The sky outside the forest was already well-lit with the mid-morning. Many of the townsfolk who had come to watch had already left early, having had seen enough of the Order of seers strange practices, but a handful still remained, despite the allure of the early Brannaht festivities. Even these that remained, as time went on, seemed to grow less interested in the affair. By the end, all that was left of the crowd were the rangers come to meet their witch.
It was long before the rituals were concluded and the elder seer went to break the spheres of influence surrounding the circle of witches. The seers and their acolytes gathered the tools with a deft swiftness and went to take them to a set of casements that had been placed not far away. One assisted the old man in walking towards the carts where twelve black horses waited and tickered. Only he conversed openly, and that was with the elder witch, who accompanied him to a traveler's cart. With hardly a word, the rest of the seers, from acolyte to elder, made quick work of their setup and departed from the forest with hardly a blade of grass bent in their wake. Soon, all that was left were the hundred or so witches, grouped off and speaking amongst themselves.
When the curtained carts began to move and the seers departed, the elder witch returned to the crowd, aided by a young assistant. The old woman made her way to the trunk of the tree once again and once it was clear where she was, individual young women from several of the smaller gathered crowds separated and went to join her. Many of these still wore the cowled masks that had been placed upon them. There, the old crone waited, layered in long and patch-woven robes. The jewels and polished bones about her neck glimmered in the lamplight. Only six others wore necklaces of a similar kind, and they all stood nearby her, though none joined in her conversation.
In time, the central circle of witches had all gathered once again near the smouldering remains of the bonfire. There, they stood there for long, speaking amongst themselves as the rest of the clergywomen spied on through half-glances. Some removed their masks and headdresses, while others remained enshrouded. Of these that took the vestments from their faces, all bore expressions of grief and fear. Górin had little doubt the same thought was upon all of their minds, yet he could not help but wonder about those that still obscured their faces. Were those the ones assigned to the more terrible lands? Did their grief and fear surpass those who revealed themselves? He did not see it at first, but those witches kept their heads lower than those of the others, their eyes turned towards the ground. He thought of the deeply-blighted lands some were meant to enter, and a trail of anxiety pressed at his mind as he envisioned any one of them being subjected to the terrible poison, mask or no. He thought of a Veil darkening the world where one of the small ladies stood, and his eyes widened in grim nausea at the idea.
Occasionally, they would turn their heads to look at the crowd of rangers that had hitherto all been gathered together as one single group. By Górin's rough estimate, nearly everyone had managed to make it by this point, though he would be willing to believe a few were still asleep. They all stood around, watching the witches who watched them. A few went to speak with some, but apparently recieved few answers.
After some time, the elder witch raised a gnarled hand and slowly beckoned the mass of rangers towards in her direction. “You are expected,” she called out in a crackling and shrill voice. Though none seemed all to eager to approach, there was no use declining, and as one, the group made their way to join with the circle, speading out so that they might better see.
Almost without any pause, the moment they came close to the circle, the elder witch began to ask for the names of the witch a ranger was assigned to protect, pointing to the one in response. Upon meeting their companions for presumably the first time, the witch and her guides would separate from the circle, going off a short distance away to become acquainted with each other.
“You?” The elder witch asked, pointing at Górin with a long grey fingernail. It was now that she looked directly at him that he realized one of her eyes was glazed over with a white sheen that shimmered in the reflection of the morning light.
“Jynge, Elder Witch,” Górin answered, feeling uncomfortable as he tried to not look into the milky eye’s gaze. Somehow, the directionless mist within the old crone’s eye unnerved him even moreso than the vulnerability felt in the presence of a powerful seer who were said to be able to hear and see one's deepest thoughts.
At hearing the name, a short young woman quickly looked over towards him. She was one of those that had removed her mask, though she looked no less depressed than the others who hung their heads. The eyes that snapped to his direction might have once appeared as vibrant and deep as a single perfect moment in the sky, but now, they were simply just blue, faded, and reflecting of no warmth. The high cheeks seemed hollow rather than full. When she had worn the mask, her hair had been bound with a thin cord, but now, her white-yellow tresses fell in loose waves past her shoulders and well down her back, making her stand out quite starkly against the others who mostly had earthen-brown or clay-red hair.
“A good morning to you,” the young witch said listlessly as they separated from the circle and made their way to an open area, away from the others. When the greetings were returned, she looked each over as though making some judgement, and did not speak at once. When she finally did speak again, her voice was no less lethargic than it had been before. "Is there anything you would need to do today? There will be a large departure at the southern gate for those going in that direction, tomorrow at sunrise."
"Why sunrise two days in a row?" Handor grimmaced and touching his forehead.
The young witch began to speak, but immediately after, she shook her head and gave a sigh. Górin gave her a long look. He scowled. She can't be more than three and twenty, he thought, Five and twenty, perhaps? He wondered what kind of ominous spells the woman knew that could make her chosen over so many to complete such a risky task at so young an age.
"We don't need anything, so far as I am aware," he answered, sending a nasty look over at Handor. He lowered his shoulder to reach into his satchel, and removed the rolls of paper Gráðír had given him. "Unless there is something you know that we don't, tomorrow at sunrise is well enough a time as any."
"Is not the witch the one who decides these things?" Dákk asked with a sly grin.
"I am," Jynge said, "but I won't discount the advice or direction of the appointed leader of this journey. What are those things you hold?"
"Maps, notes, and reports," Górin said, brandishing them but not offering them to the young woman just yet. He gave her a deep look as though to silently ask a question in the hopes of recieving a silent response. "Considering the cases of trespassing in Kaðrosedd, I was given a list of things to look out for when we arrived."
"What might that be?" Handor asked.
"Tracks, encampments, tools used to steal livestock, any sort of material or identification that might have been left behind." Górin kept looking at Jynge, who stared at him blankly, but whose pale eyes suddenly narrowed at the final thing he mentioned.
"All for cattle thieves," his companion laughed.
"Let us not think of cattle thieves or trespassers of kings' lands now," Jynge said, giving Górin a final look before addressing the group as a whole, once again. "I trust that you have some sort of planned route that we shall take? Such things, it was decided, would be better left to those who knew wilderness well."
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"We long discussed it last night," Górin replied, raising the bundle once more, "I was planning on speaking to the seers in the hopes of hiring one to perform a forecasting, but none seemed keen on so much as a greeting, today. I suppose I shall spend the rest of the morning heading to the temples and finding one there, then."
"How much of a difference do you think rain will make?" Jynge asked quietly, raising one arm to rub the other.
Górin somehow managed to keep himself from sighing heavily. He scolded himself for bringing up the topic without some way to avoid the truth. Veils, he thought with annoyance. Throw your shawl into the wind and let the tempest fall upon you, girl. I care not for rain or ice. You should think about Veils and deep blight, you fool.
"That will depend on the rain," he sighed gently, "An extra day or three. Hopefully, we will deal with no rain at all, though."
To his confusion, the morose face of Jynge slowly turned upwards into a pained smile, though the downwards pull of her brow did not follow suit. "Yes," she said as she slowly nodded, "Let it be so."
Górin wasn't sure what to say in response, but he wouldn't have needed to, for after a few moments of silence as the three rangers looked at the witch in awkward hesitation, a voice called out from some distance away.
"Ah, Jynge!" A fair voice sounded out, accompanied by a set of approaching footsteps, "You've found our guides?"
Górin turned to see a commonly-dressed woman, probably only a few years younger than he, walking towards them. As the rest went to see the newcomer, Jynge's odd smile suddenly shifted, and its source went from consolation to happiness.
"So I have," she said as the new woman joined in the circle that had formed. "This is Górin of Dormedon, Dákk of Ekír Nadón, and Handor of Lord Balgi's realms." She turned to the three. "This is Troíde of the House Elórdn.”
Górin looked the newly-joined companion up and down. Upon seeing one of the ladies of Elórdn up close for the first time, he raised an eyebrow, for she was not what he had expected.
For one of such reputation, her garments were rather plain; like anything else a woman would wear in Leafsway, though her sleeves were rolled to the elbows. Since hearing the family of who would be joining him on the campaign, he had expected her to carry a belt weighed down with a dozen swords and her shoulders to be clad in silver gilded plates. The only thing that really marked her as a fighter was the webwork of thin scars that lay atop the surface of her hands and forearms. Her arms had remained relatively by her side as she quickly walked over to the group, but once she had found her place amongst them and stood relaxed, her left wrist began to rhythmically twitch back and forth, as though swatting at some unseen fly by her side. Over and over she made this odd gesture, never varying the path nor ceasing the rhythm.
"What are you doing?" Górin asked instead of the noble’s greeting he had meant to say.
The woman gave him a flat look. “Nothing,” she said, “Just a twitch. I had been meaning to find you, actually. I would have sought you out sooner, but when I inquired at the barracks yesterday near midday, I was told that you had still not yet arrived. I was not yet told of the names of the other guides, so if you have been in Elbregn long, then I am sorry for not finding you.”
“Never a need for apologies, my lady,” Dákk said, “Have you been in the city long?”
“The estate of Elórdn lays a day’s ride to the west,” Troíde answered, “But I have been in Elbregn for nearly two branches, now.” She raised her eyebrows in Dákk's direction. "Ekír Nadón? You've certainly traveled far, already."
Dákk grinned and gave a chuckle. "Not as far as you'd think. There are ways to make the journey go by quickly." At this, Górin lowered his face to hide a chuckle of his own. It was nothing to feel superior about, but there was always some amusement in how few people he met that were even aware of the existence of the Leylines.
Soon, having been given their leave by the elder witch, the five of them went to leave their place by the trees, and made for the gates of Elbregn once more, slowly ascending the incline to the city walls. As they walked, Górin thought of what Gráðír had told him about Kaðrosedd. He had no doubts that Jynge was well aware of all that he was, but even the speculation put him at him unease. He wished not to think of it, but found the task rather difficult when the rest of the conversation was inane and without meaning.
The group wandered aimlessly through the streets of the city, though their steps took them almost instinctually towards the central marketplace, where the majority of Elbregn was beginning to congregate and begin the first celebrations of Brannaht. The citizens ambled about, enjoying the day away from their work, but not yet actually doing much other than socializing, as there were hardly any stalls or entertainments set up this early in the morning. A few bakers had begun to take out their assortments of tiny pastries, but nothing yet was fully started. When the group passed by such a stall, Górin had felt that enough idle words had been said, and shifted the topic. After purchasing a krümmbrót for everyone and vaguely questioning how long Jynge would need to stay in Kaðrosedd, Górin was soon disappointed. The short journey into town alongside her friend and new companions had lifted the spirits of the young witch, and she gave a brief speculation before resuming whatever she had been speaking with Troíde about.
“I do wonder, though,” he said, trying to keep the subject of conversation steady as Handor attempted to instead suggest splitting for the day and focusing on Brannaht for the time, “Is this task meant to expedite a cleansing of the land, or initiate it? If a Stékkr’s influence spreads out and burns away the miasma near it, then wouldn’t such influence eventually come to these heavily-blighted regions, even from so far away from the tree?”
“That is our belief, yes,” Jynge said with a sideways nod, “But to wait for purification in such a way could mean a time longer than our lives. That has already been proven by the case that these regions remain diseased even after sixty and a hundred years. What’s more, it is unknown whether or not the influence of the Stékkr can reach so far. From the reports of travelers, even the blight itself is not so static. Not simply a decaying, but a rotting. A wandering disease, if you will. Some places become worse in time, and others are made less hazardous.”
“All that’s well and good,” Dákk commented, “But how can you be certain of such effects if all your evidence is built upon speculation? Wouldn’t an expedition into these dangerous regions first be safer than sending you into unknown places?”
Jynge sighed. “It would…But that is, in part, also one of the tasks of this journey. To investigate, as well as to conduct the spells.” She gave Górin a quick look.
“And what of Kaðrosedd, then?” Górin asked slowly.
“What of it?”
“Were you given any instruction as to the time that we shall spend there?” He looked intently at her. In exchange, her eyes narrowed only slightly. Though she had had a pleasant expression upon her face up to that point, it soon faded to leave only a forlorn look.
“Yes,” she finally said, “But I am sure you know enough of it, already. There are things I was told about the place, but the rest of you need not concern yourselves. I have all of my preparations and designs for the ritual. Unless there should be some unforeseen circumstance, I should likely have no need to alter them much.”
The day passed into its later half, and the group remained together for long into the evening, continuing to wander about the streets of Elbregn and walk admidst those who had nothing to do with any of this business. After a time, Górin managed to partially take his mind away from the grim mood he had been under since the conclusion of the ritual at daybreak. Though he could not entirely enjoy himself on this day, he at least cheered at performers and ate with the others on long tables set out in the middle of the city’s center. By that time, a meeting point had been agreed upon for the next morning (though earlier than most would have liked), and Jynge departed for the witch’s temple along with Troíde. As evening came, the festivities grew louder, more revelrous, and considerably more laden with fires, but such things did little to raise the spirits of Górin. Hardly any time after dusk, he halfheartedly reminded the others of the early start they were to need, and with a few rude words said here and there, they eventually agreed to return with him to the barracks.