It was a cruelly dark Iceday dawn when Brynhilde approached the Twelves’ Sanctum with a silver kris at her hip and a squirming linen sack tied to the saddle she sat upon. Her captive had fought the entire journey, and seemed now no nearer to exhaustion than when they had set out.
The Highlander urged her Chocobo onwards, the three of them proceeding through the iron gates toward the towering building at a slow pace. The air was bitterly cold and they were alone; the rest of the world had not yet awoken.
A light pull on the reins brought them to a stop. On either side of the steps leading to the temple door were the stones of the Gods, one for each of them rising up out of the cobbled ground like long-forsaken tombstones. Brynhilde slid from Astridr’s back and gave the bird a soft pat as she retrieved the bag, which wriggled vigorously upon being lifted. Above the woman, the spires of the Sanctum loomed in judgement.
“I know that it has been a great many cycles since last we spoke.†She paused, searching. “I saw little point in conversation, in the knowledge that you were always watching.â€
Stepping over a small brick wall brought her to a line of stones. She stopped before one; it bore the symbol of a descending, fire-consumed meteor. Brynhilde set the sack down beside her leg and prostrated herself before the headstone, pressing her brow hard to the cold ground between her flattened palms. The cobbles smelt of moss, abandonment and age.
“I love him.†She whispered to the ground. “It is not his fault. Please do not punish him for my selfishness.â€
Beside her, the sack bleated.
“Rhalgr. Father.†She reached for the sack to undo the cord and snatch the Aldgoat kid as it made a last, squealing bid for freedom. The fine silver kris sat now in her free hand.
“Not once have I asked anything of you since my youth, but I ask you now as one who would be your loyal servant for the rest of her suns, however many or few they be; please have mercy upon those fools who love me in return.â€
She pulled the head of the kid back. The kris waited at it’s throat, gleaming wanly in the cool morning light.
“Lord of the meteor and breaker of worlds, I beg of you; there must be something in this life that does not die at my touch.â€
The torrent of hot blood coated the dawn-chilled stone, misting instantly on contact in fine white wisps. Brynhilde held the body of the beast firmly in her hands as it’s kicks became languid twitches and finally it stilled, glass-eyed. She placed the sacrifice beneath the headstone along with two shining, golden gil coins. A spattering of her own blood, drawn from a cut across her palm, completed the offering.
She stood and turned back to her waiting Chocobo. The two departed the Sanctum as the sun began to rise over the Shroud’s canopies. The birds began to sing then, but the stones stood ever-silent in the growing light.
The Highlander urged her Chocobo onwards, the three of them proceeding through the iron gates toward the towering building at a slow pace. The air was bitterly cold and they were alone; the rest of the world had not yet awoken.
A light pull on the reins brought them to a stop. On either side of the steps leading to the temple door were the stones of the Gods, one for each of them rising up out of the cobbled ground like long-forsaken tombstones. Brynhilde slid from Astridr’s back and gave the bird a soft pat as she retrieved the bag, which wriggled vigorously upon being lifted. Above the woman, the spires of the Sanctum loomed in judgement.
“I know that it has been a great many cycles since last we spoke.†She paused, searching. “I saw little point in conversation, in the knowledge that you were always watching.â€
Stepping over a small brick wall brought her to a line of stones. She stopped before one; it bore the symbol of a descending, fire-consumed meteor. Brynhilde set the sack down beside her leg and prostrated herself before the headstone, pressing her brow hard to the cold ground between her flattened palms. The cobbles smelt of moss, abandonment and age.
“I love him.†She whispered to the ground. “It is not his fault. Please do not punish him for my selfishness.â€
Beside her, the sack bleated.
“Rhalgr. Father.†She reached for the sack to undo the cord and snatch the Aldgoat kid as it made a last, squealing bid for freedom. The fine silver kris sat now in her free hand.
“Not once have I asked anything of you since my youth, but I ask you now as one who would be your loyal servant for the rest of her suns, however many or few they be; please have mercy upon those fools who love me in return.â€
She pulled the head of the kid back. The kris waited at it’s throat, gleaming wanly in the cool morning light.
“Lord of the meteor and breaker of worlds, I beg of you; there must be something in this life that does not die at my touch.â€
The torrent of hot blood coated the dawn-chilled stone, misting instantly on contact in fine white wisps. Brynhilde held the body of the beast firmly in her hands as it’s kicks became languid twitches and finally it stilled, glass-eyed. She placed the sacrifice beneath the headstone along with two shining, golden gil coins. A spattering of her own blood, drawn from a cut across her palm, completed the offering.
She stood and turned back to her waiting Chocobo. The two departed the Sanctum as the sun began to rise over the Shroud’s canopies. The birds began to sing then, but the stones stood ever-silent in the growing light.
