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Scourge of the Heathen- Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2024-01-29 20:30:06 +0000 UTCAN: Back with a new chapter. Hope you enjoy!
Casting-
Rowena- Anna Belik
“Come on, pull!” Arnkel tried to rally the men on his side.
There was cheering in the yard of Varrich. It echoed all around the stronghold. Men were pressed in tight whether it was in the yard or on the ramparts, it didn’t matter. There were even some children that had climbed onto the thatched roof of the stable. All of them watched as eight men a side pulled a rope above an open fire, each side trying to drag the other in.
There were men of the Highlands, Man, the Hebrides and the Orkneys all amongst the men competing. It had nothing to do with where they were from, and everything to do with building some rapport amongst disparate factions that had raided and fought against each other in the past. And it seems to be going a far bit better out here than in there.
Standing on the side, Harry watched and knew who had the advantage. While Arnkel pulled on one side, and was admittedly an imposing man to face, the other was anchored by Torgils. And I’m pretty sure he could bend steel with his bare hands given the opportunity.
Rowena’s uncle just stood at the end of his men, feet dug in, entirely unmoving. It didn’t even look like a strain for him. As he looked around the crowd, it was as though he didn’t have a care in the world. When Harry caught his eye, he just raised one eyebrow and gestured his head as if to say, “Come on then.”
His laughter carried over the roar of the crowd, even as he wrapped the end of the rope around his arm. Putting his whole body into the effort, he dragged the other side through the fire with one massive yank. They fell forward with a yell of panic, but everybody came away unscathed from the flames.
Torgils beat his chest for the crowd before grabbing a massive flagon of ale. The big man downed it without coming up for air and that only sent them off into another round of cheering. He tipped it toward Harry before joining with his fellow victors in celebration.
With a wry smile, Harry made his way through the crowd toward the hall. It was no simple thing as he weaved and occasionally pushed his way through, but he managed to make it to the doors and slip inside. It was not the fairest hall he’d visited in recent days, but there were long tables and a deer roasting slowly over the fire, so he couldn’t scoff at it.
The room was far from full, but the people that were there were of some importance. Jarls Thorfinn, Ragnall, and Ansborjn were there, as were Inan and Gamelin. There were seven other Taoiseachs there too. One was no older than fifteen, his name was Aengus and Harry wasn’t sure if he’d said a word from the moment he’d arrived, while the oldest looked near enough eighty and was called, Rhun. Since his and Rowena’s arrival two days prior, he hadn’t gotten all their names, but he had gotten those two.
“There’s no need to march all the way across the Highlands for days, only to meet them weak and tired.” Thorfinn’s voice carried over the soft murmurings in the room. It was the same argument that had been going on for days even when it was only Ansbjorn that first arrived in Varrich.
There was one other person in the room, standing against the wall, watching everything with a careful eye. Rowena tapped her foot irritably on the ground and a rather fierce looking scowl on her lips. She looked about ready to burst with frustration.
Making his way over, he leaned against the wall right next to her, “I take it things aren’t going well.”
She scoffed, “They’re talking in circles. Every time it seems like some progress is made one of them raises another issue that put them right back where they started.”
The conversation was still going on around them as they spoke amongst themselves, “You’re welcome to take your men and sail them to Dundee,” Rhun’s voice was raspy and labored, as though he were constantly fighting the urge to cough, “or up the Firth of Tay to Perth, or even St. Andrews if you want, but our men won’t be joining you.” It didn’t look like all the others agreed but there were a few nods.
“You’ll be worse for it,” Ragnall interjected. He’d had the furthest to sail and had been the last to arrive because of it, “What men remain to you will be weary from the march, Thorfinn is right. They’d be better served joining with us, manning our ships and sailing along the eastern coast.”
Trying to give her something to smile about, he told her, “Well, at least the men outside are finding fast friends.”
“If only this lot would realize that and put an end to this nonsense.” Rowena whispered, “Brining them together was one thing, even with a common purpose, getting them to truly work together is another thing entirely.”
“So you’ve said,” There was distrust obvious in Inan’s voice, “But what’s to stop you from sailing further east right along to your homes in Denmark or sailing west to your kin in Ireland? You could make slaves us without so much as a fight if we step one foot on your ships.”
Ragnall banged his hand down hard on the table, hard enough that it silenced the other murmurs in the hall, “I didn’t come here to be insulted. Throw them around again, and I’ll sail my men right back where they came.”
“No, you came for wealth and reputation…” Gamelin murmured. The young jarl looked murderous but didn’t get a chance to retort.
“You question our motivations,” Ansbjorn spoke up before Ragnall could get going, “What course we might take that would only advantage us, but what of you?” He stood and leaned across the table, looking each Scot in the eye in turn, “If we sail down to St. Andrews ahead of your march, what’s to keep you from holding back, eh? You could wait for us to die in our hundreds and weaken Causantain only to join the fighting when it’s nearly done.”
The simple truth was that while they were joined in cause, that didn’t mean they trusted one another. And without a clear leader, there’s no one to put those worries to rest. The hall devolved into shouting and Harry only sighed.
The witch next to him was tired of their stupidity though, and could no longer hold her tongue, “Enough of this!” Her voice carried over all of them like a boom, and they turned to her utterly shocked, “The Danes and the Norse haven’t left their homes just to secret you away to a slave market in Ireland.” She glared at the Taoiseachs, and none had the stones to meet her eye, “And nor did they come for reputation and wealth alone…”
“Even if it doesn’t hurt,” Erlend was there, sitting next to his brother, a cup of ale in his hand that had been seen off at least half a dozen times already. No one paid his slurred words any mind. More’s the better.
Harry wasn’t going to sit there and let Rowena take their irritation alone, “They came because they mean to defend themselves, their way of life, and their gods, same as you. They’re not fool enough to think this holy retribution called for by the bishop will stop at the Highlands.”
“And you,” Rowena turned her ire toward the Norsemen, “they’ve just lost their homes and those they love to people who were their friends, their neighbors. Do you really think they mean to cheat you when you’ve come to their aid?”
“They…” Ragnall made to interrupt.
“They’ve watched the gods of their fathers become nothing more than stories little by little, and they are the few that still hold to them. Unless you make this stand, how long until the same happens to you?” Harry couldn’t help the cold fury that tinged every word, “How many churches are there now in Denmark? Norway? All the time, you let more of your people fall to the influence of Rome. How long until your children or their children wear a crucifix around their neck rather than Thor’s hammer?”
Ansbjorn looked more shamefaced than any of the others. Because in his heart, he knew how close he’d come to converting thanks to Gideon’s machinations. But none of them were wholly innocent of Harry’s accusation. More churches sprung up in their homelands with each passing decade and while few of the jarls had adopted the religion, they allowed priests and monks to make homes in their lands. It was the same mistake that the Saxons made when the missionaries first came from the continent.
“Every day you sit here, bickering like children,” Rowena’s scorn was a thing to behold, and he couldn’t imagine that any of her student’s would want to face it, “is another day’s delay where Causantain and Cellach are given time to prepare.”
“We’ve joined together here faster than they could’ve anticipated, the worst thing we can do is lose that advantage.” His statement hung in the air with a physical weight as every man was cowed into silence.
It was Gamelin who finally had the nerve to speak up, “Were it not for you two, none of this would even be happening!”
“Which you knew from the beginning, and yet you agreed.” Harry reminded the man, “And the truth is, you should be thanking us. We’ve given you a gift, a chance to fight against the tide on your feet with sword in hand rather than face the slow death of their sermons and conversions.”
It was only then that the youngest of the Scots spoke up. He spoke slowly, as though he were worried that his voice was crack, “We’ll sail… at least the men with me will sail” He nodded at the jarls across from him, “I don’t believe they’ve come to cheat us and they’re right, it will save the strength of every warrior who goes.”
“Aye...” Inan agreed with the younger man, barely a man at that. Each of the others agreed as well with Rhun as the last. The stubborn old man had faced raids in his life, from the Hebrides and Man, but even he could see sense in setting that aside.
They were interrupted then as the doors opened and in stepped Heiddi. Harry wasn’t expecting to see her, certainly not so soon. The Northumbrian girl volunteered to go to Perth, so that they could have some knowledge of Causantain’s plans. Not that I was happy about it, but she did remind me she was plenty old enough to make up her own mind about such things. He’d given her a portkey to return when she had news.
Coming to his side, she leaned into to tell him, “Causantain knows that we’re gathered here. He sent out riders from Scone this morning to call his men to arms. The people say they’ll be gathered within a week, maybe sooner.”
“Thank you.” While he trusted her to keep herself safe, he was glad that she was back.
“Plenty of men joined up to attack the highlands, so it’ll be no short march for them back to Scone.” Rowena heard every word that Heiddi said, same as him.
“What news?” Thorfinn watched their exchange with a keen eye.
“Causantain knows that we’ve gathered and he’s raising his army in response.” Harry told them. There were murmurs between the men, but it was Ragnall who spoke up.
“Then the sooner we sail the better! We sail up the Firth of Tay, and from there meet them in the field.” He seemed excited at the prospect of battle, “But tonight we feast because tomorrow we head for war!” The news spread quickly from the hall out into the yard. That much was obvious as the commotion of their revelry only grew louder.
“I will make the sacrifice,” Rowena told them, and from her tone there was no use arguing on the matter. Harry knew that there would be a sacrifice to the gods, he just didn’t realize it would be her that did it.
“Good, Odin preserve us if we forgot to honor the gods!” Thorfinn stood. Halland was behind him, as always, but had been largely quiet throughout the meeting, “We’re in agreement then. I’ll inform my oarsmen” There was an unspoken ‘finally’ there that Harry couldn’t help but agree with.
The noblemen, as they were, all parted then each to make the necessary preparations amongst their own men. It left Harry and Rowena alone with Heiddi in the hall. After a moment of indecision, the young woman told them, “I think I should go back. I won’t even need to fly now that I’ve been there once.”
“You’ve already told us what we need to know, what more could you learn?” It wasn’t that Harry didn’t appreciate her efforts, quite the opposite in fact, but the longer she spent there the greater danger of her being discovered.
“If I return, there’s every possibility I might learn where they mean to meet you in the field… it could be the difference between victory and defeat.” Unlike many of the others that they saved, Heiddi wasn’t really a child, and it did them no good to treat her like one.
That didn’t mean he liked it though, “You’ve never been to Dundee, how would you find us?”
“I know Dundee is east of Perth,” She took his obvious concern in stride, “And a ruddy great army shouldn’t be that hard to find from on top of a broom.”
It was a fair point, and Harry couldn’t find a ready retort. Rowena chuckled beside him, and finally told her, “Go, but keep your wits about you and stay away from any priests. If you think there’s even the slightest chance that you’ve been discovered, you use a portkey and bring yourself straight back here.” She wasn’t even that much older than the other young woman, but there was a distinct respect given from one to the other, “I’d rather not attack another monastery to come save you again.”
Heiddi didn’t look convinced, and couldn’t quite hide her snort of amusement, “Yes because it was such a torment for you… and I’m sure there will be no more monasteries burned during this campaign of yours.”
“I didn’t say that.” Rowena smiled, “I’d just prefer if you weren’t one of the people there when it happens.”
“I won’t be, I promise.” It was said with a deep conviction, one that spoke to the years she’d already spent suffering, “I don’t plan on spending another second of my life with those bastard monks.”
“Good, as long as we understand each other.” Rubbing her arm, Rowena told her, “Now go, no use waiting around here… unless you meant to stick around for the feasting?”
That brought her up short and she smiled, “Well… maybe I’ll wait until the morning?”
“That’s what I thought…” With that she turned away from them and headed out into the yard.
Rowena took a deep breath and ran her hand along her face, “What a day…”
“Better than yesterday.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a side hug, “They’re in agreement now, and the promise of battle in just a few short days will give them focus.”
“I know, but the problem still remains.” There was an odd look in her eye as she told him, “They need a leader, someone who commands respect, someone they’ll listen to… someone that’s neither Scot nor Norse nor Dane and yet is here to fight all the same. Someone who’s already started building a reputation for themself.”
He could see where she was going with that line of thought, and he didn’t like it one bit, “Sounds like you’re talking about yourself, Row.”
That made her smile, as she leaned into his shoulder, “I’m not the one who killed Gofraid man to man.”
“No, I guess you’re not… but I wager you could’ve if given the chance.” He knew that she was right, at least about the need for a leader. I just don’t think it needs to be me. He’d tried to be that for people in the past, and it led to a lot of death.
“With a wand, sure.” She giggled, “But not with an axe.” Her hand rested against his chest, just over his heart and she gave it a pat, “Now, I need to go and prepare.”
Harry didn’t know exactly what the sacrifice would entail, but he had the patience to wait and find out for himself when the time came. He watched her go, his eyes drifting to the sway of her hips as she headed out. He had to rouse himself with a little shake of his head. Not the time Potter.
For a few minutes, he just sat there in the hall alone. The only company he had was when the pit master came in to turn the meat. There was a great cheer from outside, no doubt the end to another of the games that was taking place and the next moment the doors were thrown open. It was Torgils followed by a whole host of other men, the smell of juicy meat drawing them in.
They filled the tables as the big man came to his side. With a clap on his back that felt like it could have snapped his spine, he gave a full-bellied laugh, “You missed the best of it, but not for nothing! Things are finally settled?”
“After Rowena dressed them down a bit, yes.” Harry told him, unable to hide his genuine fondness for her.
He laughed again, “Sounds like her mother then! I’d expect nothing less!”
As Torgils downed another great mouthful of ale, Harry was surprised as somebody knocked into his other side, “Euan?” He’d barely seen hide or hair of the young man all day, but he looked a bit haggard and a bit frantic, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing… uh nothing at all… I was just hoping you could come with me for a bit.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but there was an underlying nervousness that he just couldn’t hide.
“Go, see what the boy’s done. Just be back quickly as you can.” Torgils told him without even looking over, “My niece won’t be happy if you aren’t here to honor the gods.”
Confident that he was right about that, Harry threw his leg over the bench and hopped out of his seat before saying to Euan, “Alright, let’s go.”
Together they made their way out of the hall, and out of Varrich entirely. The encampment they’d set up for their young charges was along the coast between Tongue and the fortification, away from where the ships were anchored, and it was there that Euan took him. They considered keeping them in the forest, far away from everything, but there was no telling if more men had been sent to find Rowena and they weren’t willing to risk it. Not to mention they were rather insistent and far too curious for their own good.
Euan didn’t say a word on the way there, and seemed to grow quicker with every step until he was nearly jogging as they neared the encampment. While he feared no foul play from the men they’d gathered, there was no telling who else might have fled in secret with the Highlanders, and so they’d taken the precaution of setting up wards.
As they passed through them, he found a weight pressing against his leg. It’d become so common, he didn’t even think as he placed his hand on Esla’s head, “Alright, we’re here… now show me what you’re up to.”
Euan made a face, “I’m not up to anything… it’s someone else that was up to something.” He walked over to one of the tents and Harry couldn’t help but notice it seemed that Halig, Culen, and Adela were all standing guard at the sides of it. Oh gods, this can’t be good.
Leaning in, he found a man bound, gagged and seemingly unconscious. He was no older than Harry with sandy brown hair and a patchy beard. He was wearing robes, but they didn’t appear to be those of a monk. Harry could feel a headache coming on, “Euan… please explain?”
“He’s been following us. I noticed him yesterday while I was in Tongue and Culen and Rorik saw him again today. Every time that one of us slips away from the camp he’s been there not far from the wards.” He offered Harry a wand. It had the marks of a fine craftsmen, and Harry could only guess that it was made by whichever of Ollivander’s ancestors was around in London at the time, “He had this. We figured he was with the Church, and so…”
“Instead of getting me or Rowena so we could deal with it, you decided to take matters into your own hands.” It wasn’t a criticism, just an observation of what actually happened. It didn’t change the fact that Euan looked down and wouldn’t quite meet his eye. With a sigh, Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, “And it looks like you did a damn good job of it, too. You did well, I’m not upset, just worried.” He smiled at each of them, “Trust me, I know that I can’t be around to protect you all the time, sometimes you’ll only have yourselves to rely on.”
The tension left Euan’s body as he finally looked at him, relieved. Harry learned a long time ago, that no matter how much he wanted to, there was no way that he could protect everyone that he cared about all the time. Sometimes you have to trust them to do it for themselves.
“Let’s get to the bottom of this then.” With a wave of his hand, the man levitated out of the tent, and Harry propped him against the rocky outcrop. Removing the gag, he enervated him. His eyes flew open, and he tried to struggle free to no avail.
Flailing around wildly for a moment, he finally stilled when he noticed Harry looming over him, “Let me go!” His voice cracked in fear, “I’ve done nothing!”
“I might… once you tell me who you are and what you’re doing tailing this lot.” He gestured to the group of young magicals around him.
“I wasn’t tailing them… not really… I was just trying to talk to one of them.”
“You have an odd way of going about it.” Euan mumbled under his breath.
Harry could care less about his methods so long as they didn’t hurt anyone, he was more curious about his reason, “Why?” He was willing to give the man a chance to explain before he simply took the answers from his mind.
“So, I could get one of them to talk to you!” That wasn’t the answer that he was expecting, “You and the witch, Rowena have made quite a reputation for yourselves and it’s causing problems.”
“Problems? For who?” He felt entirely lost in this conversation.
“Why the Wizard’s Council, of course.” He made it sound as though that were obvious, but Harry only had a vague recollection of them. He knew they were the predecessor to the Ministry, but he didn’t think they’d been founded quite yet. Apparently, I was wrong.
“They dispatched me to issue a summons.” He sounded far to jolly about that job, and Harry found it incredibly grating and vaguely reminiscent of Percy and his brownnosing, “You and the witch, Rowena are required to present yourselves before the council within a fortnight to explain your flagrant use of magic, open incitement of the Church, and general meddling with muggles.”
Harry managed to hide it, but he was genuinely gobsmacked by this supposed summons. It begged the question of how they knew about their movements to begin with, let alone so quickly, and where they thought they had any authority over either of them to make such a demand. Not to mention the Statue of Secrecy won’t exist for a good few centuries still, so what business is it of theirs?
Taking a step closer to the man, the smile fell from his face at Harry’s obvious anger, “What’s your name?”
He blustered and stuttered for a moment before finally getting out, “Ecbert.”
“Well, Ecbert, you can return to your council and tell them that they can take their summons and shove it right up their arses.” More than one of the kids giggled at that, and he had to look around to shush them, “I’m sure I’ll make it to London someday, and when I do, I’ll be sure to pay them a visit.”
“That’s preposterous!” Ecbert raged impotently, “You can’t simply ignore the Wizard’s Council!”
“They’re welcome to try forcing me…” The air became thick with magic as a smile came to his lips. It was dangerous, one that promised pain for anyone that tried. From the way Ecbert cowered away from him, he understood, “But it won’t go well for them if they do.”
With that, Harry severed the ropes that held him , “Now go… head back and tell your masters.”
He hurried to his feet and made to beat a hasty retreat before he remembered something, “My wand…”
“Is no longer yours. It was won from you fairly by this lot.” Euan gave him a cheeky wave that made Ecbert flush in anger, “You’ll have to make your way back the long way.”
He muttered under his breath as he whipped around, and Harry was sure that he heard the word, “Bastards…” before he stepped out of the ward and they could no longer hear him.
Euan spoke up cautiously then, “Was it wise to let him go back to them?”
“It’ll make little difference because by tomorrow we’ll be gone from here.” They started muttering amongst themselves at the news.
“Back to the forest then?”
“Aye, for now. Causantain called his army to Scone. That should leave the Highlands safe, and best not to have you in the middle of a battle.” Euan looked like he wanted to argue, but Harry squeezed shoulder, “Now come, there’s a feast to be had.”
Together, they made their way up to the fortress where the festivities were in full swing. Ale was drunk, food was eaten, and good time was had by all whether Scot, Norse, or Dane as the sun slowly made its way closer to the horizon.
As night fell, and the moon hung high in the sky a great pyre was built in the center of the yard. The people from Tongue lined the weathered track that led up to the fortress. Every fighting man, thousands strong in their number filled the fortress as the fire was lit. The Jarls and the Taoiseachs were all there, each on either side of the yard together.
And then she came up through the gates looking for all the world like something out of a story. Her gown was like silver starlight. Her feet were bare as she glided across the yard. One side of her face was painted blue, dark as the color of her eyes. Upon her head was a crown of pale white wood, dotted with new spring flowers. In one hand she carried a rope that was wrapped around the neck of a powerful ox. In the other was a knife, sharp and polished glinting in the light of the fire.
The beast made no protest as it was led right up to the fire. Every man, woman and child was silent as Rowena spoke, her voice echoing in the silence of the night, “We make this offering to the gods… to Odin, and Freyja… to the Morrigan and Neit… We give it that every warrior here finds good fortune in the battles to come. And should you fall let Valhalla… or Mag Mell await you.”
With that, she dragged the knife along the ox’s throat. The blood, crimson red, poured over her hand. The beast faltered, its legs giving way as it fell lifeless to the ground. The fire behind her roared, the light growing almost blinding. Many looked away, but Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her.
When she spoke again, it was as though another spoke with her. Her voice took on a depth and power that shook every person there to their core, “Be a scourge unto the usurpers, the Christians that have taken your gods from the hearts and minds of your kinsman, Scot, Dane, and Norsemen alike. Remind them of the gods of their forebears! Of their might and glory… and when the time comes their grace as well. A heart and mind once turned can be turned again.” Rowena’s eyes danced with the light of the fire, flashes of brilliant red, deep orange and flecks of bright blue reflecting in their depths.
She found him in the crowd as though she already knew where to look. Step by step, she made her way over to him, not a word passing amongst the crowd. She stared into his eyes as she brought her blood-covered hand to his temple. It was hot to the touch still, as though it had only freshly come from the ox’s veins. Gently, she dragged her fingers along his face.
Rowena gave him the faintest of smiles, the fire still dancing in her eyes as it roared bright and hot once more. It shouldn’t have been possible and yet it was there, he could see it. And then it stilled, the very air around them going quiet. Then she faltered, falling against him unconscious.
As he caught her the crowd grew loud as all wondered at what they’d just witnessed.
Comments
GhostnKC
This is by far the best chapter of this story to date. I couldn't stop reading
Jeromey Johnson
I am so happy for a new chapter here!
