by L. M. Roth
“The first man to enter Jytte’s Land came seeking new territory, a place where his people could expand, for they had grown too numerous in their native country, and many were the quarrels over borders and possession, and there was not enough pasture to feed their flocks. He came with his family, and soon sent for others to join them. In time a thriving community was founded, and all lived in harmony in their land of plenty.
“And then one day, the true treasure of Jytte’s Land was revealed and made known to him, and he knew that he was entrusted to guard this land and keep its sanctity. And thus it has been handed down from generation to generation. We may not permit any to leave who have walked through this land, lest they betray our secret.”
“But we have not seen anything that would appear secret,” Marcus argued, careful not to betray the confidence of Gunnar.
“You may unwittingly say something that would betray it to someone more knowledgeable than you,” Arvid said. “And the curious would invade our country, and defile Jytte’s holy ground.”
“Who is this Jytte?” Marcus demanded to know. “And why is this ground sacred to her? I insist you tell me, if we are to lose our lives because of her.”
Arvid considered a moment as he looked steadily at Marcus; then nodded his head slowly.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Jytte is the greatest of the Old Ones, the ones who were here before man. It is said that she birthed all of the Old Ones, and they crowned her their Queen. She gives life to all that breathe, and she is our Mother. It is our sacred duty to protect her land from defilement and keep it pure.”
Marcus snorted and tossed back his head.
“A Mother, you say?” he challenged, not even attempting to keep the disgust he felt out of his voice. “Well, it is a strange mother indeed who would order her children to kill her other children out of fear that they may pollute her land, when in truth they have done nothing of the kind. If they had torn down her temple, or destroyed her image, that would perhaps be a punishable matter. But merely for taking a walk through her country? Why, Thene, I held you to be a man of sense, not superstition!”
There was a collective gasp from those gathered about the Thene. A chuckle escaped Felix before he could stifle it. Arvid himself stared at Marcus with blinking eyes and an open mouth. For a moment he said nothing. At last he collected himself and spoke.
“Of a truth, you are a bold young man!” he exclaimed. “I would that you were a warrior of mine! Truly you are your father’s son, and I have heard he is a great man indeed.”
Marcus felt a surge of pride course through him; then firmly quenched it. It was the Spirit of Dominio who gave him courage; it was not from himself. He must remember that.
Arvid nodded his head again, gazing at Marcus with eyes shining in admiration.
“There is another option I may offer you,” he said to Marcus. “You may not leave this land alive, but you may remain here, at the pleasure of the Thene. It has been done a few times, but not often. If you wish, you and your companions may remain, for I do admire your spirit.”
Marcus turned to face his companions, for this was not his decision alone to make. He must continue his journey in order to fulfill the task assigned to him; but the others might wish to remain just to live. He studied their faces.
Cort glanced up hopefully at Dag, whose stoic face remained impassive. Kyrene shook her head no; Elena watched the faces of the others, but made no comment. Felix, however, looked at Marcus, then at the Thene and jerked his head in the direction of the outdoors. Marcus could not at first fathom what Felix was trying to convey, but realized his friend had a plan. Marcus nodded at him.
Felix stepped forward and approached the Thene.
“May I address a question to you, most excellent Thene?” Felix asked with a low bow to Arvid.
Arvid raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He nodded permission for Felix to speak.
“My question is this: if our choice is to remain in this land or die, I think it only fair for my companions and myself to know what this mysterious secret may be. It would seem that our true choice is to live but to serve this Jytte of whom you speak, or to die without ever knowing whether she was truly worthy of our worship, or just someone whom you serve blindly, without any evidence that she, in fact, actually exists.”
A murmur broke out in the chamber at the audacity of these words. The murmur rose to a steady hum, then a clamor. No voices were louder than those of Halvor and Ylva, whom Marcus was displeased to see, had joined the spectators in the chamber.
From her throat rose a rallying cry.
“He insults Jytte, our great Mother!” she shrieked. “For that the penalty is death. Kill him! Kill them all!”
The voices rose to a crescendo, and the spectators rose as one from their seats. But the Thene was on his feet.
“Silence!” he bellowed, with an upraised hand.
The commotion died at once. Ylva’s face was contorted in ugly rage at Felix, who shot her a look of scorn. The Thene paused a moment or so; then addressed Felix.
“A fair question, a fair question, indeed,” Arvid pronounced. “I perceive you are a young man of intelligence. You do not follow the gods blindly, but must be certain of what you worship. I honor that kind of reasoning, for surely once you are convinced you will be steadfast in your devotion. So, I have a proposal to make.”
The ears of everyone in the chamber picked up when the Thene made this announcement. Why Felix was not dead already astounded all who were present.
The Thene continued.
“Allow me to prove to you that Jytte is real, she does exist, and is worthy of your worship,” Arvid said. “Then perhaps you will choose to make your home in this land and serve her all your days. But if you do not so choose, you will surely die.”
Chapter VII
Felix Has a Plan
Felix did not hesitate for a moment, but sought to take advantage of the Thene’s unexpected leniency.
“That is fair, most excellent Thene,” he bowed. “I am eager to see your evidence. For surely when a man’s life hangs in the balance he is anxious to have it resolved with all speed.”
Arvid chuckled his appreciation.
“I do like your spirit,” he muttered. “Oh yes, I do like your spirit.”
He rose from his seat and ordered everyone to prepare to go outdoors. All hastened to don their furs and cloaks, and they descended the staircases to the lower hall. In the hall they assembled themselves, and streamed out the rear doors in an orderly procession.
Two guards strode before Arvid, then two more before Arvid’s council members, to be followed by two more guards. Halvor strode ahead of Marcus and the others, with guards on each side of them and one following behind. After that came the spectators, led by Ylva, who followed eagerly, yet with anger permeating from every fiber of her being.
Outside the sun shone brightly, illuminating the glittering snow-covered landscape. Their feet disturbed a fresh dusting of snow that had fallen in the night, sending a white powder upward. Here and there the ice-covered pools shone with renewed luster under a sky of pale blue.
All in all, thought Marcus, it was surely a day too lovely in which to die. He breathed a silent prayer, and hoped whatever plan Felix had would work. He glanced at his friends and knew by Kyrene’s fixed stare ahead that she also was praying. Dag smiled tenderly at Cort, who returned it through tear-filled eyes. Elena’s eyes darted here and there as though looking for an escape route. But Felix whistled cheerfully as if he had not a care in the world.
The procession stopped at the Thene’s order in front of one of the skrells. Some tall pines that surrounded it offered some protection from the occasional breeze that penetrated their furs and cloaks. Then Arvid directed them to follow a stream from which the skrell erupted. This led into a little grove of ice-bound trees and snowy pines that sheltered them completely. Here no wind stirred, and it was as hushed as a temple of worship. The stream flowed over pristine rocks and a ste
am rose from it.
“You wished for evidence that our great Jytte exists, and evidence you shall have. Berit, come forth and prepare the sacred rites.”
An old woman came out of the crowd. She was surprisingly erect for one of her years, which must be about seventy winters Marcus reckoned. Her gentle face was crowned by a mane of silver hair which fell in a single plait down her back. Her eyes were clear, undimmed by age. She walked with the grace of a much younger woman to the side of the stream.
Arvid addressed an elderly man in the group of spectators.
“Torger, son of Torster, come forth.”
The old man hobbled forward, clutching the arm of a youth who might have been his grandson, judging by his solicitous care of the older man. Torger and the youth walked to where Berit waited at the side of the stream, the youth slowing his steps to the unsteady gait of the old man. He looked questioningly at Arvid.
Arvid nodded at him.
Torger removed first his warm furs, then his woolen robes, leaving only an undergarment to cover his lower body from the hips to mid thigh. His body was gnarled with age; his joints at knee and elbow were knobby and red, his hands swollen, the fingers so twisted that Marcus wondered how he could possibly have any use of them.
Torger shivered in the cold. Berit then beckoned him. She removed her own cape of fur, revealing long robes that covered her from neck to ankle. She removed the fur-lined shoes that covered her feet, and strode into the stream, hoisting her robe to above her knees. Her knees bore no sign of age, but were as smooth as those of a young maiden.
Torger followed her into the stream, assisted by the youth. He faced Berit, who looked into his face and solemnly addressed him.
“Torger, son of Torster, do you worship the great goddess Jytte? Do you love and honor her?”
“Yes, I do,” Torger croaked in a voice made feeble by his years.
“Then receive the healing that Jytte alone may bestow!”
With these words the youth dipped Torger into the stream and held him under its flowing waters for what seemed a very long moment. Marcus held his breath, expecting the old man to either drown or be scalded by the steamy water. Suddenly, Torger rose from the stream, sending rivulets of water cascading from his body. He was not scalded, nor even short of breath. He let out a shout, and everyone there saw this hands were open, the fingers no longer twisted; his knees were straightened, the knobbiness visibly reduced. Torger gave a leap that sent the stream splashing upward, drenching those who stood nearby.
Berit smiled and lifted her face upward, her hands raised with palms outward in veneration. Arvid and the onlookers cried out in triumph and broke into loud shouts of praise.
During the moment of celebration, Felix moved closer to Marcus and whispered in his ear.
“Remember the word of Logos!”
Marcus looked a question at him, but Felix merely grinned and did not reply.
Arvid calmly waited for the shouts of excitement from the bystanders to cease, then commanded Felix to come forward.
“Well, young man, what further evidence do you require? Surely you have witnessed a miracle of healing, done by the hand of Jytte herself, whose spring this is, and which we guard as her sacred dwelling.”
Felix appeared unaffected by this triumph of Jytte, and calmly returned the gaze of Arvid with an unblinking eye and a solemn countenance.
“It is a seeming miracle, to be sure,” he admitted. “However, we have waters in my own land that also bring soothing to the complaints of old age. Indeed, we pipe them into our city bath houses, that all may enjoy their beneficial cures.”
A cry of protest arose from the onlookers. Felix faced them and smiled into their midst.
“May I put it to the test, most excellent Thene?” he asked. “It would be simple to prove that these waters and those in my country are one and the same.”
Arvid glanced nervously at the angry crowd, then warily at Felix.
“Very well, one test!” he warned. “Then you must choose. Be wise in your choice, for you will not get another chance!”
This show of strength mollified the crowd, who would not suffer any insult to their Mother goddess. Felix spun around to them and turned on his most engaging smile.
“Please, good friends,” he exhorted, “I intend no insult. But when a man’s life is at stake surely he can be indulged for what may seem like folly to those who surely know better than he.”
The mood shifted from outrage to bewilderment as the crowd puzzled over the meaning of Felix’s words. Marcus smothered a grin of amusement. Only Felix, he mused, could talk his way out of an assassination by an angry mob!
Felix continued.
“If I may have the loan of a receptacle of some kind, I should like to test whether these waters are the same as those in my own land. Has any one a small vial or bottle of some sort?” he enquired in a silky voice.
No one had such a receptacle, but a young girl, whose name was Ane, and worked in the kitchens, volunteered the use of one if she could return to the kitchens and fetch it. Arvid granted permission, and she ran swiftly back to the great hall.
In a very short time, (for she was fleet of foot indeed) she returned with a small empty bottle that held a cork for a stopper. This she presented to Felix with a blushing smile. He thanked her graciously with a twinkling eye, which made her blush deepen. She dropped her eyes and returned to the crowd, with one backward look at Felix who winked one eye at her, to her flustered consternation.
Slowly, with a ponderous air, Felix turned to face Arvid.
“Most excellent Thene,” he intoned solemnly, “I propose to fill this vial with some water from the stream so that I may taste it. For if it be the same as the waters of my country it shall taste the same; and then I shall know for certain whether these waters be sacred or not.”
Chapter VIII
Rivers of Living Water
Everyone fixed their attention on the Thene, waiting for his response to Felix’s proposal. The tension among the crowd was almost palpable, Marcus felt. He marveled at the swift change in the mood from outrage at Felix’s challenge to anxiety lest he be proved right, and Jytte’s sacred waters to be found less than divine.
Arvid stood rigidly and spoke from tightly clenched lips.
“Proceed,” he ordered spitting the word out between his teeth.
Felix approached the stream and stepping carefully onto the slippery bank, knelt and dipped the little bottle into the bubbling waters. He filled it quickly; then turned back to Arvid, with an air of bewilderment.
“How stupid of me,” he remarked with a shrug. “I need a drinking cup. Is there any near at hand?”
There was none to be found, but Ane volunteered once again to run to the kitchens and fetch whatever Felix would require. Everyone followed her with their eyes and waited impatiently for her return.
She swiftly emerged back into view, holding a wooden mug aloft in triumph. There was a murmur of approval and she bore the cup to Felix, her eyes shining and expectant. Once again he thanked her, and bowed his head over her hand. She shyly drew it back and melted into the crowd.
Holding the mug with both hands, Felix returned to the stream and filled the mug. He held it aloft and in a ceremonious manner gave it to Arvid.
“If the waters be like that in my own land, they will be salt, not fresh,” Felix stated. “For I believe it is something in the salt itself that relieves the ache of the joints, the pain of old age. Will you taste it and say whether the water is salt or fresh?”
Arvid took the cup from Felix. He held it, and for a moment hesitated before tasting, as if reluctant to have the outcome determined. Then he took a cautious sip.
Quickly he spat it out.
“Salt!” he choked, his features distorted in a grimace. “It is salt, not fresh.”
“Ah,” said Felix. “It is as I thought. This stream is the same as the waters in my own land. Therefore, they cannot be divine. They cannot be sacred to Jytte.”
A howl arose from Ylva.
“You lie!” she screamed. “How dare you insult Jytte! You deserve death! You shall die!”
Suddenly, a strange transformation seemed to take place in Ylva. Her face narrowed, her forehead appeared lower, and her tumbled mane of hair seemed to dominate her. She whipped out a dagger from the sleeve of her robe, and leaped forward at Felix with the speed and ferocity of a wolf. But she never reached him.
Without warning, a crack was heard over their heads. An ice-covered limb from one of the tallest trees had broken under its own weight and it descended with astonishing rapidity, gaining speed as it fell to earth from its lofty height.
Straight for Ylva it headed, and before she could move out of its path, its icy point pierced her heart like a spear and impaled her to the ground. Her body jerked once; then lay still and unmoving.
Stunned horror fell on those who witnessed her death. Halvor alone kept his wits about him. He fell on Ylva, lifting her body in his arms and rocked it, covering her face with his tears. In his grief he swayed back and forth. But she did not respond.
At last he looked up at Felix, who stood rooted to the ground, transfixed at the scene before him.
“You,” Halvor spat the words from his mouth, “shall pay for this!”
He leapt at Felix, but Dag jumped at Halvor. Arvid stepped between them and both drew back.
“Tell me,” Arvid whispered in a husky voice, “who you are. For all here can see that you are divinely protected. For you should die for challenging Jytte, yet it is one of her most ardent followers that lies dead at your feet!”
Felix took a deep breath and composed himself, for the sudden death of Ylva had shaken him more than anyone else present. He had no doubt that Dominio intervened to save his life, yet the death of Ylva gave him no pleasure; for she had died unrepentant, with all her sins upon her.
“As for who I am, I am only Felix Lucius, a mere mortal,” he responded to Arvid. “But it is Dominio, the all-powerful whom I serve, whose power you just witnessed, that you should fear.”