Raid

IX

The multi-coloured fall leaves crunched under the footfalls of the two travellers. The sun hung in the middle of the sky and the forest was alive and well around them. His hands hung from either of the leather straps supporting his pack and his head looked at the trail in front of him. He had learned long ago that looking at ones feet was far less demoralizing than looking at where one was headed when on a trail. Hrafnfiða was suspended between his back and the back of the leather bag. A squirrel was heard skittering along a tree branch along with the constant soft rustle of leaves on the ground. Aksel slowed his pace and turned around to see the progress of his counterpart.

Braum was several metres down the trail with a thick walking stick he had picked up earlier. The Saxon was significantly more winded than the Northman was; those 15 years at a higher elevation had conditioned him for a much harsher environment, but he kept a steady pace. Aksel leaned against a tree beside the trail and waited for his friend with arms folded. Braum made it to within a few metres of the other and the Scandinavian asked, Vat is ðis?, Braum looked up at him with a brow raised and asked exhaustively, What is what were doing called?. Aksel affirmed with a nod and Braum continued, Walking. Braum had caught up to Aksel and he began keeping pace with him, walking backwards so he could still look at Braum. One woald say þat ve er valking ðen?, Aksel asked back in his still thick Norse accent, Gea, we are walking, Braum replied. He continued, Ive heard it referred to as backpacking before on account of the packs we carry but, he trailed off; not taking the breath to say, Its not popularly used and sounds funny so I dont use it.. Aksel turned back to his original walking position and began processing what he had just been informed.

The two didnt notice for a while but the forest became quieter the further they travelled. Aksels thoughtful isolation was ended when an unsettling instinct slithered its way into his mind; the silence, an unnatural change in the forests volume. His head raised and he began scanning the immediate vicinity, Braum didnt notice his friends sightful composure until he almost walked into his back. The Saxon asked, Are you well, Aksel?, but he held his gaze into the dense evergreens; his eyes scouring every detail of his surroundings. A moment later Aksel turned his head slightly and replied, Já já, æ am vell., if he had known how to express his concern in English he mightve but his focus laid elsewhere. Braum didnt believe him but kept walking anyway, not wanting to press him any further.

Braum approached the corner of the sediment wall they walked beside when he noticed the trail widening into a road littered with cart tracks and hoof prints. Axe! Theres a settlement nearby. Braum turned back to Aksel and shouted; he stopped looking through the woods and responded, A setelment?. But Braum had already started down the road to discover whatever lie ahead of the two. Aksel, not enjoying the sudden lack of visual contact with his friend, briskly walked after Braum and rounded the corner. He was met with Braums pack falling up and down with his strides as he jogged down the road.

He took a step forward to begin chasing after his friend when a sharp, cold voice tickled the inside of his ear, Úlf. The sudden outside stimulation caused Aksel to recoil and pull his ear back away from the voice. He looked to search for the origin of it to his right, into the forest, his sight scanned every tree, shrub, and pinecone before he noticed the pale white textile that found itself within the density. His eyes desperately moved around the scene in front of him, looking for continuation or confirmation of what he had just seen. Aksels skin felt a sharp chill fly through the air, sending his mind back to when he was a boy, hunting roe deer with his father. He hadnt felt chill like that since he was back in Scandinavia, his mind recognized this and immediately his heart rate increased and an anxious perspiration made its way out of his pours.

Úlfhéðinn Aksel felt the feather intrude into his ear again, tickling his ear canal relentlessly. The voice telegraphed its speech with a long, deep inhale, like the person needed 3x the amount of oxygen to speak. His ears were telling him that the voice was coming from directly in front of him, but he saw nothing. He cautiously began trodding deeper into the woods; feeling an innate and unconscious pull on his soul, drawing him closer. The closer he moved, the tighter the grip became, the tighter his chest felt, the chill forced its way down his spine. The young man felt strangely violated; as if his privacy had been breached. Af hverju er ég kallaður undir því nafni?, he thought to himself; what he was being called was not his name, he was no Wolf-Belt, he was the son of a poor farmer. His head spun at the thought something like that residing inside of himself.

He was pulled out of this deep pool of thought by the sight of the same white cloth from before. Only this time, it was being worn by a petite, rather beautiful, pale young woman. Upon this further inspection, he recognized the garb she wore as lambskin; only völva and ritual members wore that. As Aksels eyes moved over her figure, he noticed that he couldnt quite distinguish her feet or where she came into contact with the ground below her. When he looked up to analyze her visage, she wasnt there anymore. His eyes shot to the trees around where she had been but his sight hadnt deceived him; she was gone.

Just then, Braum looked around the bend, back at Aksel, Oi! Whats the matter? he asked loudly. Aksels head moved back around to his friend, Gea, vinur! the Northman shouted back. He began hiking back toward the road, grasping the straps of his pack with both hands.