A freezing wind whistled over the desolate scenery, the leafless trees towering over the white ground dimly lit by the feeble sunlight struggling to penetrate the dark clouds that covered the skies. A few snow flakes drifted from the clouds, their descent slow and aimless, merely remains of the storm that afflicted the land the night before. Amidst the lifeless woods, a dark horse strode easily through a narrow road which came from nowhere and led to nothing. A flailing man held the reins upon the steed, dressed in furs heavy with nocturnal snow, his sword rattled in its sheathe with a dull rythm, and he swayed back and forth, weightless, empty. His long brown hair fell over his face ruffling with the wind concealing his vacant eyes which stared at the road before him.
Away drifted his thoughts, his mind pulling him towards a time that never existed. Emerald eyes filled with lust and desire, a passionate gaze laid upon his bloodied sword, a pale face pushing the darkness away as the blood dripped from the sharp blade, staining the pine boards ‘neath their feet. He held the woman’s arms tightly, feeling the bone under her bruised skin, and she yelled at him, asking for more blood, for his grasp to tighten even more. “Hold me, my love. Hold me and never let me escape from your arms,” she claimed, kneeling before him, her emerald eyes melting in tears. An unbearable weight fell upon him, pushing him downwards, it ran through his cloak, clinging to the furs, he struggled to maintain his poise, but his efforts were worthless and he fell from his horse onto the cold embrace of the snow laden forest.
The freezing cold gnawed at him with the same hunger the winter has for the land, stripping him from his remaining strength. Darkness fell upon him; those emerald eyes, that pale face, they were no longer there, for his mind was completely void of any thought. And suddenly that overwhelming weight was lifted from his shoulders, a gentle hand emerged from the darkness, holding him with a tender grasp and pulling him back to the dim light of the desolate winter noon. He felt a comforting warmth on his face, and as he opened his eyes he saw a small white kitten nuzzling against his cheeks. The cat noticed his awakening, laying a somber stare upon him, its fur bristled and it arched its back, hissing at the man. He tried to get up from the ground without startling the small thing even more, but it immediately lashed its claws onto his face, leaping back and bolting into the trees. He attended to the wound with his fingers, which reddened with his dripping blood.
He rose from the snow, leaning on his horse, slowly regaining his strength. When at his feet he scanned his surroundings, laying his eyes on a big round stone, unnaturally placed amongst the trees, it had a flattened face, carved with numerous runes. His hand traced the symbols as if their meaning might slip away if he didn’t hold them in place, but he could only make sense of a few words: “Freyja looks upon you, weary traveler.” He left out a breath, clouding the air before him, as his eyes turned to the side where a cobblestone path cut through the trees, eerily untouched by the snow. Ahead, a wooden structure sat in a clearing, impossibly vibrant amidst the dead of winter. Flowers bloomed at its base, their colors defying the season, while the surrounding trees still clung to their green leaves. A sanctuary in the heart of desolation. His heart quickened, but it wasn’t awe that filled him—he had seen this before. It was desire, like a tether pulling him forward.
He approached the door breathing heavily, his weariness mixed with yearning. One knock was enough, and when the door creaked open it spilled a flickering light into the clearing, letting all the warmth inside expel the cold of winter. From inside came forth a woman, bathed in the orange firelight, her scarlet hair cascading on her bare breasts, her red lips surrounding a shiny smile, her blue eyes as seductive as the waters from the sea, calling for him. The man slowly lifted his eyes, studying the woman’s body, drawn to the fire inside her eyes. Upon seeing the battered man outside her expression changed from a sensual invitation to a pitiful look which one lays upon a crying child. She gently placed her hands on his face, running her fingers through his beard, wet with the melting snow.
“I see you treaded through harsh roads, traveler. Freyja greets you and offers rest for your poor soul and weary body.” Her hand descended through his thick vests, reaching for the hilt of his sword and pulling it from its scabbard. The man drew a knife from his sheath and gave it to the woman willingly. “Come inside,” she smiled again.
As the fire of the pyres warmed the place, he took off his furs, as they were not necessary anymore. The inner walls were covered by purple cloths hanging from the ceiling, and as the orange flames casted their lights all over the place he met a sight that resembled that of a summer sunset. He was greeted by many women, they displayed all the beauty of their bodies unashamed by the lack of clothes. They shared the room with countless cats and danced graciously with sensual moves, often pleasuring themselves or each other, chanting songs of adoration for their beauty and moans of sexual delight as the felines walked among them, nuzzling against their feet. The man was led to a tub filled with water and disrobed, one of the women came to him with clean cloths, kneeling beside him and washing off the dirt from his skin, attending the claw marks on his cheeks. She gently rubbed him, running her fingers through his body, all the way to his crotch, their eyes intertwined, her bright green eyes, those were emerald eyes.
“Why didn’t you hold me tighter, my love?” That voice echoed through his thoughts until he saw himself in another room. It was dark, the only light came from a single candle held before him. The small flame danced on the hands of a woman, her eyes were covered in a white cloth, and her dark hair laid over her face.
“Welcome back, White Raven. Freyja is pleased by your return.” She lowered the candle, placing it on a cupboard beside her bed. She laid back on the red silks with her legs crossed. “Tell me your afflictions. Tell me your desires.”
The man came forth to her. “I seek the same as always.” His eyes ran through her legs, looking for what they were hiding. She smiled, moving her legs from on side to another, like an invitation, the man coming closer and closer, until she opened her legs, placing her heels on his shoulders, bringing him even closer. She got up from the bed, moving her legs down, holding him by his waist with them. When her face met his she placed her hands on his chest.
“Your heart clouds your judgment. It tells you to look for a fire to warm you in these cold days.” She approached his ears, now whispering. “It makes you desire this warmth, but it’s not what you need. This fire won’t fill your heart.”
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He flinched backwards, looking down on her. “Desire is need,” he lashed onto her.
She reached for his face, caressing him. “The White Raven, you have so much within your grasp. Desire must be so easy for you to fulfill that it clouded your judgment. So I tell you, desire is not need.”
He held her arm, driving her hand away from his face, tightening his grip, his eyes filled with frustration. “I stained the earth with the blood of many, I sailed under Thor’s fiercest storms, I withstood the ravenous cold of more winters than I can count, I defied death and won, and I did all of this driven by desire. This desire is what keep me alive. It’s the only thing I need.” He threw her onto the bed, blood dripped from the claw marks on his face.
“Your words are powerful and overflow with strength, but they lack wisdom,” she smirked.
From the dark corners of the room came another woman, she held a bowl with one hand and a raven with the other, he looked at the poor bird, knowing what fate it would have. She took over a knife and stuck it deep into the raven’s chest, letting the blood drip into the bowl. He fixated his eyes on the bowl as the woman offered it to him and retreated towards the dark, he took it and watched as his own blood dripped into the raven’s, sending ripples through the dark red liquid. “Does this blood hold any wisdom?” He asked the woman laying on the bed.
“Look into the bowl and tell me what you see.” She said rising from the bed.
He gazed into the blood, seeing his feeble reflection. “I see myself,” another drop of his blood fell on the bowl, disturbing his image. “And I am bleeding.”
“There is a darkness in your eyes, it’s similar to the darkness of the night, it cloaks your soul, concealing it in its cold embrace.” She came close to him, gently holding him from behind. “Can you see it?”
“I need a fire to see in the darkness,” he answered sharply.
“Correct, you need a fire, not to warm you, but to push away the darkness,” she turned him to face her, placing her hands on his face once more. “Do you understand it now?”
Despise lashed out of his eyes towards her. He grabbed her hands and took them off his face again, but this time it was him who held her face, gripping tightly her cheeks. “I don’t seek council of a harlot, what do you know about me? You tell me I need light with your eyes closed and hidden in the darkness.” The blood from the claw marks drools though his face all the way to his mouth, his tongue taste its bitterness.
“Even Odinn had to sacrifice his own eye to see through the illusions of this world,” she laughed. “Wisdom doesn’t come without sacrifice, and you, White Raven, have much to give up, you must become wiser than Odinn himself.”
His hand tightened around her neck as she laughed. “If I wanted to hear about Odinn I would seek one of his temples in the village, that’s not why I came here.” Clawing on his arm, her hands begged for her release, and he answered her efforts throwing her back in the bed.
Coughing, she tried to regain her breath, and after a brief moment she turned back to him. “Very well, I shall grant you what you desire.” She lifted her legs wide opened once again, reaching for his waist with her heels and pulling him into her. He stumbled onto the bed, letting the bowl fall upon the woman’s body, reddening her skin with the dark blood. She laughed and moaned as he laid upon her, holding her arms against the red silks, turning two into one in a ravishing embrace. “Your strength blinds you, drives you towards the darkness,” she said between the moans. “If you don’t want to escape it, then you shall drown into it.”
He slapped her face, blood came out of her lips. Her hands held him as she went for a kiss, and as their tongues danced inside each other’s mouths, she bit into his lips, craving her teeth deep into him. He leaped back, but she managed to still hold his face, and the blood dripped from his cheek and his mouth on the white cloth covering her eyes, painting it red. Slowly, her hands removed it from her face, he wanted to look away, but something made him watch, spmething deep inside him, watch while she revealed those emerald eyes.
“Eyvindr,” she called him. “You are so strong, why didn’t you hold me tighter? Why, my love, why did you let me go?” Those emerald eyes slowly disappeared into the shadows.
“No!” He yelled, futilely reaching for those eyes, wanting to hold her once more. He kneeled on a wheat field, and the golden light of the midsummer sun laid upon him.
A heavy hand touched his shoulders. “Rise, brother, this is no time to shed tears, only blood.” He turned his back and saw a man extending his arm for him, helping him get on his feet. He had no face, be he knew that voice. “See, brother? All this abundance, it’s all ours.”
He looked around to the endless wheat field, stretching all the way to the horizon. And suddenly a giant scythe descended from the skies upon the earth, reaping all that wheat with just one sweep. “What abundance?” He turned back to the man, but he wasn’t there anymore. What was once a bountiful wheat field now gave place to a dead scenery, countless bodies piled up on the mud, as rivers of blood flowed through the ground. Crows descended upon the dead, peeling their skin off, bit by bit, until only their bones were left.
He wandered through the corpses, his sword in his hands, blood dripping from its blade. An eerie wind blew over him as he faced a skeletal figure standing on its feet against the golden sun. A blue and white shield held on its hand. It raised his arm, pointing his finger towards him, and a decrepit voice came out of the fleshless skull. “Behold your apotheosis, White Raven. The feast is laid, let your sword drown in an endless sea of blood.”
As the blood dripped from his blade, it formed a pool ‘neath him, and from it, skeletal hands grasped his feet, reaching upwards through his legs and pulling him down, trying to drown him. “Death, death, death,” a million voices chanted together. Useless were his efforts as he tried to fight them, and he rapidly lost his breath, drowning in an endless sea of blood.
A gasp, followed by his frantic breathing, he was conscious once again, laying on the snow laden forest ground, a small kitten nuzzling against his face. He lifted his body slowly, dusting off the snow from his shoulders and shaking his head, throwing the snow off of his hair. He stared at the cat, which left out a cute meow and continued his way through the woods. Leaning on his horse he got up on it again, holding the reins, standing still, his eyes looking ahead, his desires fulfilled. Eyvindr felt alive once more.