Rannveig and her Sisters: Ignition

The last akhsh of fallen leaves blew with the cold, wet wind. Dakhsh Nedsahl Lor Rakhash, the Time of Lingonberries and Honey, was approaching. The trees were drunk with rainwater and blackened in their trunks, while their crowns were clothed in blood, copper and gold. The whispering of leaves echoed the rustling of branches, creating an ear-pleasing cacophony. The air, heavy with moisture and the fragrance of the close death of all living things, blanketed her skin, soaked into her clothes, and drew in her breath, intoxicating, enchanting, maddening. Everything was in this symphony: rotting leaves that had bloomed during the long warm ahsh, water brown from algae, blood caked on her hands, the salt of tears and the bitterness of her own conscience. Her whole body was shivering. She tried to keep up with her companion, but she couldn’t let go of the feeling. It clutched at her throat and needled its way into the depths of her heart. It squeezed her chest like a python and tangled her legs. Fear of self and guilt. In the glassy eyes, there she was, the woman with hair the color of pure silver, with a voice like the rustling of leaves, with blood the color of night. A palm on which lay an eye the color of amethyst. An eye socket oozing blood. An offer that somehow was impossible to refuse. To know more. The Truth. Her hands, still scarlet with blood, clenched convulsively into fists with a dead grip. She had taken it. Accepted the Silver Woman’s gift. Somewhere inside, it was like being doused with ice water at the realization of one simple fact. She swallowed it. She swallowed the Silver Woman’s eye. Her lip twitched in a tic and her breath hitched. The salt and iron of black blood still echoed somewhere on her tongue, mingling with the stupefying odors of the damp forest. She knew little of who she was or where she was going. The unknown was even more frightening than what had happened. She knew only her name, but no more. Rannveig. That was what it was. Raspy and red as the dawn, a name quite the opposite of that fear of the unknown, looming like an evil doom. Loud and triumphant, quite different from the ghost of the man seen in the reflection of the water. She stopped, staring into the dark water where the reflection was a white blur. In the murky mirror of the river was reflected a girl who had recently become an adult, but different, that was for sure. The thinness, unnatural, unhealthy, was not to her liking. Her sunken cheeks, chin, and cheekbones, as if carved from stone, sharp and thin as the edges of a crystal, her high straight forehead and humped nose made her look like a strange bird. Her arms and legs were long as ropes, her body equally elongated, almost devoid of any sign that she was a woman, and her eyes. Empty, white as ash eyes stared pensively at the water surface. The four pupils in her left eye seemed to gleam with fire, but somewhere deep inside, so far away that this light could be mistaken for a flicker. Rannveig sighed and continued walking through the shallows behind the man who led her forward. The light of the new akhsh was dawning over the black river. Somewhere far away, beyond the trees, the first light of day was breaking. The blue night sky was turning lilac, and somewhere in the distance, a crimson fringe was beginning to appear, marking the arrival of the new ahsh. Galn, the Lady of Daylight, opened her glowing scarlet eye, its three pupils burning like three blazing suns, painting the world in its familiar colors. The coastal waves rustled quietly, the cicadas finished their chirping. Everything around them seemed to have died and been reborn in anticipation of the arrival of the akhsh. Therefore, they walked towards the awakening and the light, walked forward into the blazing embrace of dawn. The mud underfoot sizzled quietly and stained the shoes. The soles of their feet slipped on the mossy stones, making it harder to walk. The black waters of Tiernan licked their boots, the tall coastal grass clung to the beautiful cloak of Rannveig’s companion, and the willow branches whispered passionately, intertwining with each other in a dance in the wind. Of course, it is hard to say who or what the one who accompanied Rannveig on her journey was. The Silver Woman called him Birn and said she was giving him as a gift. His cloak, embroidered with malachite and golden oak leaves, rustled quietly and his boots creaked. A shadow, dense and smoky, wrapped around his face as if in a kiss. Tall and proud, the young man walked through the mist along the river. Each step was echoed by the soft sludge in which the soles of his tall boots sank. He was leaning on a long spear, the tip of which was carved from bone and to the shaft was tied a black ribbon with raven feathers sewn into it. Rannveig did not know his face, nor did she hear his voice. She only knew that this man was a servant of the Silver Woman. One might say that Rannveig knew nothing at all but her own name. But how? How did it come to be that complete strangers were going to an unknown destination? Why did Rannveig accept the gift of the Silver Woman? And what Truth had she learned by swallowing her amethyst eye? *** Darkness. It surrounded Rannveig as she awoke on her bed of stone. The damp stone, the raw, musty air, the droplets falling into the hollow floor. The thin shell of limestone that had hidden her from the eyes of all living had burst.She awoke and lay in the darkness, not knowing what to do or how to be. Not knowing if there was anything at all outside the stone vaults and the void. It was strange to lie there and feel nothing, staring into the impenetrable darkness, thinking about nothing and everything.There is truth in the saying that when there is no past, there is nothing to expect from the future. No emotions, no memories, nothing. Not even hunger and thirst. The eternity of silence and darkness in the stone that served as a tomb was bound to be broken, she just did not know when or by whom. All she could do was close her eyes and wait for the stone to crack open and reveal the world beyond. *** “Rannveig,” a woman’s voice broke the emptiness and silence. - Rannveig, who sleeps in the veil of shadows… Rejoice, you have been found.” She froze at the sound of the voice in the void. Just an apparition, an illusion. And then a sound. Knocking, cracking, rumbling, dust and rocks. Air. The coolness of the fresh night air enveloped her.Rannveig sat up, raised her head, and inhaled it greedily.It was the smell of freedom, of the world that surrounded her stone cocoon. The girl opened her eyes for the first time, and the first thing she saw was the night sky, and in it… A wide-open round eye with two pupils gazed up at her, emitting a faint light. It illuminated her and the place where she had woken up and lay for too long to tell for sure. Rannveig leaned on her elbows and lifted herself up. Small stone chips rolled from her chest to the ground and fell, resounding in the silence of the night.The girl rose slowly, leaning on the cracked halves of the boulder. Her legs barely held her up, her back buckling under her own body, her head pulling her to the ground, her muscles whimpering and almost disobeying. The story probably could have ended right there, in the depths of the dark forest where she woke up, if it weren’t for the silent shadows that roamed the forest.They danced with every gust of wind, whispered in the crowns of the trees, fluttered with butterflies to their Lady with news. And in the darkest hour, when the eye in the heavens was hidden behind the mountain, the shadows opened, and out of them came She. The Silver Woman and her retinue. She was a tall woman, frozen somewhere between youth and maturity. It was impossible to tell exactly how much edahsh lurked behind her smooth elven face and serene half-smile. She was quiet and supple, like a calm river, for all her height, she was not without grace. The amethysts of her feline eyes shone like stars, her thin lips curved into a smirk, moving slightly as if whispering something. Her hair, the color of milk and ash, was loose, the wind playing in it, tangling the strands together in a careless dance. Her long, pointed ears were adorned with a multitude of earrings. Pure shadow cloaked her shoulders, oozing from her every step like blood from a fresh cut.The darkness immediately dissolved as soon as her foot lifted off the ground, to immediately reappear after another contact with the ground. She glided through the grass as if not touching it, the fallen leaves did not crunch under her steps, the earth soft with moisture did not crumple, and the morning dew did not quiver on the branches of the trees. Seven silhouettes followed silently behind her, hidden beneath cloaks and masks, barely recognizable in the darkness of the night.Fighting weakness, Rannveig stared at the Silver Woman and the creatures that were her entourage as if they were an obsession.Somewhere deep in her chest, she felt something squeezing her ribs, making it even harder to breathe. The coldness of those violet eyes looked through her, seeing her emptiness, weakness, and helplessness. “'Indeed beautiful, ' her voice was enchanting, as if every word was an incantation. — Greetings to you, Rannveig. Your sleep has been long, far too long indeed.” The Silver Woman approached the girl and covered her with her cloak swirling with shadows. “Saah’Vaakhsh, Rann’Vaegh,” she whispered along with the leaves. — Remember the burden. This is how we greet our kind.” The sounds caught in Rann’Vaegh’s throat.It was warm in the shadow of the Silver Mistress’s cover, and the weakness of her muscles seemed to recede. She only wheezed, unable to utter a sound, unable to understand anything. She wanted to get up, wanted to say something, but the darkness was a thick blanket, as if preventing her from doing so. “Hush, Sister, hush,” her thin, cold fingers slid down Rannveig’s cheek. — You’re too weak to do anything. You are lucky to be here, for I know who you are.But I haven’t had time to introduce myself to you. My name is Shandorna. I have dominion over darkness and shadows.” Rannveig held her breath; she finally realized what feeling had gripped her entire being. It was fear. — You,” Rannveig exhaled. — Are you going to kill me? — Of course not, oh foolish child,” Shandorna laughed softly, as if someone had told her a silly joke. — I came to give you a gift. You want to see the world around you, don’t you? Do you wish to know the Truth? The Silver Mistress tilted her head slightly, still smiling. Rannveig was breathing heavily. She realized what the rejection would portend for her. - So I wish,” Rannveig replied frantically, meeting Shandorna’s gaze. — Then accept my gift, Sister,” the Lady of Shadows said with tenderness in her voice. She moved slightly away from Rannveig and brought her palm up to her face. The smile disappeared from her thin lips as she dug her fingers into her left eye and tugged sharply. She cried out as if she wasn’t prepared for what she had just done. Dark hot blood oozed from the empty black eye socket, flowing down her silvery cheeks like tears. A fine shiver ran in waves through her body, and the remaining right eye was covered in tears. Shandorna held out the torn eye. Lifeless and still warm, it stared out of her palm into the void. “This is the price of truth,” she whispered.- Taste my eye, Child, to find yourself in this cruel world. It is a small price to taste all the delights of life.Accept my gift, oh sweet Rann’Vaegh.” A strange feeling swept over Rann’Vaegh.Somewhere far inside, in the farthest depths of her thoughts, she was seized with a mad desire to snatch the eye from the Silver Woman’s hands and swallow it.Rannveig was both horrified and attracted by the thought. It was a small price to pay to realize what kind of world surrounded her, wasn’t it? Her throat itched as if it were being torn from within by this terrible and animalistic lust for flesh. The Lady of Shadows, still fighting the pain, curved her lips in a semblance of a smile, “Let me help you make the right choice, Child.” With inhuman speed, her hand slid to her face and grabbed her under the chin. Her fingers clamped down on the jaw joint, forcing Rannveig’s mouth open. There was almost no strength to fight back, and weak attempts to do so did nothing — the grip didn’t loosen in the slightest. And so the Silver Woman brought her hand up and put her eye into Rannveig’s open mouth. The glandular taste and smell of blood filled all her thoughts, drove her mad, frightened her with its animal attraction. It was scary to think, because her thoughts converged on one point — she wanted to know the Truth, wanted to live, wanted to swallow that eye. Overcoming all her humanity, Rannveig closed her jaws, crushed the eye with her teeth, and swallowed it. The girl was pounding with overexcitement. The Silver Mistress' arms closed around Rannveig’s shoulders in an iron shackle of an embrace. The girl was shaking with terror and incomprehension. Her whole body tensed, pain piercing her whole being, everything around her blended and disappeared. The world suddenly erupted, dispelling the thick shadow of the cloak that hid them from the others.Rannveig felt the blood boiling in her veins. Her muscles filled with strength and her thoughts with knowledge.She saw everything and nothing, heard the hum and the silence.Her gaze stopped on Shandorna’s face, whose calmness was still frightening. “And where is it, the Truth?” — Rannveig whispered, finding the strength to say something. She felt like the weakness had left her and now she would be able to both sit up and stand up, even run. Shandorna only nodded, opening the ring of her hands. She stood up, making a quick gesture with her right hand. Two of the seven approached her, nodded, and then walked over to Rannveig. They placed a stack of neatly folded clothes, a bag, and a knife enclosed in a leather scabbard beside her. “The truth is, my sweet Rannveig, that Truth can only be learned by paying its price. And I will help you in this difficult endeavor. Birn, come to me,” Shandorna said longingly. Her low voice tinkled in the night dewdrops. — I entrust our new acquaintance to you. Protect her when circumstances require it, help her when she needs it, and do not abandon her even when this world comes down upon us in all its fury.” One of the shadows that was taller than the rest floated up to the rock where Rannveig was sitting and froze beside the split boulder. It was a man, his face concealed by a mask, and behind his back lay a cloak. In his hand was a spear decorated with feathers and ribbons. “We will meet again when you have settled in better here.My loyal servant will lead you down the road that each of us traveled before rising to prominence.In the meantime… For now, I will bid you farewell, my dear Sister. Rest and regain your strength, you have a long journey ahead of you across our cursed land,” the Silver Mistress wiped away the “tears” that had gathered with the back of her hand. At the stroke of her chiseled hand, Rannveig’s mind seemed to fade away, and everything she had just seen was nothing more than a vision. Only a warmth somewhere in her lower abdomen reminded her that it was not a dream, that she had accepted the Silver Mistress' gift. Her amethyst eye. *** And now she was following the stranger that had been given to her as her guardian, walking along the black river, the sky, purple from dawn, rising above them, lending the world its first rays of warmth. Ahead towered a boulder that could not be avoided from the shore. Birn waded knee-deep into the icy water of the river. Rannveig followed him. The coldness of the water sobered the mind, forced it to let go of thoughts of what had happened and what was to come. There was only the way forward that could lead her to knowledge and truth. Twenty paces away from them stood a lone willow tree with a boat tied to its trunk. Birn stepped out onto the stony bank and walked to the trunk of the tree, beginning to untie the chisel. Rannveig stepped closer to the craft. It was a small chiseled or birch bark-covered boat, small, but it could hold two people. Handling the rope, her companion grabbed the side of the boat and pushed it from the shore into the water.The girl went into the water and from there climbed aboard. Birn pushed the boat a little farther and then jumped on the bow. Inside was a long pole, which Rannveig held out to her ward. The boat sailed silently across the black water, and occasionally the pole with which Birn steered made a thud against the wooden side. The last songs of the night birds were beginning to fade in the forest, and the morning trills of thrushes, jays, chickadees, and woodpeckers filled the air. The fog over the river had almost melted away, revealing another shore, darker and mossier than the one along which Rannveig and Birn had traveled. In the sky, which was already beginning to turn blue, swifts flew in small flocks of sickles. They flew where it was warm, where snow and hunger would not reach them. Rannveig was silent, sitting in the stern. She dipped her hand into the cold river water. They reached the middle of the river, which made it a little cooler. Rannveig wrapped herself in a thin cloak of felt, but it was of little use. The dampness was creeping under her skin and cold needles were digging into her bones, so she could only shiver and wait for the air to warm up enough. Birn put the pole into the boat and sat silently on the opposite side. He was still silent. The current was carrying them slowly downward, and they could save their strength for the journey ahead. So what was the Truth behind the vile and inhuman ritual that took place under the shadow of Nalg? What lies at the heart of all that is going on? Who is the Silver Mistress? Who or what is she herself? This tormented Rannveig, and even the calm of this morning could not dispel her questions that swirled in her mind. Rannveig’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, piercing pain in her sternum. She looked down, feeling as if she could neither inhale nor exhale. The bone spear had thrust its entire tip into her, and if it hadn’t pierced her through, it had certainly cut into her lung. Blood rose up her throat with every attempt to take a breath. In a weak impulse to save her life, she tried to pull the weapon out, but it was to no avail, she only coughed and realized she was choking on her own blood. “I’m sorry, Lady Rannveig,” she heard a whisper through her half-swoon. — But it is the only way to know the full horror of the truth that surrounds you.” Birn ripped the spear from her chest. Blood flooded the bottom of the boat, and Rannveig’s helpless wheezing echoed the rustling of the reeds in the nearby backwater. He lifted her limp body and threw her with force into the black waters of the wide river. The splash rumbled through the morning forest, and the icy waves closed over the body as it began to sink. Rannveig felt the river pull her down, into the depths, to the bottom. But somehow she was not afraid now. Everything was gone with the coldness of the waters, with the silence and the last ray of light visible from beneath the water. Birn hung over the side of the boat. He stuck his pole into the ground, holding the boat like an anchor. The waters calmed and quieted. Birn waited, gazing into the depths of the river. A frightening silence fell, and he realized his Mistress had not been wrong to give her gift to this girl. They were indeed Sisters. The water surged and churned, and then burst into flames, as if someone had hidden a most fierce fire in the depths. The flames rose above the river, and puffs of vapor littered the bubbling river. Rannveig opened her eyes.