Entry 6: The Death of Fear

CONTENT WARNING:

Violent descriptions of death

Long after my childhood memories were restored, the days following Dyri and Leifur’s unwelcome visit remained a blur. Even still, I can only summon a series of hazy, half-formed images and vocalizations: faces that once warmed at my approach twisted with contempt, conversations that carried my name were held behind secretive hands, and the suffocating closeness of one or both parents shadowing my every step. Perhaps this is one thing my mind could not reconcile. Perhaps it thought itself kinder in shrouding my passage from prince to pariah, but I’ve found no comfort in losing the last, precious moments of my freedom when there is so much else better forgotten.

I wish I could recall if there were any final words of wisdom from my mother, any cautionary tales from my father. Did he show me the proper stance to take when wielding a great-axe against a larger enemy? Did she hold me close as she pointed out navigational constellations hanging in the heavens? Who, if anyone, believed we were Selune’s chosen and that Malar only sought to tear us apart? All the answers were obscured by a veil of oblivion, dancing out of reach though I’ve dutifully sought their capture.

When we were reunited, I asked my parents for their accounts so I might fill in the empty places, but their minds also thought most parts better left unremembered. What they could tell me, they told with such halting hesitation and unmasked contrition that it made my heart ache. They did not say so, but it was plain they had gone over those times again and again, replaying each syllable spoken and each step taken to see if there was any possibility of a changed outcome. But, I assured them they could claim no fault. Unbeknownst to us all, there were vile influences slinking through the Nanoq, giving them knowledge and cunning they would have otherwise lacked. No matter what Bjorn and Sigrid would have done or said, my immolation was inevitable.

The blood moon was set to rise on the third night after the priests’ departure, giving Bjorn two nights to reason with his people. He expected a forthright, expedient conversation and shared outrage once he made it evident that Dyri’s claims were false. Instead, he was met with a barrage of angry shouts and hardened hearts intent on exposing us as a family of heretics. In the face of his logic, they responded with rabid paranoia, and he could give no satisfactory answers to the questions they asked.

“Where did you disappear to on that night?”

“You were both gone for hours!”

“Why did you not bring an elder if you were appealing to Selune?”

“What of the storm and the blood moon at his birth? Both are known as bad luck or signs of the wicked.”

In the wake of these denunciations, Sigrid watched the crowd with growing anxiety. She saw the malevolent light that flicked through their collective gaze and took note of the subtle cuts and severed knuckles that hinted at self-mutilation. So soon after Dyri and Leifur had spoken of Malar’s courtesy, their words had borne fruit, and no wonder. What was a little blood or a missing digit if it meant favor with something new and mighty? Why not give themselves to a god who spoke rather than one who held her tongue? If the result was an end to their starvation, wasn’t the death of some spoiled prince a worthy price?

My memories regain clarity at sunset on the third day. The clouds were dipped in shades of brilliant tangerine, sienna, and scarlet, arranging themselves around the sinking sun in a halo that appeared more painting than reality. Though my parents scrambled to pack our essentials onto a sleigh behind me, I stood watching the approach of twilight with enigmatic calm. They had told me we were going to run, to get away from this place and these people we once held dear, but inside I felt nothing. My attention could only be held by the burning star that slowly sank beyond the horizon. There was an end to all things coming, swiftly pursuing us, and no matter what plans Bjorn and Sigrid made I knew we would not escape it. I idolized my parents and their intelligence, I loved them for doing all they could to save me, but there was some prophetic whisper in my spirit that foretold of their failure. It brought me neither anger, nor frustration, nor fear, simply acceptance, even as I saw our people crest the hill we had used to hide our shelter. Nine figures cloaked in black stood at their helm, their steps coinciding with a distinct clack of bone against metal. It was all I heard as the Nanoq warriors charged.

Cla-clack. Cla-clack. Cla-clack.

They barreled at us, mouths open in war cries and legs stirring the snow into wing-like waves. Bjorn’s arm snaked around my waist and threw me at my mother, his throaty bellow coming to my ears muted, like someone trying to speak through a thick wall of ice.

“Run! Go! Get him out of here!” Leather tore and fabric fell away as the bear exploded through his skin, its roars overshadowed by a single, rhythmic sound.

Cla-clack. Cla-clack. Cla-clack.

Sigrid threw me on her back and bolted, though her hesitation at leaving her husband was evident in the stutter of her first steps. They had both agreed long ago that if it should ever be a matter of their lives or mine, I was to be the one protected. This did not make it an easy choice. Over my shoulder, the clash of battle came as though from a great distance: steel shrieking against steel, shields breaking under the weight of Bjorn’s heavy blows, cries of pain as claws tore through soft flesh. All of them mere murmurs in comparison to the cacophony of priestly garb.

Cla-clack. Cla-clack. Cla-clack.

Our frenzied sprint came to an abrupt halt once the tree line rose into focus, and Sigrid’s arms tightened around my legs as she beheld the last piece of our people’s treachery. The rest of our clan stood sprinkled throughout the underbrush, every able-bodied human that my parents had guided, protected, and trained since they took command. They glared at us with triumph, brandishing their weapons behind two figures we knew all too well.

Dyri and Leifur.

Their hands were folded in the sleeves of their robes, a slight wind stirring the fabric that skirted the powdery drifts in which they stood. In spite of the chaos ahead and the restrained savagery of those at their backs, the pair appeared no more flush than if they were taking a leisurely stroll. Dyri’s colorless lips formed a pitying smile before he raised his finger and let out a stream of words I could not understand. They hissed and danced across the air in a hypnotic chant that fell in step with the rattling ornamentation and spun it all into a complicated cotillion. The spell was aimed at Sigrid, but its aura brushed against me like the purr of a self-satisfied house cat.

Sssssoon.

Mother turned and tried to flee towards the east, her feet scrambling through the knee-deep snow, her body desperately trying to shake the magic that wrapped her in its mulberry tendrils. Even as the world began to tilt and the white earth rose to meet us, her blackened veins lifted from the strain of fighting against the spell's bonds. When we both toppled into the cold cradle of snow, she twitched beneath me, trying to release my calves from her panicked grasp so I could abscond without her.

Cla-clack. Cla-clack. Cla-clack.

I managed to pull all but one ankle free, some deep instinct shaking me of the aberrant complacency, but before I could scramble away I felt thick fingers hook my shoulder. Leifur stood above me, clucking his tongue as one would at a pup that has torn up something of value. He used one fist to pull me from the depression Sigrid and I had created and tossed me over his shoulder with a disgruntled huff.

“No more running. It is time, Son of the Sanguine Moon.”

Placidity settled over me once more, bidding me to fall limp, and I cannot help but look back on this occurrence with guilt. I know now there were enchantments at work far more powerful than a child’s ability to resist, but some part of me still thinks I could have overcome them. I could have bitten or kicked, shaken the acquiescence and found a way to release my parents from their bonds. I could have cried out to Selune and asked her to send me the bear that I might tear our enemies asunder. Anything other than let myself be carried meekly into The Spine.

Dyri clapped his hands at the gathered fighters and gestured towards the hollow where Sigrid lay.

“Be sure to gather them both up and bind them so they can be brought. Malar would like them present at the ceremony to witness the repercussions of dealing with Bane and his ilk.”

“Will…the bindings hold? Bjorn has his bear and Sigrid is not what I would call weak.”

There were a few grumbles of agreement but they fell silent at the sound of Dyri’s gentle laughter.

“Have you no faith? Malar has assured me the spell will remain active until long after the rites are completed and we have made our exit. You have nothing more to fear from this pair of pretenders.”

☽☾

We traveled through the night, passing old trees I had often climbed and rocky knolls that served as hiding places during Sigrid’s survival games. Familiarity had abandoned these locations and was replaced with unsettling malice. Bare tree limbs stretched out their fingertips to snatch at my face and clothes; shadows took ghastly forms behind every trunk and outcropping, snickering as we passed. All the while, the moon’s light grew weaker through the trees, signaling the eclipse’s onset and the blood moon soon to follow.

The march carried on in uncomfortable silence, and I’ve since wondered if there were any in our tribe who harbored second thoughts. If there was at least one who considered breaking away and aiding in our escape, I might have been able to sooner release the bitterness I felt towards them. My parents were quick to forgive, accepting that the priests’ influence and the threat of extinction played a large part in their betrayal, but I am far less adept in doling out grace.

Our journey came to an end at a wide plot of land, its topography fully exposed to the cloudless skies above. Leifur removed me from his shoulder and placed me on the ground at his feet, facing me towards a structure I had never seen nor been told of.

A temple, crudely constructed from pitch-black stone, stood at the clearing’s apex and stared down at the party of travelers. Snow seemed to have been brushed from it, or perhaps never stuck to its structure at all, and it had no windows or a formal door. There was merely a rectangular hole cut out of its front that yawned backwards into seemingly endless darkness. Indeed, there was nothing at all indicating that it was a temple, except that an altar stood a few feet from its entrance. The altar was far more impressive, constructed of silver metal that caught the disappearing moon’s glow and was etched with symbols wrought in glimmering amethyst around its base. Whirling red filigree decorated both the top and its sides, creating abstract images that could almost be mistaken for people at a quick glimpse. At its side stood another cloaked figure, standing tall and statuesque with one palm resting on the altar’s face.

She was dressed similarly to her counterparts, but with far more decoration and elaborations to the garment. Her robe was embroidered along the shoulders and hem with purple symbols that mimicked those on the foot of the dais and glowed with their own light. The trinkets sewn into the fabric appeared to be platinum instead of pewter, and the bones were bleached to an almost blinding whiteness. I could only see the features below her nose, but the visible, red-painted lips were curled upward in a cold smile. She removed her arms from the sleeves and spread them wide to welcome us, revealing a purple ring stitched on the robe’s torso.

“Brothers and sisters, your arrival has been eagerly awaited, and your timing could not be more appropriate. See how the moon’s face is devoured and how the world goes still in reverence, for it knows it shall soon be cleansed.” She reached out, as though requesting an embrace, “Bring the boy to me.”

Leifur’s foot nudged my back, and I started forward in a motion that was not entirely my own. Trance-like, I climbed to the hill’s precipice, breaking my stride only once to look back at the crowd below. They stood gathered in a half-circle before the temple, gazing in abject adoration at the priestess’ alluring performance. If doubt had been in their minds before, she banished it with her grace, her poise, her overwhelming conviction. Even I was spellbound, and for a moment I too believed that my death would be the end of the Nanoq’s suffering.

I stopped in front of the altar, my eyes barely able to see over its edge, and glanced at the woman for her instruction. Though we stood but a few feet from each other, I could still only discern half of her face. Upon looking at me, she beamed. My pulse quickened in her presence, skipping and galloping with an anticipation that reminded me of my first sled ride down the mountain. I was delighted to be with her. Excited to be with her. But…why?

Her expression was soft, almost motherly, as she put both hands under my arms and lifted me up, placing me on the flat surface before smoothing my hair and bidding me to lie down. She moved to the altar’s far side so she might face the tribe, and turned her face and palms to the sky.

“As the heavens bleed, we offer our subjugation and humble ourselves before the might of the gods. People of the Nanoq Clan, do you willingly make this offering for the sake of your salvation?”

In unison, they chanted, “We do.”

I turned my head to look, and my gaze locked on two, petrified figures at the front of the crowd that were being held by several steely-faced warriors. Bjorn, bloodied and half-transformed with his mouth frozen open in a silent roar, and Sigrid, still lodged in the motion of running to try and save us both. Neither could speak or move, but I could see tears of helplessness streaking down their cheeks.

“Then your sacrifice is indeed pleasing and well-received. Let your faith and obedience be rewarded.” The priestess reached around her back to produce an ivory dagger, longer than a man’s calf, and used it to slice into her wrist. Blood flowed in thick rivulets down her forearm before it dripped onto me, splattering across my nose, eyes, and into my mouth. A chant, in the same hissing tongue I’d heard before, came from her mouth as she raised the dagger high above her head, its edge catching the light of the crimson moon. She smiled…and plunged the dagger deep into my chest.

I felt it puncture the skin and rip through muscle and bone before the tip made its way into my heart. Pain tore into me, blasting through every vein and cell and flooding me with all the terror that had been suppressed. She drove the dagger deeper and deeper until it met with the altar’s face on the other side of my ribs and her blood intertwined with mine. Roaring fire raged beneath my skin, somehow merged with a vicious electricity and the sharp glint of ice. I was ablaze. I was galvanized. I was being filled with the elements in all their fury. I pierced the wilderness with the dissonance of my screams, and I knew life was fading away when my weakened heart struggled to beat around its sharpened invader. The priestess’ lips brushed against my ear as she whispered those words in the alien language, but this time, strangely, their meaning did not escape me.

“I invoke the right of Blood. So to shed mine Blood, and join us…Blooded.”

It was then that I fell into darkness.