Ilkemyr, 7th of Ýlir, 1118 A.C.
"Atla!"
She could sense her husband's irritation and his eyes following her as she crossed through the small house, but Atla didn't stop or hesitate.
Her decision had been made.
She would not stand by and watch her child die.
That was that.
"Atla, it's too dangerous —"
She skidded to a stop, turning around herself just as he crashed through the sitting room after her, footsteps heavy and features set in fury. "Do you truly believe I care how dangerous it is, Taron?" Atla sizzled, voice clipped. "She is only five winters and, if we stay here and do nothing, she will die before she turns six."
Taron's eyes narrowed. "And do you think she will survive the travel up north to meet this Seid-weaver you're not even sure is real?"
With features sharpened by experience, a body hardened and lean from years lived in the cold amid clashing hammers and swords, Taron was a man carved from stone. He had hair of the darkest brown, peppered with gray, slicked back from a face nicked with scars from old fights and battles. The lines in his forehead and around his eyes told of his hardships, but not of defeat. Instead, he had the thick hands of a craftsman and the calloused fingers of a hunter to depict the tales of his life. Each knuckle bore a scar or a cut that told a story of work and struggle. A proud warrior with skin the color of a decaying leaf, as strong and powerful as the bark of an ancient oak. His voice was like the crunch of ice and snow underfoot, but even though she was angry at him at the moment, she could see past the harsh exterior into the man she'd loved for winters gone and even more winters to come.
Though he was being unreasonable.
Atla put a hand to the bridge of her nose, trying not to lose her patience even if she knew his words came not from true carelessness but from worry. He, too, didn't want to lose their child, but where his desperation drove him to appreciate what could be her last days, Atla's led her to seek the impossible at whatever cost needed.
Whatever it took.
She breathed in deep. "She is real." Her voice lowered as emotion squeezed like a hand around her throat. "I haven't just heard tales of her. I have seen her myself when I was a young child." Atla's eyes glinted with belief, her faith unshaken by Taron's fear. "My own parents begged her for help when my brother fell ill and she saved him. I wasn't sure if she would still be in the north after so long. Or if she was alive, even…" Atla caught herself, running a hand through her hair as she drew in a breath. "But everything seems to point that she is, still."
Taron exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging. "And what of the dangers that lie ahead? If she lives as far north as you say, there is more to worry about than making the journey. It will take us three days to get there. And the Seid-weaver, whoever she may be, may not even be able to help us."
Atla squared her shoulders, determination etched into every line of her body. "I am willing to face any danger and take any risk if it means saving our daughter. And as for the Seid-weaver, we will never know if we do not try." She took a step towards Taron, her eyes fixed on his as her hands landed on his chest in the sort of silent prayer that'd steered them through many dark, dangerous situations. "Taron, this is our only chance. Her heart will not withstand much longer, and I need you to come with me."
Taron hesitated. "Atla," his voice was soft as he spoke her name, reaching around her waist and pulling her to his embrace and the warmth of his chest. His hands caressed her small frame as her long, golden hair cascaded down her back and an itch suddenly started in Taron's chest as the thought of the future they were committing themselves to crossed his mind. "You know the King will have my head if we do this."
"He will have both our heads."
"He will kill us," Taron agreed. "He will demand my presence and if I don't comply, he will come for us and the madness of war might drive him to think it treason when I don't."
"You are one of the most skilled warriors in the kingdom," Atla agreed, eyes gleaming. "But he can't afford the time or resources to hunt us down."
"That is true." Taron dipped his chin to gaze at her brown eyes, which glinted with conviction, even in the face of fear and doubt. "Are you sure?" His voice was a baited breath in the air between them.
Atla's expression hardened. "I am sure," she said, her voice unwavering, her hands fisting at the tunic on his chest. "I would defy anyone, even the King himself, to save our daughter's life."
Taron's chest tightened at the thought of his child's fragile heartbeat. The pain of losing their unborn child, even years past, was still raw, still searing. He could not bear to lose another — especially not one he'd watched be born and grow into such a beautiful young girl. His fingers tightened instinctively around Atla's waist, as if to anchor them both together. "I will come with you," he said finally, voice gruff. "But we must be careful. We cannot be seen, and we cannot leave any trace. We must make haste, for her sake. And ours."
Atla gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you." She laid a kiss on his lips. "I have her things already packed. We leave tonight, under the cover of darkness. We will travel light, and fast, with as little rest as possible."
Taron nodded, and Atla could immediately see his mind already racing with plans and contingencies. "I will pack our things. We cannot take much, but we must take enough to survive the journey and to give her the minimum of comfort."
Atla nodded. "And I will write a letter to leave behind, explaining everything, should anything happen to us on the way."
She was a remarkable woman.
Her body was lean and muscular, her stance conveying her strength and determination. Atla's skin was a warm cocoa color, her touch soothing and comforting. Her movements were graceful and sure, never hesitating in her steps or words. She had a comforting energy that radiated from her, inviting others to rely on her. She moved with purposeful, confident strides, each step as steady as the next.
Truly, he'd married well.
Taron's jaw tightened. "Nothing will happen to us," he declared, his voice firm with determination. "And no harm will come to our daughter. We will make it to our destination, and we will ensure her survival."
Atla leaned in, pressing her lips to Taron's in a fierce, desperate kiss. It was a kiss filled with love and fear and hope, a kiss that spoke of a future that might never be. Taron held her close, their bodies pressed together, as if they were trying to meld into one. They broke apart only when the need for air became too great, but they remained intertwined, their foreheads resting against each other's as they breathed heavily.
"I love you," Taron whispered, his lips brushing against Atla's.
"I love you, too," she replied, her fingers tangling in his hair as she held him close.
They stayed that way for a few more moments, wrapped up in each other's arms, before Atla pulled away with a sigh. "I will go wake her up and get her ready," she said, her voice heavy with regret. "We cannot delay any longer."
Taron nodded, a sense of foreboding settling heavily in his chest.
He knew they were risking everything by leaving when the King's orders had been for every healthy man to be drafted to fight against the beasts alongside the King's army, but he couldn't ignore the desperate need to save their daughter. He would do anything to protect her, even if it meant going against the King.
She deserved that.
As Atla left the room, Taron's mind was already spinning with thoughts of the journey ahead. They would have to be careful and avoid any settlements that might be under the King's control. As he watched Atla leave the room, he packed enough supplies to sustain them for a few days, but decided that it would be best if they hunted for food as they traveled. Taron was confident in his skills as a hunter, but the real challenge would be staying hidden from the King's forces. Supposing they managed to leave the city unnoticed, there was no telling what he might encounter on the road. He knew that if they were seen or reported, their fate would be sealed.
He paced the room for a few minutes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. It was risky, what they were doing, but there was no other choice.
They had to save their daughter at all costs.
Taron's hand shook as he reached for the rug-bag Atla had made for long journey's such as this one, stuffing it with the bare essentials. He had to be careful, so he didn't pack anything that would weigh them down.
On the other side of the small house, Atla slowly pushed the door to her child's room open.
Katarina was lying on her left side, her hands curled under her chin with the thick blanket thrown over her leaving only her mane of curly, fiery red hair — that Atla had no idea how or from whom she'd inherited — and her face visible from underneath. Still, when Atla knelt by the bed's side and reached her hands beneath the bedclothes, her small — too small for her age — body was as cold as the snow outside.
"My sweet blóma," she whispered, her lips touching the girl's forehead gently. "It's time to wake up. I know you're tired and sleepy, but we're going to meet someone who can help you."
At her words, her child's bleary eyes opened.
Even if Atla could forever remember the color of those eyes, she would never stop being mesmerized by them.
In the darkness, they were a light silver, but as Kat blinked to clear up the fog of sleep and a ray of moonlight struck them, Atla saw irises like the top of a tree, punctuated by the fact that her eyes were round and slanted with long, dark lashes that fanned the top of her fair cheeks as she blinked. As she stared, they shimmered in the moonlight, always reminding Atla of an old oak tree halfway into the fall season, the perfect blend between the dark ochre of its bark, the olive of its leaves reflecting off the glow of the sun.
Atla's eyes widened as she took in the sight before her.
Thousands of the tiny twinkling stars that filled the sky gave off a gentle glow that illuminated the girl's face and cast a peaceful atmosphere over her. No matter how much she tried to focus on something else, Atla's gaze drifted back to the magical little creature that brought a calming warmth to her soul. Even as a child, whenever Atla felt worried or stressed, Kat would open her hazel eyes and all would be right in her mother's world. It was like her stare alone could put the world back on its hinges, spinning all problems and spiraling all worries into place. As a newborn, Kat was the single most observant child Atla had ever seen. She'd stare at her mother's eyes for hours before she fell asleep after being fed. On other days, she'd turn her gaze to the sky and stare at the stars and the moon for an eternity before her lashes gave in to exhaustion. Some nights, she'd wake from sleep in the middle of the night and rustle at the moon above her instead of crying for her mother.
Sometimes, Atla swore she took more comfort in the moon up in the sky than she did in her own mother.
And while that confused her, it never bothered her.
She'd never understood how the child had ever been capable of such a feat — why her gaze carried such wisdom and peace —, but whatever reason there was, it had been born with her. As a believer, Atla took comfort in the peaceful atmosphere Kat carried around her, as if she'd been graced with it by the gods upon her birth as a sign of their protection.
Atla chose to believe it was a blessing.
How could it not be?
Nothing cursed would feel so blissful, would it?
"Did you sleep well?"
Kat nodded. "I was having a good dream."
"Really?" Atla couldn't contain the surprise from her voice. "What about?"
Kat yawned. "The wolf."
"The wolf?" Atla's brows furrowed as she repeated the odd words. She'd heard Kat talk about dreaming about animals — many of which were not real — many times, but never specifically one wolf. "Have you ever seen a wolf?"
"No." She flopped her long hair behind one tiny shoulder as she struggled to sit. "But I dream about one all the time. He's big and all white. He protects me."
"Oh…" Atla whispered, not being aware that Kat dreamed so often of this creature she seemed to already know so deeply as if it was real.
But if her dreams were to be taken into account, then what did they mean?
"Where are we going, Mother?" Kat's voice was soft in the silence of the night, and it carried a curious yet calming rhythm. Her words came with an air of innocence, and her tone was gentle but determined, a curious mix between a child's enthusiasm and adult-like intelligence.
Atla's brain detached from her thoughts. "We're going to meet someone who can help you," Atla repeated, stroking her daughter's hair, her fingers moving in gentle circles. "She's a wise woman and she will know how to help your heart."
Kat's lip curled. "But she won't heal me."
It wasn't a question.
Atla took a deep breath as tears filled her eyes and her weak heart demanded her to not answer truthfully because she couldn't bring herself to say whatever hopes she had for what the Seid-weaver could do for her daughter, lest the disappointment would be too great. "Does it hurt, now?"
Kat looked up at her mother, her dark eyes wide with understanding. "A little," she said softly. "But not too much. I'm just cold."
Kat had been born with a heart illness. Throughout her years of life, no medicine had been able to heal her and no science had been able to explain why she was born the way she had. The smallest of efforts exhausted her, her heart beat at a much slower rate than normal and her extremities had an ever-present tinge of blue. Talking for too long or walking too fast made her extremely sleepy and sometimes she'd get chest pains that incapacitated her completely. She'd even fainted a few times, losing consciousness completely for seconds or minutes at a time.
Atla nodded, her heart aching with the knowledge of her daughter's pain. She wanted nothing more than to take it all away and keep her safe from harm, but she knew that this was beyond her control. As much as she wished it wasn't so, there was a bigger force at play here.
A force that she couldn't fight alone.
"We'll get through this together," Atla whispered, wiping away a tear from her cheek as she helped the child sit on the bed. "But we need to be strong, okay?" She took a deep breath and stood up from the bed, her eyes moving to the wooden doors of the dresser behind her.
"Is it far away?"
Atla furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"
"This woman we're going to meet. Does she live far away?"
Atla nodded grimly. "A little." She pushed curls away from Kat's face. "It's up north. It'll take a few days to get there."
"Is Father coming, too?"
"Of course," Atla smiled. "He's getting our things ready for the journey."
Kat's face lifted to the window on the side of her bed.
Ever since she'd been a child, she'd always loved to fall asleep watching the moon high up in the sky. As a baby, Atla would often take her outside, bundled up in blankets, after breastfeeding her, and gently lullaby her to sleep on the front step of the house with only the moonlight to see her child's beautiful eyes with. She remembered quite clearly how, even then, Kat would most often blink at the moon for hours, at times, until she finally drifted off to sleep in Atla's arms.
"We're leaving now?"
Atla didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to tell her the truth, either, so she turned away, heading for the dresser. "Let's get you dressed. We have a long journey ahead of us and you need to be warm for the snow."
Kat nodded, a determined look on her face. "I'll be fine, Mother," she whispered calmly as she sat up in the bed and pulled the thick blanket around her shoulders with a shiver of her small body.
Atla smiled, feeling a sense of pride in her daughter's bravery. Katarina was brave beyond her years, and Atla knew that she would survive.
She had to.
Silently, Atla helped her daughter out of bed and into her warmest clothes, making sure to bundle her up tightly against the cold.
When Kat was fully dressed in a tunic, pants, coat, overcoat, and a top fur-layer cape, Atla knelt by her daughter and gently cupped her cheeks. "I am very proud of you, my blóma."
The girl giggled gently, a cough ending the rich sound that made Atla's heart ricochet against the walls of her ribcage. "I know."
Atla couldn't help but smile at her daughter's response, despite the serious situation they were in. She was proud of the fearless spirit that Kat possessed and was determined to protect her at any cost. Atla stroked her daughter's hair once more and stood up, taking her daughter's hand in hers.
She was a most beautiful blóma, indeed, Atla noticed once more.
The little girl's eyes were large and round, but those two hazel lanterns were stark on her young face. When she looked at another person, it felt like she could see right through those she gazed upon. It was almost as though she knew everything about the other person, and there wasn't anything about which she didn't know something. She was a petite force of nature, her slight form belying an inner strength that made her respected by everyone who knew her. Her hair was long, as red as a fire, only curled at the ends by the weight of its length, though wavy all around. Her skin was pale and delicate, yet it held a sickly glow that had grown more potent over time as if she were cursed with an ever-growing corruption from within.
In the past few months, Kat's illness had become increasingly apparent and Atla knew that it was only going to get worse.
Every day it seemed like more of her youthfulness drained away, until even her spirit seeped out of her everyday actions like smoke in the wind.
But despite all of this, Katarina still clung to life with fierce determination.
She'd fight and she'd win over this illness that plagued her since birth.
Atla embraced Kat tightly before gathering up the necessary supplies they needed for their journey — food and water, blankets and clothes, a small cooking pot, and ingredients for healing potions. She packed them into a large burlap sack which rested on her back as she moved through the room.
She looked down upon Kat who walked ahead of her with such grace and poise that misrepresented any sense of her suffering — she was a power made to manifest regardless of what was happening to her body. She felt proud that such strong courage rested within her daughter's small frame — a reminder to herself that no matter how difficult things may seem right now, there was always hope hidden somewhere amidst even the darkest of paths.
"Let's go," she said softly as they made their way out of the bedroom.
As they walked out of the simple bed chamber, Atla felt a shiver run down her spine. But her daughter's hand in hers brought her a sense of comfort and warmth that she desperately needed.
They slipped out of the house quietly, mindful of any creaking floorboards.
"She's ready," Atla said softly to Taron, who awaited them on the snow, with two horses saddled and loaded with the old, teetered rug bag Atla had made before she'd gotten married and three other fabric pouches holding their most important belongings.
"There she is, my princess," Taron mused in a low voice, kneeling as the little girl padded her way into her father's arms, giggling as he picked her up and mounted her on the black horse — a male, stronger and broader enough to carry the child plus an adult.
Atla followed his movement, her hand on his back, offering silent support. "It's better if she rides with you," Atla gently offered.
With a look over his shoulder, as he settled Kat atop the horse's back, which neighed gently as it turned his head toward Taron's shoulder and bumped it slowly, Taron nodded at his wife wordlessly. "Ready for an adventure, blóma?" Taron asked.
The little girl's heart warmed and her cheeks pinked at the old nickname her parents rarely ever used anymore. She smiled a beautiful, shining smile, showing her white teeth. "I'm ready."
Atla mounted the other horse, her heart racing as she realized they were truly leaving, venturing into the unknown.
"Why are we leaving now?" Kat broke the silence, voice quiet.
She'd asked that once before.
"It's safer if no one sees us leave, blóma."
"We'll be back in a few days," Taron replied in a soothing tone, patting the neck of his black steed. The horse snorted and shifted from one foot to another as if sensing the gravity of the situation. "No one will notice we're gone."
Kat doubted that.
It had never escaped anyone's eye that Kat's parents had never stopped searching for a cure for her disease. Where most would have given up by now, they hadn't, because they chose to believe that there was a way that the illness in Kat's heart could be cured, but the fact that they were choosing to leave for such a treacherous journey in the middle of the night was suspicious, to say the least.
Atla flashed a grim smile at Kat before turning to her husband. "We should hurry, though. We don't know what lies on the road ahead. We can't afford to be seen."
Taron nodded in agreement before mounting behind Kat and nudging the horse forward. The black stallion neighed and trotted forward, his hooves crunching softly on the snow-covered terrain.
Atla followed closely behind, the sack bouncing on her mare's back.
Katarina clung to Taron, her tiny hands wrapped around her waist and his arms around the blanket over her shoulders as they rode further away from their home.
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The journey was perilous, with bitter winds and freezing temperatures that seemed to seep into the bones. There were moments when they would have to stop and huddle together for warmth. The wind howled, sending chills down Atla's spine, and she pulled her overcoat tighter around her body, hoping to keep the cold at bay. Taron did his best to hold Katarina close, shielding her from the cold winds that would howl around them.
Despite such, Kat watched with wonder the world around her she'd hardly seen through her few winters of life, her eyes bright like two suns in the dim light.
As they journeyed onward, they passed through thick forests, where they would catch glimpses of woodland creatures darting about in the shadows. The snow was thick and at times, it would come up to their horses' bellies, causing their journey to slow down. Atla would be the first to spot any obstacles in their path, warning her husband to be careful as they made their way through treacherous terrain.
Eventually, their journey became a relentless battle against nature.
But they kept pressing forward, the three of them huddled together for warmth, pushing through the endless white terrain. They would sleep under the stars, their horses huddled together, and their bodies entwined to fight off the bitter cold. Food was scarce, and they subsisted on whatever Taron could catch or forage when they stopped while Atla made a fire for the night.
Something drove them to keep moving, though.
They never looked back, for fear that they might lose sight of their destination, and all that they had sacrificed would be for naught.
***
It took them three days to reach the most northern part of the continent.
On the third day, they saw an approaching settlement in the distance — a towering longhouse atop a steep hill, made of dark wood, gleamed under the pale blue sky, and further above, the steep icebergs rose into the horizon.
They were here.
Taron dismounted his horse, holding Kat's hand tightly. "We've come too far to turn back now," Taron said, his voice firm and resolute. "And we can't turn back, now. We must press forward."
Atla jumped down from her horse, watching them apprehensively. "Let's go."
Kat looked up at her parents, innocent eyes, nodding in agreement.
Atla chewed nervously on her lip, wondering what they might find in the settlement, and after Taron put the girl on the ground, she silently extended a hand to her, making her skitter away into the warmth of her mother's safety. They had been traveling for so long that their hearts were heavy with exhaustion, but as they made their way up the steep hill toward the settlement, a thrill of excitement coursed through them.
As they approached the towering longhouse, they could hear the sound of chanting coming from inside.
The hairs on the back of Atla's neck stood up. She had never been one for superstition, but the sound of the chanting unnerved her.
The longhouse was a long structure, tall and imposing. It'd been built from thick oak and pine logs, a structure that was clearly meant to withstand the elements. There were multiple doors leading in and out, all open, with a central firepit in the middle of the chamber that glowed brightly through the open doors. Its wooden beams were intricately carved with symbols and creatures of ancient lore. Inside, it was filled with fur rugs, carved furniture, and at least a dozen sets of tables and long seats. In the dim light from the fire, Atla could make out the intricate symbols and patterns etched into the walls, carved into the wood. From the open doors, the smell of animal fur, wood smoke, and the earthy scent of soil from the nearby fields clung to the air, hanging heavily in the atmosphere, mixed with the scent of incense and fragrant herbs. However, as she pushed in a long breath, the scent of boiled meat and dried fish wafted through the air as well, a sign that a meal had been shared here not long ago.
Taron took the lead, his sword at the ready, and Kat clung to Atla's hand tightly as she followed closely behind.
As they entered the longhouse, they were met with the sight of a group of cloaked figures gathered in a circle. The chanting grew louder and more urgent as they approached. The cloaked figures were tall and menacing, their faces hidden in shadow. Their cloaks were dark and heavy, almost like a thick mist that hovered around them. There was only one person dressed in a white cloak, stitched with golden thread, and Atla wondered if it was the woman they sought. The people stood in an unbroken circle in front of a tall, oblong dark stone carved with symbols on the far-right side. Each one had their hands clasped together, their heads bowed in prayer. There was a feeling of something ancient and powerful in the air, a presence that Atla could not explain.
Instead, she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
They had no idea what sort of people they were dealing with.
Suddenly, the chanting stopped, and the cloaked figures turned to face them, the fabric of their hoods pulled back to reveal faces of stern intensity.
Atla's heart began to race as she gripped her sword tightly, ready for whatever might come their way. Taron stood tall, his sword gleaming in the dim light of the longhouse.
"What business do you have here?" One of the figures demanded, his voice cold and harsh. Atla could not see their faces, but she could sense the hatred in their words.
"We seek shelter and rest," Taron replied, his voice steady. "Our daughter is ill and we came in search of a woman called Serket. We were told she might be able to help. We have traveled a great distance, and we mean no harm."
The figures looked at each other, their eyes dark and unreadable. Atla knew they were in danger and she tightened her grip on her weapon, ready to defend herself and her family at a moment's notice.
Suddenly, the figure in the center of the group stepped forward, her cloak falling away to reveal an old face, snow-white hair, and a set of piercing blue eyes. Atla's breath caught in her throat as she looked upon her, and she felt a strange stirring in her chest.
Serket.
She'd grown older, but it was her.
"I am Serket," she said, her voice calm and soft as she lifted her arms at her sides. "Welcome to Thorneval. You are safe here and the child will be treated to the best of my abilities, by the Gods' wishes."
Atla and Taron exchanged a relieved glance, thankful to have found the Seid-weaver. They bowed their heads in respect. "Thank you, Serket," Atla graciously intoned, her voice carrying through the longhouse.
"Serket, we cannot keep them here. They will be hunted down by the King of their land. His soldiers will come for them, seeking revenge for their escape," one of the men hissed in a panicked whisper, his voice dripping with doom. His darting eyes flitted through the group of strangers and a look of fear crossed his features. "It will endanger us all. We are placing our lives in danger by harboring them."
The air hung heavy with tension as they contemplated their fate.
Serket spun around to face the man, her eyes narrowed in anger and full of fire. Her lips pressed together and her forehead creased with determination as she fixed him with a fierce glare. "Hadion, I will not have my will questioned, much less that of the Ancient Ones."
The man, Hadion, bowed his head, curtsying. "Questioning you is not my will, Serket. I merely wish to warn you of the consequences of this decision."
"Consequences?" She hissed. "You dare speak to me of consequences, Hadion?"
"You surely can see the outcome of this."
Her sharp eyes sliced the man. "Much clearer than you ever could or ever will."
"Then, why risk it?"
"I can help this child," she said, her voice full of conviction. "If you are suggesting that I be judicious to do that which I have been born to do, then you question both my will and the High Ones' will. I have always refused to be led by fear, Hadion, and you know this."
She was struck by the Seid-weaver's compassion, her willingness to help those in need despite the danger that often accompanied her work.
Whispers rose in the air.
Atla felt hope rising in her heart — hope that maybe this was finally going to be the end of their daughter's illness.
"And if we're attacked?" He pushed.
Serket's eyes landed on Katarina for the first time, making the child squeeze her hand around her mother's, though she didn't move to hide. "She is strong and her wyrd is long. Her life has been perilous thus far, but her future awaits her with bated breath. She must live."
"You see this?" Hadion questioned.
"I know this."
Another woman stepped forward, nodding, her eyes scanning the child's face. "You must do what you can, Serket. It is what is right," she agreed, her voice unwavering. She then turned to the parents, watching how both of them clung to the child, holding her hands, even though neither looked scared. "But you must understand that this is a delicate matter. There are some things no force in the world can control."
Atla bowed her head, her shoulders slumping with relief. "We understand," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Serket nodded, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "Bring her to me," she said, beckoning them forward.
Atla and Taron led their daughter to Serket, who knelt before the child.
"I will not harm you, Katarina," Serket assured.
"How do you know my name?" The girl asked, eyes wide.
Serket chuckled sweetly. "I know many things, blóma." She pushed hair over the girl's shoulder tenderly. "The murmurings of the Ancient Ones tell me a great deal and as of now, you are the person I've heard them speak most about in all my winters."
Kat's eyes grew round. "I am?"
"The wyrd of those whose life is important can be heard in the roar of the winds," the woman that'd intervened before said, her voice filled with piety.
Kat looked up at her parents in confusion. "The roar of the winds?"
Atla opened her mouth —
Serket bowed her head, a gentle smile still playing on her lips. "If you quiet your mind and open your spirit to the sounds of this land —," she said in a low whisper, "— you can hear the voices of the gods in the wind." Her eyes grew distant as they lost focus as if they were seeing not that which stood in front of her anymore. "And it is not only their will but my duty that I help you." She intoned solemnly as her lashes lowered. "It is, at the very core of this world, the reason I was born."
Gasps reverberated through the longhouse as the woman spun around to face Serket. "What do you mean?" She asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
Serket lifted her gaze and met her eyes. "The whisperings speak true, there is no doubt. The whisperings say it so, therefore I know it is so, Nesya," she said confidently. "There is no doubt in what I hear. My purpose upon this land was to save this child."
Nesya gasped in horror and pressed her hands to her mouth as if to hold back any further sound from escaping. "It cannot be…" She uttered incredulously.
"How could it be, Serket?" Hadion contested.
Serket turned her gaze towards Hadion, a fierce determination in her eyes. "Because the Gods have spoken, and their will must be done," she replied firmly. "Katarina is destined for greatness, and it is my duty to ensure that she fulfills her wyrd."
Atla and Taron exchanged a worried glance, unsure of what to do. They had heard tales of Serket's abilities, but they had always been skeptical. Now, seeing her in action, they were unsure of what to think.
Kat's wyrd was important? Their child? Their sick, frail child?
Could it truly be?
"But how can we be sure about this?" Taron asked, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
Serket's eyes flashed with frustration, but she quickly composed herself. "I assure you, Taron, that I have no ulterior motives. My only goal is to ensure that Katarina fulfills the wyrd that was set for her."
Atla crouched and met the girl's gaze.
Katarina looked up at her, then quickly glanced over to Serket, but there wasn't a single shred of doubt or awe on her face. She was pale and her eyes were wide with worry, but she held her chin high and didn't look frightened in the least. In fact, she seemed to understand each word that was spoken with a clarity that wasn't met by her age.
Atla was filled with a newfound admiration for her daughter. She had always known that Katarina was special, but hearing the confirmation from Serket made it so much more real and profound. With trembling hands, she touched her daughter's shoulder, pushing her against her protectively and her small body plastered into her hip securely.
The adults in the room grew silent as they all processed what was happening. It was clear that something was going to change now that Serket had revealed Katarina's destiny, but they were unsure of what exactly it meant.
Kat looked up at her mother with solemn eyes —
"She knows," Atla said softly, gazing at the child who held such an eerie composure. "She knows what you are saying is true…"
Serket nodded slowly, not taking her eyes away from Kat's. "Yes," she said quietly. "She is brave enough to understand what I am saying." She smiled sadly and knelt so she was at eye level with Katarina. "You understand because you've felt it. Have you not, Katarina?" She said quietly. "Nobody ever told you, but you've felt this."
Katarina nodded slowly — once. "Yes," she whispered.
Silently, the two stared into one another's eyes, each reading more than words could ever convey. Serket felt a deep connection to this child, as if they had known one another in an earlier life. She placed her hands on either side of the girl's face and closed her eyes, summoning the power of the Ancient Ones. The energy around them began to swell and shudder with anticipation.
The girl seemed to sense it, too.
She held out her tiny hands and opened them wide, welcoming the energy that was gathering around her. An invisible force seemed to embrace them both — connecting them in a way that transcended both time and space.
Atla felt awestruck by what she was witnessing. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. Taron, though just as mesmerized, remained vigilant in his watch over his family in case any danger should arise.
Serket spoke words of an ancient tongue — words that only those who used Seid understood —, then leaned forward and touched her forehead against Katarina's in a gesture of protection and love.
The energy rose higher still until it reached its peak before slowly dissipating into the night air like a cool breeze on a summer evening. For a moment, all was still until Serket righted herself, took a step back, and bowed deeply toward Katarina in reverence.
The parents looked at one another with relief in their eyes. They could feel that something remarkable had just taken place here — something that went beyond mere mortal comprehension but gave them hope nonetheless.
Serket nodded solemnly before turning back to Katarina who hadn't moved since the ritual began — except for smiling at Serket with an understanding beyond her years —, and her lips opened in a broad smile. "She is a truly remarkable child," she said softly, her voice filled with reverence as she cupped Katarina's cheek.
Taron nodded, his eyes fixed on the spot where Serket's hands had been on his daughter's skin. "Yes," he replied. "She is."
Serket turned towards Atla and Taron, her eyes scanning the child. "She is strong," Serket said. "But she will need our help. The journey she has taken has been difficult and she must be treated with care. I will do everything I can to help her."
Atla and Taron felt a weight lifted from their shoulders.
They had been traveling for what felt like an eternity, and the thought of finally finding the help their daughter needed was almost too much to bear. But they also knew that the danger was not yet over.
"Thank you, Serket," Taron said, speaking up when he noticed the tears welling up in Atla's eyes while she squeezed Katarina against her. "We cannot thank you enough for your hospitality."
Serket's gaze hardened as she nodded, her lips pursing with determination. "You are welcome here," she declared firmly. "For as long as you require our protection. We will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. And I will fulfill my given duty and save this beautiful child." She reached and tenderly planted her lips against Katarina's forehead, her lashes closing a brief second before she pulled away, locking her gaze onto the child's oak eyes. "But beware, Katarina," she warned. A sense of foreboding hung in the air as she cautioned Katarina. "Darkness approaches this land and it will show you no mercy. You will face great loss, but you must remember that while the ghosts of the past speak to all those who listen, light can always be found in the darkest of places, if only you look for it."
Katarina lowered her lashes slowly, leaving them fanning the top of her pale cheeks.
Serket's words echoed within her, and she felt the weight of them settling heavily on her small shoulders. She understood the gravity of the warning, could sense the danger lurking on the horizon. But even in the face of such ominous words, she couldn't help but feel comforted by the warmth of Serket's touch. There was something about the way the woman held her that made her believe that, no matter what darkness lay ahead, she would not have to face it alone.
Atla and Taron exchanged a knowing look, both recognizing the fierce protectiveness that shone in Serket's eyes. They had heard stories about this land and its inhabitants, but they had never truly believed that such people still existed. People who would go out of their way to help strangers, offering up their homes and their lives for the sake of another. They had thought it was a myth, a fairy tale told to children to give them hope.
But here, in the flesh, was living proof that sometimes, when the need was great enough, the impossible could become real.
As if sensing their thoughts, Serket turned to them and offered a small, sad smile. "You have seen much sorrow, I can see it in your eyes. But never forget that you are not alone. You have each other, and you have us. We will stand with you, through whatever trials may come."
Taron nodded his thanks, his heart swelling with gratitude towards this woman and her people. For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to overcome the darkness that threatened to swallow them whole.
Swallow their daughter whole.
"Now, come, eat, and rest. We have much to do in the days ahead," Serket invited gently, and they followed her into the home they'd soon come to love.
***
As the group settled into Thorneval, Atla felt herself beginning to relax for the first time in many winters.
The settlement was beautiful.
The longhouse stood proud in the center of the settlement, surrounded by wooden houses in shades of brown and black. The sun glinted off the snow-covered fields that stretched out around it, ending in a line of distant snow-covered mountains. A light fog hung permanently in the air, giving the settlement a dreamy, surreal look. At dusk, the horizon was painted in shades of orange and pink, with a blanket of stars dotting the night sky and the cerulean lights ignited the night.
Even after all the traveling she'd done, Atla still felt a sense of peace here that she hadn't experienced before.
The group quickly settled into their new home, meeting with various members of the settlement to learn more about their customs and culture. Everyone was incredibly welcoming and friendly — it seemed they wanted nothing more than for their guests to feel comfortable here after the initial discomfort of their arrival had washed away. This hospitality touched Atla's heart, making her realize how lucky they were to have found such a kind place to call home.
Serket watched them all proudly, glad that her people had done something right by giving these weary travelers some much-needed rest and safety. In times like these, it was important for communities to come together and offer solace whenever possible — especially when one's own future seemed so certain.
Taron smiled, too, content now that he knew his daughter would be safe here for however long they decided to stay. He had been worried about what awaited them on this journey but he trusted Serket and her people with all his heart — they would not let them down or betray them in any way. They were family now, united by an unspoken bond of trust and friendship.
For Katarina this felt like a dream come true. She had found a place where she belonged. A place where she was understood.
Where her old, wise soul met someone like her.
Serket had taken to work with Katarina immediately. She spent hours teaching the child about herbal remedies for illness and took her on walks through the nearby woods to collect medicinal plants. Together, they went many times to the longhouse and spent hours in prayer, listening to the whisperings of the Higher Ones, surrounded by the comforting glow of candles. Atla would often come in to find Serket whispering in the ancient language of the Higher Ones with her hands cupped around Katarina's cheeks, while sitting cross-legged in front of the ancient stone. All around them, the walls were adorned with symbols and art that seemed to tell stories of a forgotten era — of Ancient Ones and warriors —, and colorful tapestries lined the walls, depicting stories from the ancient language of their ancestors. The longhouse would always smell heavy with the scent of incense and burning cedar, wafting all around with the blowing wind, and the air would be thick with the smell of age-old wisdom and secrets.
Nevertheless, Atla was relieved to see that day by day, Katarina seemed to be improving.
While Taron worked hard in the nearby fields with some of the villagers, Atla stayed by Katarina's side, helping Serket any way she could and watching over their daughter protectively. Even though they were all exhausted from their journey, it felt good to be able to contribute in some way to this new home they had found themselves in.
Quickly, days turned into weeks.
And while color returned to Katarina's cheeks and laughter erupted from her chest without coughs, she, above all, knew the danger was still there, lurking on the horizon, and with each passing moment, she knew that time was running out.
Serket changed everything in Katarina's world.
Changed her entire life.
But darkness came, indeed, not long after.