caravanserai

Siv Helsi · 04-03-2012, 06:23 AM

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(1356) There is animal sacrifice in this thread, please read at your own discretion.

A voice whispered on the wind.

Siv heard it, as she heard all these things, and a set of velvet ears swiveled to form twin peaks above a dark mass of black hair. She stood tall, staring hard at the night sky. It was clear tonight; this was a sign of favor. It was cold, but the nights had long been cold—even with the change of season, the nights were frigid. She was glad for her thick pelt and northern blood. The heavy hides she wore aided in this, but they were more for ceremony then for her comfort. Reindeer, ram, and raven made up her trinity. They were animals of power, chosen for such a purpose. All ritual was like this; as long as she crafted meanings the power would be there.

This too, was why she had come tonight. It had been something she intended to do much later, when the weather had turned to true summer. Yet as völva, she could no more ignore the gods than those who did not serve them. Even now, she heard Him. The hunter she served was as real to her as the poison-eyed leader who fashioned himself into a king. Siv’s lips curled into a savage smile at the thought. She saw through his guise as well as she saw the truth of magic in her supposed-sisters.

The horse remained docile, but this was expected. She had fed it some of the herbs dedicated to such a purpose. If there were others, she would not have done such a thing—but she doubted without aid the wild thing would have remained calm. He had been captured on the outskirts of the packlands, a young thing drawn to Hildr because of her sex. In a way, this confirmed Siv’s suspicion that the horse was völva, if such things could be. Using her rope she had managed to lure him back.

Hildr had been taken away, and on foot Siv had returned to where the horse was bound. The drugs had begun to wear off not long ago. He was a sturdy thing, and bristling with energy. If she valued these beasts as her superiors did, she might have offered it to them. Yet her duty was to Odin first, and the time was right.

A noise drew her focus from the sky, and it was with sharp eyes she regarded the approaching figure. Draugr had grown into a young woman here, without the corruption of the Hearg. Siv knew her daughter aimed for the path of the völva, but time would tell if this was to be. She no longer saw the face of her son in the girl. She no longer saw Reykr’s face in the girl either.

Before her daughter could speak, Siv lifted her hand. The girl stopped in her tracks, though her eyes trailed to the horse. The witch-woman felt the earth turn under her feet and knew it was time. Silent steps carried her towards the girl, a tall woman made broad by the black feathers that framed her shoulder. In the moonlight, her eyes gleamed the hellfire green of all wild things. “The cycle of the year is a circle; you have never known summer—this has made you strong,” she added, pride slipping into her voice.

“Thrice a year we honor our gods with the blót. This means to sacrifice; to strengthen,” her voice imitated the shift in tone, growing stern. “Our gods live on blood. When we go to war, we kill our enemies in their name. But war is not endless,” she went on, and smiled faintly. “And sacrifice done without the proper methods does not reach them.” Eris’ behavior and talent in such a manner was not compatible with her own. The Dark Lady wasted so much chasing smoke specters.

“You and I will do this together, so that you might learn. When the summer turns, we will lead the others—we honor the Dísir, then. Do you recall them?” She asked, purple eyes gleaming. This was a laughable question. Her daughter had expressed enough interest in the ways of women.

“They are the spirits of fate,” Draugr said, and then went on. “And of fertility.”

“Yes. That ritual will involve all of the women here; but for now, we do this for our Family alone. Come,” she said, and ushered the girl towards the horse. He was not far from the fire, but this too, was only because of his condition. She imagined he would have fled otherwise.

“We must catch his blood,” she explained, and motioned to the large bowl near the flames. “Those sacrificed to the gods are sacred; by using the blood, we grant their favor upon us. What we do not use here we will take to our sacred places; Salsola has no temple and no statues, or we would do this there. This circle is sacred—I intend to raise it as a place of worship,” she added, and was pleased by her daughter’s expression. Certainly, to honor the old gods, they would see manifestations come.

Siv drew the knife from her side. It was a simple thing, elegant in this manner. She motioned for the girl to gather the bowl and led the horse forward. He was the color of a storm, a mottled gray that only further echoed of the sign she saw as truth. Amethyst eyes gleamed as she began to speak, low voice rumbling with words she had heard a thousand times over—though she saw fit to call upon one alone. “Odin, All-Father, we hail your works, and ask yet that you bless further this land with victory in the coming season. We give you this blood, and we drink to your name; we drink to those victorious dead.”

With a single strong slash, she cut the horse’s throat. Blood seeped from the wound and the beast collapsed with Siv keeping its head even. Her daughter was fast, and hardly any blood was lost in this transition. While the beast bled out, Siv produced a leather sack filled with wine. She poured this into a secondary bowl, and made a noise to pull Draugr’s attention. The girl looked up, but did not rise from her task.

“Hail Odin, All-Father; to victory, for power, for our King;” she lifted one hand and made a downward gesture, swung left to right in the symbol of the hammer, and then drank deeply. It was her duty to empty the bowl, and she did so with practiced ease. Thus finished, she filled the bowl again. “Now, my child,” she said, and motioned for Draugr to join her. “Drink to your true father, and to the coming season. Drink to the victorious dead, and honor them in all that you do.”

Her daughter, not half so experienced with the demands of the fermented drink, took longer. Siv imagined it would hit her harder, and so she began the process of gathering the blood into a bladder tanned for such a purpose. “We will eat the horse and leave the rest to the gods,” she explained. “I will mark you, and tomorrow, we shall spread this. Tonight, Draugr, we honor Odin and his hunt with feast and with drink.”

And they spent the rest of the night doing such a thing; Siv spread the blood over them both, drawing shapes as she had been taught. She spoke of ancient victories, and of the still-to-come war of the gods. She spoke of the first völva, who spoke to the one-eyed god and told him of the beginning and of the end. She spoke of the mad-wolf, Fenrir, and of the first children Ask and Embla. She spoke of how the world would vanish in flames but rise from the sea, and long before dawn rose, she had spoke her child into sleep. While the fire dulled to embers, and the half-eaten horse lay nearby, Siv continued to speak to the night until she too fell into a sleep where these ancient stories circled like the smoke from the remains of their fire.

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