*Rød finds himself in a clearing, spotted with the fallen, the victors staggering to survey the scene, trying to reassure themselves that the battle is over...
... that the WAR is over.*
Panting for breath, my muscles aching, I remove the masked helm from my face to fight the sensation of suffocation. The wolf skin and leather have kept the heat of battle trapped inside and as I pull it back I am rewarded with the cool breeze of the day washing over my blood stained face.
"Rødregn?" comes the questioning call from some distance away.
"Hvisk?" I answer, turning, scanning the carnage with sudden excitement at the prospect of my sister's survival.
The bloody scene fades to the back of my consciousness as I locate her frame, charging towards me, mask also removed, a flurry of fire-red hair and blue warpaint.
"It's over. We won!" She cries as she approaches, her wide grin and wild eyes matching my own. She leaps to me and I catch her, swinging her around as we laugh together.
"Are you hurt?" I ask her when as I set her back down on the field, our grim surroundings flooding back in, dampening our shared moment of elation.
"Nei" Comes her answer, accompanied by a look suggesting that to be impossible. I cannot help grinning as I muss her hair and turn to better survey the outcome.
I count 23 Bjørner yet standing. A little over half of our initial warband, Bjørn himself among them. I see none of Elgenhelm's men remaining. He is defeated, over thrown by our rebellion, naming Landaslaug the new King.
Others begin to realize the truth as well. Bjørn lets out a mighty victory cry and like a wave it crashes out spreading across the clearing as we all join in. All of the allied warbands begin to flock back together, each assessing it's own losses and congratulating each other on their victories.
The Stor Bjørner all come together, a collection of blood stained, mud matted, wolf and bearskinned, leather clad warriors tired and worn, eager to clasp wrists with each other and rejoice.
Grinning widely, I look to my sister and the sweet taste of victory turns to ash in my mouth. She wears an expression of fear mixed with confusion. I know this look. She doesn't even notice me, her stare looking right past me, intensifying by the second. I follow her gaze and I'm greeted by the sight of our allied warbands in formation approaching us.
"What is the meaning of this?" asks Bjørn, dropping back into a readied stance, his voice one of command and authority.
The Druid of the foremost warband calls out "This is nothing personal, Bjørn. You know this. Landaslaug commands that you are not to be allowed to leave the field alive." His eyes sweep over our remaining members "Any of you."
Quickly, I slide my masked helm back down, the hard leather patched wolf's head allowing nothing but my eyes and the blue warpaint surrounding them to be seen. The others do the same.
"We won this war for him. You all know that. This is how he repays his warriors? With betrayal?" Bjørn roars, clenching his fists and flashing his teeth in a snarl.
"I give you Godshal, old friend. Stand and fight and your glory will be known." states the advancing Druid, ignoring Bjørn's question.
Bjørn grits his teeth and all of us form up, expecting we'll soon join the Gods.
"No..." comes his surprising reply, taking us all aback. "... No. He'll not get us. Not this way. He will have to work for it. The Stor Bjørner will haunt him as long as he lives." He straightens and let's out his final commands, shocking friend and foe alike.
"SCATTER!" He booms. "Punch through their lines and make for the trees!"
Without question we charge towards our assailants, most of them personal friends, axes drawn and shields up. Hvisk keeps one hand free to launch her gusts of fire into the faces of their front lines. Bjørn doesn't move. Instead he begins casting a spell, no doubt attempting to secure a chance that we may escape.
Hvisk's flames smash into their lines, burning at them and causing a slight hole. Upon the spell's ending, I see vines spring from the earth and begin to wrap around our enemies. Bjørn's spell, no doubt, perfectly timed as always.
When we reach the line I take full advantage of the slight gap and charge in, pushing and slashing, allowing my comrades to do the same, breaking the hole wider and wider, until we are through and the fight becomes a bloody pursuit.
"GO!" I hear from behind, as I glance back to see an entire warband descend on Bjørn, hacking and slashing without mercy.
Another glance shows me our numbers are dropping as I now can only see ten of my comrades. Fallen or seperated I can't say. I turn back ahead, cutting my way to the nearing treeline, a blur of blood, fur, and metal as I hack through my friends for my life and honour.
The enemy becomes thinner as I reach the trees. Looking around I realize that I am alone. I turn back to the mass confusion and I see no friends. No Hvisk.
My heart wrenching I put trust in her that she will find me. I obey my orders and turn into the trees.
Wait. Something is different here. This is where I leave. I always leave here, but this time I stop and turn watching.
The Druid, flanked by hundreds of warriors walks slowly towards me. He is grinning darkly and I can't seem to move. He holds up his hand and in it, fire-red hair clenched between his fingers, hangs the severed head of my twin sister.
"No!" I utter amid a breath of disbelief.
The Druid says nothing but his grin intensifies.
"Hvisket" I call her, tears welling up in my eyes. "No..."
Blood dripping from the fresh cut neck, her mouth opens and my name comes out. "Rødregn..."
It calls me.
"No..." I am shaking
"Rødregn." Louder now and the voice is changing
"NO!" I am losing control, rage beginning to take me.
The face shifts on the head to a newer, more recent face. I recognize it at once.
"Keelie? How?" I ask, my head swimming
"Rødregn!" the voice is now to voices. One Hvisk's and the other a man's. "Rødregn! RØD! WAKE UP!"
Leaping to my feet and seeing red, I grab the man forcefully by the throat and slam him against the ground, dagger drawn and at his throat, preparing to open the Druid where he stands. I stare down wide eyed with rage into a face that is not the Druid's at all.
"Selûne help me, he's going to kill me." comes the trembling cry of Marek, a member of my patrol group.
"Rød!" I hear as a few sets of arms wrap around mine and pull me back. "Fuck man, you're alright, you're alright."
"I... I..." I say, stupidly. Not entirely sure of what's happening. "Marek, I'm sorry. I was..."
"You were fucking crazy, is what you were." He says, getting back to his feet, still shaking a bit.
"You were having a dream. A particularly bad one, it seems" suggests Aram, the leader of our ranging squad. "You began to toss and turn, crying out 'no' and quite loudly"
Catching my breath and feeling the shame on my face, I can only nod, panting and sweating.
"Are you alright now?" he asks me.
"Aye." I answer, though I'm unsure.
"Good. Gear up. We move."
I nod by way of reply and begin packing my things, feeling all the while the looks and speculations being cast at me from my platoon. Too often have I had this dream but never before with this ending.
I stop for one moment, letting out a deep breath, pushing the memory of that time back into the past where it belongs...
...until my dreams force me to remember.
Topic: Rødregn Vilhjerte (inner thoughts) (Read 18184 times)