II - THE HARPS FALL SILENT #4

As they circled the temple, smiles spread across the countenances of the ten.

It was the first time they had illuminated the interior, and the effect of the coloured stained-glass windows, in harmony with the sandblasted stone and oak wood, was a feast for the eyes that filled their hearts with calm.

As soon as they entered, Owin hastened to set down the articles he bore, that he might lead the rite.

They would slay a deer, to bathe in and drink its blood, and thereafter offer its flesh unto the ravens.

He was further charged with arraying Narg in a red tunic with gold trim and adjusting his crown whilst he brushed back his grey hair.

In every corner of the temple stood a golden brazier to generate heat, wherein rue was burned to purify the souls and quiet the mind. Thus, the clamour of the people’s voices turned to a murmur, and when silence took hold, Narg stood in the midst of the sacrificial pyre.

'Frey, the offering shall be delivered unto thee.

Odín, riches have been laid up in thy name; what more could ye ask of your servant?

Ye have rewarded me with the joys of blood, and I have answered with fealty.

I ask only this of ye, vengeful and mighty gods,' he said, raising his hands above his head, 'to Tyr: suffer us to live and enjoy the rewards; protect our lives until the hour we knock upon the gates of Valhalla. '

Narg bowed his head and made way for Owin. Into a vase of crystal-clear water, he cast a handful of salt that fizzed, and prayed.

' Yhjom ljdeusom fëäjkänn söëckëd vahoa [1] .'

He dipped his fingers in the water and passed it first to the king, who imitated him, and then to the rest. Narg turned to watch Cheas, his most skilled warrior, who was playing with the sacrificial dagger.

He would toss it into the air with one hand and catch it with the other, then throw it again, repeating the action ad nauseam.

The king smiled and, with a subtle nod, requested that it be handed to him.

He raised his hand and Bartón placed the deer upon the sacrificial rock.

As the ritual dictated, upon the slaughter of the offering, all those present were to drink and dip their wrists in the spilled blood.

Narg dipped the blade into a fermented concoction of herbs that gave forth a pleasant scent of mint, apple blossom and chestnut wood.

He did this to purify the metal, which had been contaminated by the forge during its making, and then, in a loud voice, he uttered certain words before proceeding to behead the creature:

' Näjkööm tëlëmköm narkuurjm fuälm, sjëoälshe umjversydjshe oheduski ja späonëdksja uäsjökja vauraukkaa [2] .'

The dagger glided across the deer’s neck, softly and gently.

The warm blood gushed forth and bathed Narg’s hands.

The animal made no sound, neither did it stir any of its limbs, surrendered, as if it had offered itself willingly.

Gwion squeezed his eyes shut; countless souls had been extinguished by his own hands, yet seeing death present itself with such majesty filled his soul with admiration.

Arwel brought forward a vessel containing mead to be mixed with the flowing blood.

Narg took a sip and passed it on to share, first with his troop and grandmother, and then with the rest of those present.

The concoction passed from hand to hand, from mouth to mouth, until it reached Owin, who drank.

Then came Cheas; as he swallowed, he grimaced, feeling every step as the warm liquid, with its fermented and metallic flavours, spread deep into his body.

Next it was Gregor’s turn, but just as Windar placed her thin lips on the vessel, before they could touch it, a crackling sound from the heavens interrupted her.

Through the stained-glass windows surrounding the temple, a yellowish glow illuminated the interior.

The festive murmur of those present fell silent.

Alert and expectant, they remained so for a few moments until a colossal roar caused everything to shake—the floor, the walls and the benches.

The contents of the cup spilled forth, flowing like a river of blood between the timbers, and a cloud of dust fell from the ceiling.

A bolt of lightning had struck the vaulted ceiling: fire, smoke and panic took hold of the ceremony.

Collapse was imminent; the tongues of flame descended like claws reaching out to devour everything in their path.

They activated the protective protocol, and Narg found himself surrounded by his eight elite warriors, who shielded his body with shields and cloaks.

Thus, as a single mass, they escorted him to safety through the main door.

It was Gregor and Bartón who surveyed the environs, followed by a line of knights, to confirm that this was not an enemy assault. They beheld the starry firmament, without a single cloud to darken the heavens or give token of a storm.

The clamour that engulfed Old Minister shook the very souls of those present. The festive songs ceased. The harps fell silent, and with them the voices of the minstrels. The temple collapsed at their feet, reduced to wooden rubble—as though mocking the memory of its former majesty.

Without wasting any time, Gwion, Cheas and Owin formed a barricade to push the diners back several metres. They intended not only to keep them safe but, in the event that it had been an attack, to keep the king isolated and protected.

Something caught Maed’s attention. He made his way through the timber and metal, the fire, glass and smoke, until he came to a halt before the beam that formed the main pillar of the structure: it was intact and stood stoically.

He removed the gauntlet from his hand to run his fingertips over a deeply carved mark.

Then he brought his nose close and sniffed the black crevice, which smelled of hot embers.

Narg, covered in dust and smoke, dizzy, was gazing at the rubble when the twinge, without striking, kicked the door. Bent double, gasping for air and with blurred vision, he remained as he rubbed the scar on the left side of his forehead.

Kuopio and Arwel escorted him, nigh carrying him, towards the castle, up the stairs, unto the royal chamber.

The rest set about distracting the guests, without uttering a word, yet sadness and fear were plain upon their faces.

The strongest warriors known to man, who had looked death in the eye without flinching, battle after battle—those who had never feared their enemies, were terrified.

They knew the gods were unforgiving and that they would surely suffer their wrath. But why?