Laugavegur, A Hinterland Journey

Chapter 15 - That Which is Real

Anja wiped her cheek. She wasn't sure where the tears came from, but they had come strong. Perhaps it was the fear of seeing her own death or the lament of a dream unrealized; sadness for this other version of herself who would never reach Valhalla. Anja collected herself and began to distance herself emotionally from the fallen warrior. With practiced detachment she looked over the body. This is either a strong and cruel bit of gauldur or an unfortunate shield maiden who just happens to carry a cast quite similar to my own. It mattered not which was true. The gauldur, if that's what it was, was meant only to shock and scare Anja. On that account it had succeeded, but beyond that, the gauldur carried no lasting influence. Anja could sense no physical danger. If it was some stranded warrior, she deserved better than to be left frozen and exposed for the fox and raven to have at.

The proper course of action, as Anja saw it, was the same regardless of the nature of the shield maiden's genesis. The warrior deserved a felicitous burial with according ritual and rights. Anja knew it would take time and part of her was concerned with the inexplicable absence of Tokki and Skari, but she knew performing the burial would please the gods and would allow this woman to make her way to the afterlife and not wander the plateau for eternity.

According to the tradition of those living in the Folkland, Anja needed to create a stone oval around the warrior in the shape of a ship. The coastal people could use real boats, but inland, the people used symbolic ships. The ground beneath the snow was littered with black cobbles and in short order the boat's outline was finished. Anja then arranged the warrior into a strong and peaceful pose, her sword drawn across her chest and her shield at her side. Anja had little in her satchel to augment the burial with goods of value, but she did place several wrapped pieces of Dwarven tack and a small tinder bundle at the warrior's feet.

She searched for appropriate words, but they failed to reach her and she instead hummed a soft lament. Her final act was to cover the body in a stone tumulus. By the end, she was sweating and her arms and lower back ached from the exertion, but she felt at peace.

Thus resolved, Anja shouldered her satchel and made her way back toward the trail. The fog seemed to be lifting and visibility was improving. The trail was right where she expected it to be, but she saw no sign of Skari or Tokki. Looking in the snow, she could see where three sets of footprints had diverged; hers heading to the southeast to where she had found the warrior. Skari's strode further down the apparent trail, but Tokki's small tracks clearly split off to the west. "Tokki!" she called as she ran, her feet slipping in the wet snow.

***

Tokki knelt on the ground. He looked around at all the ravens in the throes of death. Their dark beaks gulped, trying to bring air into their crushed bodies, their eyes, wide and frantic. "No, no... there are too many..." Tokki muttered, completely overwhelmed. His efforts seemed useless. Each bird he had tried to help had died except for the first, which was still by his side wrapped in his woolen scarf, quorking pitifully. Through the lifting fog, he heard Anja calling. "Anja!" he cried back. "Over here! I need your help!" A moment later, he heard the crunching of snow as Anja ran up.

"Tokki, I've been looking all over for you! Where's Skari?" Tokki rummaged around in his apothecary kit looking for his needle and sinew.

"Do you have any sinew? Cuts of cloth?"

"Sinew? What? No. Tokki, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I am doing? I am trying to save all these -" With a start, Tokki realized that he was no longer surrounded by dying ravens. In their place were vitreous cobbles of black obsidian. To his right, there was a neat row of cobbles, all aligned where he had laid down the ravens one by one when they had died. He looked down into his apothecary kit. He hadn't dreamt the birds because his salves and tinctures were ransacked. He had but a few tins left. A small quork emanated from his rolled scarf. Tokki carefully pulled back the fabric and sighed in relief. The raven wriggled its way out of the scarf and stood in the snow, apparently uninjured, preening its feathers.