale and cheers. All around the room others join him, although it's doubtful that they heard what the cheer is for. "An' you must be t'druid from across t'water? Call me Tucker. Branok tells me y'ave wounded? I'll put out word t'gather t'circle. If y'can stay till moonrise, we'll see if we can't bend t'gods ear, eh?"

Gawen grins and raises his mug with the others. "Gawen. And Branok is right, one of our party is only just clinging to life, so your offer of help is much appreciated." He takes a swig of ale and savors the bitter taste for a moment. After their recent experiences, a simple drink is something of a luxury. "So what can you tell me of this place, and your circle?"

"My pleasure, Gawen," Tucker replies, clonking his mug friendlily against the druid's. "Wansdyke has a deep connection to Asgard. The walls between the nine realms wear thin here. Those with a sense for such things are drawn to it. Alone and separated, we are but men, but together, here, the gods smile upon us."