Atlantis: Bermuda Triangle

Chapter 10

As far as Ragnarok was concerned the only good thing that had happened since setting foot on dry land was that he had gotten a new ax-head made by a Saxon blacksmith. Other than that, the trip had been misery. Traveling only at night to avoid raising an alarm, Ragnarok plodded after Tam Nok as they went north. The only weather that England seemed to have was cloudy and rainy. They slept during the day, or tried to sleep, Ragnarok too concerned with security to get more than a few minutes of slumber here and there. He wasn’t used to walking so much and his leather boots had chafed the skin raw at several places on his feet.

They had beached the longship along the coast to the west of the Isle of Man. As soon as Ragnarok and Tam Nok were ashore, Hrolf had the crew push the craft back into the water. Ragnarok had stood on the beach, watching his ship disappear into the night. They would meet back at the same place in six days.

Two of those days had already passed, filled with nothing but walking, through forests and over hills and fields. Ragnarok could tell by the stars they were going northward, but he had no idea how Tam Nok was choosing their path or what their destination was. When he questioned her she told him the Gods were leading her and she would know where they were going when they got there; neither a very satisfactory answer.

He had managed to persuade her to halt long enough for him to enter a village early one morning and find a blacksmith. The man had been half-frightened out of his wits to see a hulking Viking appear in the low doorway to his smithy, but a few gold pieces had induced him to bring out a large ax-head, such as the Saxons used to kill cattle, and spend all that day on the forge and anvil fashioning it in the shape Ragnarok wished.

“I will call it Bone Cutter,” Ragnarok said, taking a slash with the ax through the air in front of him. It was dark and the land was growing flatter. Tam Nok was at his side, walking with a steady stride that never seemed to grow weary. She carried a pack with an equal share of the food and water without the slightest complaint. Ragnarok had to fight hard to keep from limping.

“What?” Tam Nok didn’t pause, nor did she even look at him.

Ragnarok waved the war-ax. “I said I will call it Bone Cutter. It has a good feel and that Saxon oaf did a good job with the edge. It is much sharper than my last one. It will slice through flesh and bone.”

“Is a name for your weapon important?”

Ragnarok was mystified that she would even ask such a question. “Of course. In battle a good weapon is a man’s closest friend.”

“I have been in battle and I have killed,” Tam Nok said, “but I do not view my weapons as my friends.”

Ragnarok shrugged, the gesture lost in the dark. “That is because you do not see battle for what it really is.”

He waited for her to ask the inevitable question but the next couple of miles passed in silence. Tam Nok was the strangest woman he’d ever met. Not only because of her dark skin and strange eyes, but even more so because of her actions. Viking women were strong and well-respected, but even they did not travel by themselves or wield weapons except when absolutely necessary. A Viking woman was most concerned with family and children, yet there was no sense about Tam Nok of that.

The moon was full, making the traveling at night easier, but also making them more vulnerable to being spotted. Ragnarok was not overly concerned at being found at night. Most men did not seek out trouble in the dark and unless they had the misfortune to encounter a large armed force he felt they would be left alone.

They crested a small hill and Ragnarok scanned the terrain ahead. A large plain extended to the horizon, but sparks of light in the distance caught his eye.

“Torches,” he said, pointing. They were too far away to tell how many lights there were, or what the holders of the lights were doing.

“I see them,” Tam Nok didn’t break stride.

Ragnarok noticed something else unusual. “I do not like this,” he said tapping Tam Nok on the arm and pointing. Large, unnatural mounds dotted the plain in front of them, most around a hundred feet long, by seventy in width by ten in height.

“What don’t you like?” Tam Nok asked.

“Those are burial mounds. This entire plain is a graveyard. It brings bad fortune to walk through such a place.”

Tam Nok spared him a glance. “We cannot go around. They are between us and where we wish to go.”

“The place with the torches?” Ragnarok asked.

“Yes,” Tam Nok’s voice held an edge of irritation. “The person I must talk to is there. We do not have much time.”

“How can you know we don’t have much time?” Ragnarok asked, not at all impressed with her pronouncements after strolling across England for over two days. “How can you know that is the place we are to go and the person you want to meet is there?”

Tam Nok paused. “The people we are to meet are like me. They are priests and priestesses. Not of the new religions- Christian or Muslim- but of the old religions. Ones who worship the old Gods- the Ones Before whom the ancient ones worshipped. Your legends, your Gods, they came out of the legends of the Ones Before. You must let me deal with these people. I understand them. You will have nothing to fear if you do what I say.”

“Since you answer none of my questions,” Ragnarok said, “I have little choice but to follow your lead. But there is nothing I fear,” he added.

“There are things you have not seen yet,” Tam Nok said, “so it is not good to boast.”

“I am not boasting,” Ragnarok said.

“We shall see.”

“I fought the Valkyries and their creatures,” Ragnarok noted.

Without a reply, Tam Nok strode off into the dark and Ragnarok followed, frustrated at her lack of acknowledgment.

They passed several of the large burial mounds. They were somewhat different than the burial mounds Ragnarok was used to. Vikings also interned their dead in mounds, usually shaped in the form of a ship, with rocks to delineate the edges. A Viking leader would be buried with his favorite ship inside of a mound, a truly extravagant arrangement that indicated the honor owed that leader by his people. A slave girl might also be slain and put in the ship with him to make his journey to Valhalla more pleasant. Certainly more pleasant than this journey he was on, Ragnarok reflected. These English mounds were larger and the tops were not decorated with stones. He also sensed they were old, very old.

Death was but a new beginning for a Viking who had led a life of honor and glory. It was the journey to Valhalla, where more battles, even more glorious than those on Earth awaited the warrior. That was why it was essential that a warrior be buried with his weapons. Ragnarok knew the strange woman, even though she claimed to be a Disir, would not understand. It was the reason his ax had a name and why regaining the weapon had been the most important thing for him to do as soon as they landed.

The lights were growing closer, numerous torches glittering in the crystal clear night under the bright moon. There was a noise now, something Ragnarok couldn’t quite make out. Almost like the cry of the Valkyries he had heard just before meeting Tam Nok, but different, of the earth, although how he knew that he could not say.

The silhouette of two objects began to take form on the horizon, about a mile away. One was a towering tree, as large as any pine Ragnarok had ever seen, but this one stood alone on the plain and had leaves and many, many branches. The torch bearers were gathered all around the base of the tree in a wide circle.

The other, a quarter mile to the right, was not a tree- that was all Ragnarok could tell- although it was as tall as the tree. The sound seemed to be coming from the direction. Peer as much as he could, Ragnarok could not make it out, although it might have been some sort of guard or siege tower, rising sixty feet into the sky.

“There is someone just ahead,” Tam Nok said. “Do not attack.”

“What do you-” Ragnarok began but then a figure- sword raised- suddenly loomed out of the dark, as if spit out of the earth itself, ten feet in front of them. The man barked out something in a strange tongue Ragnarok had never heard, obviously a challenge.

Ragnarok hefted his ax and prepared to strike but Tam Nok stepped between. She spoke rapidly in the same tongue. It occurred to him that it was strange she spoke his tongue, coming from so far away. He wondered how many languages she knew and how she had learned them.

Those thoughts were brushed away as the stranger lowered his sword and replied to Tam Nok in the same tongue, then turned and pointed them toward the tree. The man disappeared into a fold in the ground, pulling a cloak over his body to help conceal his location. Ragnarok was not impressed- hiding in a hole in the ground to ambush strangers did not seem very honorable.

The strange noise grew louder and Ragnarok could now discern that there were two noises intermingled. One was coming from the tree ahead, a chanting of human voices, lower pitched than the other sound, which was a terrible keening, worse than the cries of Viking women upon learning the ship their mates sailed out on would never be coming back.

“What is going on?” Ragnarok hissed at Tam Nok, but she waved a hand, hushing him.

He could see now that the torches were carried by white-robed men and women standing in a circle around the tree. There were about sixty of these. Inside of that outer circle, was a second group of twenty, also holding torches, these robed in green.

Near the massive trunk of the tree the light from the outer torches illuminated a group of ten people, eight robed in blue, and two others, one in black and one in red. They were all facing toward the tree and chanting. The red robed figure turned toward Ragnarok and Tam Nok, as if waiting for them.

Tam Nok raised her hands and called out a greeting as they approached the white-robed circle. There was no reply but the circle stood aside to let them pass. As did the ring of blue. The chanting still continued from both circles and Ragnarok was now certain that the strange noise was coming from the other tall object, to his right.

The figure robed in red who had watched their arrival broke from the group next to the trunk and came toward them. The rest of the group kept its attention on whatever it had been doing.

Tam Nok again spoke in the strange tongue. Ragnarok felt out of place. His ax was heavy, pulling his left arm down. The chanting was running through his mind, urging him to join in. He shook his head, dirty hair twisting in the wind, and growled. The tree seemed to be alive, the bark gnarled and twisted from hundreds, thousands of years of life, the branches drooping overhead, covering them. Drawing him in to the Earth, to be one with the soil.

“Your friend is restless,” a woman’s voice came out of the red hood, speaking in Norse.

“There is not much time,” Tam Nok said.

The other woman pulled her hood back, revealing pale skin and fiery red hair. “I am Penarddun.”

“I am Tam Nok, and this is Ragnarok.”

Penarddun smiled. “A mighty warrior of the north seas. You travel in formidable company.”

Ragnarok shifted his feet, trying to stay focused on the two women. He was not sure if she was referring to him or Tam Nok. The chanting was getting even louder. And that eerie noise was still floating on the air.

“I need-” Tam Nok began, but the other woman held up her hand.

“I know what you are looking for.”

“Is it here?”

“No.”

The chanting abruptly stopped. The black robed figure- a man as near as Ragnarok could tell- yelled out something in the strange tongue and then headed toward the other tall object, the others falling in behind him.

Penarddun extended a hand toward the tree. “We worship the mighty oak, symbol of the Earth Mother.” The slender hand continued toward the other tall object. “And there we sacrifice to the Ones Before. Come.” She followed the last in line and Ragnarok reluctantly followed. For some strange reason he had no desire to see the cause of the terrible noise.

As he drew nearer- and the torches illuminated more of it as the robed ones gathered round- he began to make out the form. It was a huge figure made of wood and wicker, over sixty feet high, formed in the image of a man. Two legs rose to a thick body. Two arms hung at the side and the very top a head, made of bent wooden staves.

Ragnarok’s hand tightened on the handle of his ax. Inside the wooden confines of the structure were people. Crammed in, some standing on others, arms poking between the beams, their supplicating voices the horrible sound he had been hearing. The writhing forms captured inside made for a bizarre spectacle, as if the wooden creature were alive, its skin crawling with some malignant disease trying to get out.

“What is this?” Ragnarok hissed at Tam Nok, but she hushed him.

“It is their way,” she whispered.

“Those captured inside are murderers, thieves, betrayers,” Penarddun said as if she had overheard. They halted about fifty feet away as the same circles that had surrounded the oak reformed around the wicker man. The voices of those inside rose even higher, begging for release, for mercy.

“The gods listen best if the message is coated in blood,” Penarddun said.

Ragnarok was surprised at such words coming out of such a slight and beautiful woman. He had seen many horrible things done in combat, but this was something he had never experienced.

“And the message is very important,” Penarddun continued. She turned to Tam Nok. “Is it not?”

“I don’t-” Tam Nok began, but Penarddun cut her off.

“The Shadow is coming once more. And we need the Ones Before to help us stop the Shadow.” Her voice lowered so that only Tam Nok and Ragnarok could hear. “My fellow Druids believe this is the best way to get the help of the Ones Before. But you and I know there is another way. They do not hear the true voices of the Gods, but we do.”

The man robed in black took a torch from one of those in blue. He walked toward the base of the wicker man. The priest thrust the torch into one of the legs of the statue. One of the prisoners kicked it back out.

The priest turned and raised his arms, yelling something. The circle of druids closed on the wicker man and flung their torches at it. In seconds flame caught hold at a dozen places.

The screams of those trapped inside rose to a fever pitch. Ragnarok watched as limbs smashed against the wood in desperate attempts to escape, bones breaking almost unnoticed in the grip of the searing flames.

Ragnarok looked to his right. Penarddun’s face was lit by the fire, appearing almost translucent. Tam Nok had also pulled her hood back and her dark eyes were watching the gruesome spectacle with no expression.

“Is this getting us any closer to our destination?” Ragnarok asked.

Both women turned to him in surprise.

“You said you knew what we were here for,” Ragnarok said to Penarddun. “If it is not here, where is it?”

Penarddun turned from the fire. “Do you know what the it is you are searching for?”

“You said you knew why I was here,” Tam Nok said.

“I know why you are here,” Penarddun agreed. “I know you need something I am to give you. I know where it is, but I don’t know what it is. It is the nature of our position to only be given pieces of knowledge.”

Ragnarok shifted his feet impatiently. “Where?”

Penarddun pointed to the north. “That way. Not far.”

A man had broken through the wood, high up on the wicker man. He fell to the ground, his hair on fire. The body slammed in the earth and the man feebly tried to rise. One of the druids ran forward with a dagger and slit the man’s throat, blood splattering the dirt. The wails and screams were decreasing as those inside succumbed to the flames. Ragnarok was glad the wind was at their back and that the odor of burned flesh was being blown away from them.

Penarddun finally turned from the dying flames. “Come.” She walked to the black robed man and spoke to him in the strange tongue. He looked Tam Nok and Ragnarok over, then replied. They seemed to be arguing about something.

“What now?” Ragnarok asked Tam Nok.

“He doesn’t want her to lead us to wherever it is we must go. It is apparently a very holy site. He is scared,” she added. “The Druids have many enemies.”

“Not as many as they had before,” Ragnarok noted, nodding his head toward the remains of the wicker man.

“The Romans tried destroying them for centuries, hunting them down like animals,” Tam Nok said. “And now that the Romans are no longer here, it is those of the new religion, the Christians, who seek to destroy the old ways and replace it with their new beliefs. The king in London has been converted and is being urged to destroy the druids.”

“How do you know all this?” Ragnarok asked.

“I have listened while on my journeys,” Tam Nok said. “Something I recommend to all who travel.”

Before Ragnarok could reply to that, Tam Nok stepped forward, next to the two High Druids. She spoke to them in their tongue, then pulled out the bamboo section. She unstopped the end and showed them the map and writing she had shown Ragnarok on his ship.

The black-robed priest still seemed opposed. Tam Nok rolled the parchments up and put them back in her tube. She pulled something out of the neckline of her cloak, an amulet attached to a thin metal chain around her neck. It glittered in the reflected light of the dying fire of the wicker man. A blue glow suffused Tam Nok’s hand and seemed to spread out over those close to her.

Penarddun and the priest dropped to their knees, bowing their heads toward Tam Nok. The other druids, seeing their leaders, did the same until they were surrounded by supplicating figures.

Tam Nok spoke quickly in their tongue and Penarddun stood. “Let us go,” she said. They walked out of the circle of still kneeling Druids toward the north.

Ragnarok started to ask Tam Nok what the amulet was, but she hushed him. He fell in step as the passed between two burial barrows. A slight breeze had started to blow and Ragnarok caught the scent of burned flesh. He bowed his head and breath only through his mouth.