Laugavegur, A Hinterland Journey

Chapter 28 - To Invite Death

The afternoon sun slashed through the clouds to light the way forward for the loosely clustered war party. The group was strung out in a line, climbing the knife-edge ridges toward the Five Carin Pass. Of all the refugees that had made their way to the camp, only a few dozen were capable of fighting; most of them were fisherfolk, farmers, and herders. They could wield an ax or spin a sling but would be likely to flee should the tide of battle turn against them. Kiran seemed the only one with real military experience, but he was scouting off the front of the group and was not available to apply the verbal whippings needed to keep the company together. Anja tried to motivate them and her young voice, if nothing else, shamed some of the laggards to push a little harder.

Njall, being war-band leader, shouted and cursed and otherwise made a great show of bravery. He had braided sea campion blossoms into his beard. To pick one was to invite death. Njall wore a dozen and Anja was rather impressed.

The winds had been predominantly from the north, pushing the ash that emanated incessantly from Miredale Mountain southward toward the coast and away from the approaching party. It was a significant blessing and Anja gave a word of thanks to Njord, god of the winds for sparing them. Many of the raiders were breathing hard enough from the exertion of the climb without being subjected to a choking ash that poisoned thoughts as well. The ground was still covered in several inches of coarse ash from the night before. Each footfall puffed dark gray.

Kiran returned to the group just as they were crossing a wide plateau just below the pass. He moved up and down the line passing along words of encouragement. When he got to Anja, he stopped.

"How are you holding up, young warrior maiden? Are you-"

Anja looked up at him from beneath her oversized helm, her eyes like glacial shards as she cut him off. "My blade is keen and my soul is ready to see Valhalla this day." She had been wanting to say that all day. She felt pleased with her delivery.

"Uh huh..." Kiran opened his palm revealing several pieces of dried fish. "... hungry?"

Anja glared at him. Then she took a piece of fish.

Kiran smiled. "We will have need of your blade shortly. Katla's host is amassing on the pass. Their numbers are not so great. We will still be outnumbered, possibly three to one, but gods willing we shall emerge victorious."

His words were the right ones, but his voice betrayed his doubts. Could a cluster of shattered peasants really stand against the host of Katla? Kiran's lips firmed up into a hard line.

"We must try, for the sake of the Folkland."

***

"This is madness," muttered a fisherman that had walked beside Anja for much of the climb toward the pass. They stood atop the Five-Cairns Pass looking across an expanse of a perhaps good slinger's stone throw at Katla's horde. Kiran's estimate had been hopelessly optimistic. A score of stone golems were flanked by many more garms, vicious with tattered, matted fur. The garms growled and paced back and forth, anxiously awaiting the order to attack. The golems stood statuesque, an impenetrable wall of sentient stone.

The fisherman was thickly built with strong arms covered in wiry black hair. In his hands, he held a driftwood cudgel. Under ordinary circumstances, he might have cut an imposing figure, but looking out across the pass, the fisherman and every member of the shambolic peasant army appeared inconsequential. The fisherman looked grimly at the cudgel he held in his hands

"What sway can a weapon such as this hold over a giant made of stone?" he muttered.

Njall had been able to outfit some of the warriors with steel and leather, but far too many wore simple wool tunics and carried tools rather than weapons.

Flanking Katla's host on either side were two cones built of cinder and ash. One violently spewed pyroclastics skyward, a cloud rising several thousand feet into the air and casting a shadow across the pass. The second cone belched forth a thick river of molten lava that poured down off its slopes and cascaded into the river valley below setting fire to the meager vegetation that had established a tenuous foothold on the flanks of Miredale Mountain.

There was no denying it. It was madness and such sentiments began to rumble disconcertingly through the ranks. Anja looked around nervously. Don't let us break. Not before we even commence battle...

Kiran, recognizing the faltering morale, suddenly became much more visible and animated, shouting words of encouragement.

"Warriors! Men and maidens of the Folkland! The gods are watching this day! By the time the stars light the sky, you will either be victorious, or you will be feasting in Valhalla!"

"I, for one, am anxious to take my seat beside Thor!" shouted a boy, a little too loudly. He was younger than Anja with but a few wispy blond hairs adorning his smooth chin.

"Don't be eager to the point of doing something stupid son," cautioned Kiran. "We need everyone to take down a few garm prior to joining their feast."

"A lot of garm..." muttered the fisherman, tapping his cudgel against his thigh.

Njall stepped forward. Anja could see the white spittle from the large clump of bog myrtle he was chewing. His eyes were wild, his beard full of campions.

"I am Njall. I am not man of words... But I ask this. Who do you fight for today? Who have you lost? Who must you protect? Take that name and say it to yourself." There was a low murmur coursed through the ranks. "Say it again. Louder!" Another pulse passed through the ranks. "You! Skinny boy!" Njall pointed at a middle-aged man. "Who you fight for today?"

The thin man stepped forward. "I fight for my father, Hermann Hermanson! Killed in the fires at Kringla!"

"And you! Ugly woman!" Njall shouted, pointing at another man. "Who do you fight for?"

The man looked to either side and not seeing any ugly women, stepped forward. "My daughters. They are back at camp, too young to fight. Too young for any of this. I fight for them."

"Yes! And you! Lady warrior with small head!" Njall pointed at Anja.

Anja stepped forward raising her sword. "I fight for my brother, Tokki. Orphaned by Katla a decade ago, nearly crushed outside Fjallabak, nearly drowned in Swan Lake. I fight for my brother!"

"Good," said Njall, bobbing his head and smiling. Bog myrtle spittle glistened in his beard. "Njall fight for you. All of you. But especially you, ugly woman."

Three votes, I mean cheers for Njall!

We thank you :)