Ch 8
It had been two months since Erik had arrived in the village and things had settled into a routine and he had begun to feel restless.
Villagers were happy to have him around. He cured their wounds, helped them in numerous small ways, kept their kids busy in their school activity and his warg beasts continuously brought venison for them. Several of the parents of his students had asked to be taught to read, write and do simple maths and had joined his class. He'd encouraged this behavior by giving them more venison than others as he wanted a few villagers capable of running the class in his absence.
One evening, Erik sat outside the long hall, staring into the dying embers of the hearth fire. The horizon was painted in streaks of purple and gold, and the sea below whispered its eternal song. His fingers traced idly in the dirt, contemplating the invisible walls of his comfortable new life. Part of him knew that for all the blessings he should be happy and content but his mind just wouldn't sit still and be happy with the progress he's made here in the village.
He wanted to do more. On a much grander scale.
Helga approached silently, her apprentices including Gertrud trailing behind her.
"You've done so much good here," she said softly, settling beside him. "But I can see it in your eyes—you're restless."
He nodded, offering a faint smile. "I've healed the wounds, mended the tools, helped the village where I could. Even built a wonderful huge house and started a school. But I feel… like there's more I can do, I know it."
Gertrude studied him in the flickering firelight. "Perhaps it's time to seek out the truth of your powers, beyond what you've already learned. The world is vast, and your gifts are rare. You need to have a talk with the green seer. He will guide you"
Erik exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her words. "You're right. I've been so focused on helping here, I forgot that my journey was never meant to end in comfort in a small village. I need to find why I was granted these powers to understand who I truly am and what I am meant to be"
He stood, stretching his limbs and feeling strength in his muscles. "Tomorrow, I will go to heart tree. And perhaps… I'll find some long-awaited answers that I too was uncomfortable knowing to answers to until now"
Helga nodded, a hint of pride and concern in her eyes.
"Be careful, Erik. The old gods..." She trailed off, as if the words themselves were dangerous. "But I believe you'll do what's right."
As darkness settled, Erik gazed out over the sea once more, the stars beginning to prick the night sky. His mind was already racing with possibilities—hidden groves, ancient ruins, creatures yet unseen.
the air within the Gods wood was different. It was not merely quiet, but listening. The rustle of the red leaves of the great weir wood was a language Erik was beginning to understand. He had been here for a moon's turn, a stranger in a familiar world, his modern mind housed in a local body gifted by forces he called the Old Gods for lack of a better term.
He was alive and living a fantasy that many dreamed of. He had powers. The village he'd settled in respected and revered him. But it was not enough. He was a tool without a wielder, a weapon without a war. He needed answers. He needed a purpose. And he knew only one entity in this world could provide it.
He had tried to listen before, to feel a presence, but had only found silence. Today, he would not ask. He would demand, with an offering of blood and a flare of will that could not be ignored.
He stood before the heart tree, its carved face weeping slow, scarlet tears. His offering was simple: his own Blood. He willed small gashes to open in his palms and as blood began coming out that he smeared on the heart tree.
"To the Gods who see," he began, his voice low but steady, cutting through the silence. "To the Singers in the earth and the Greenseer in the roots. I have heard your whispers in the wind. I have felt your power in the soil. You brought me here, a soul from another world, and you gave me these gifts."
He knelt, pressing his palms flat against the roots of the tree. He closed his eyes, not in prayer, but in focus. He pushed his consciousness down, through the roots, through the stone, following the ley lines of power that crisscrossed Westeros. He was a signal, flaring in the dark, seeking a receiver.
I am here. I am listening. Speak to me. He thought guide me
For a long time, there was only the vast, empty silence of the deep earth. Then, a presence. It was immense, ancient, and weary, like a mountain that had learned to think. It noticed his flicker of consciousness, not with surprise, but with a slow, tectonic curiosity.
"I seek the Greenseer. I seek the one who sees from the roots." Erik muttered
A voice, dry as autumn leaves and deep as a root-choked well, echoed not in his ears, but in the core of his being.
'You are a root that has broken through from another soil. A graft upon our ancient and vast web of trees. Why have you come to the deep grove?'
'I was planted here by a hand I cannot see. I have been given water and sun, but I do not know toward which sky I am to grow. I have power, but no purpose. I need to know what you want from me.' Erik replied
'Brace yourself' the voice intoned 'Behold'
Images flooded his mind, swift and brutal. A Wall of ice, bleeding cold. Blue eyes shining in a blizzard. A great winter, never ending, that would extinguish all song and memory. He felt the immense, crushing weight of the task to come.
The Cold breathes upon the world. The song of life is its enemy. You are a new verse, unwritten. Unbound by the old rhymes. You can see the pattern from outside the loom.
'So I am a weapon? To be used against the Cold ones?' Erik thought
'A weapon? No. A weapon is a dead thing, wielded by another. I offer you a choice. To be a champion. To be a vessel for the memory of the earth, a warden of the green and growing things. The power you hold is a sapling. It can become a forest… or it can wither and stagnate by living your peaceful life in this village and later dying naturally of old age'
A choice. It was more than he had hoped for.
'And if I choose this? If I pledge myself as your champion, as the champion of the Earth and the Old Gods of this land? What then?' Erik wondered.
The presence seemed to sharpen, to focus on him with the intensity of a thousand watching eyes.
Then the pact is sealed. Your sight will pierce the veils of dream and time. The strength of the stone and the endurance of the ironwood will be in your bones. But a champion must be bound to his purpose. A sigil of covenant, for the world to see and for you to remember.
Erik did not hesitate.
'I accept the pact. I will be your champion. I will shepherd these people to a better life. I will stand against the cold and the silence. Let my life be a verse in the great song' Erik declared
'So be it'
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a surge of power, raw and green and ancient, flooded up from the earth through his kneeling form. It was painful and overwhelming, like becoming a river after being a stream. He felt his senses expand; he could hear the worms burrowing deep beneath him, feel the thirst of the trees for miles around.
And then, a sensation like cool, tracing ivy began to bloom on his skin. He felt it start at his fingertips and the soles of his feet—a faint, tingling energy that began to travel inward. Along his arms and legs, fine, intricate lines of powerful runes etched themselves into his flesh, a network of runic script too swift and complex for his eyes to follow. He felt a single, delicate line trace up the nape of his neck, branching subtly across his scalp beneath his hair, a hidden crown of power. All the lines, thin and shimmering with a faint emerald light, converged in a silent, focused rush towards the center of his chest, right over his heart. There was a final, soft pulse of warmth, and the sensation ceased.
The presence began to recede.
'Go then, Champion. The long night is far away but it is coming. Remember your vow. We are watching. We will be sending a few singers or as you call them children of the forest your way. They have help you many ways'
The connection snapped. Erik was back in the Godswood, on his knees, panting. The world seemed brighter, sharper, more alive. He looked at his hands. At first glance, his skin seemed unmarked. But as he turned his wrist to the dappled light, he saw them: thin, elegant lines like veins of emerald, tracing from his fingernails up his forearm. They were not raised like scars, but seemed to be within the skin, glowing with a subtle, inner light. He pulled open his tunic. On his chest, over his heart, the converging lines formed a complex, circular knot of runes, pulsing softly with a steady, verdant rhythm.
He stood, a new strength in his limbs. He no longer felt like he was a lost soul. He was Erik, the Rune marked, the Champion of the Weir wood. The paths of power were now written on his very flesh. And he had a near savage group people to uplift and eventually a war to prepare for.
New sensations were being felt by him. He flet as if he was connected to everything in nature, to the ear, to the sky, to the sea. He could feel more energy coursing through him. He could also sense all life around him for some distance like a radar.
The emerald runes on his chest were a cool, constant pressure against his skin, a reminder of the covenant that now bound him. The power that hummed within him felt deeper, more settled, like a river that had found its true bed. His purpose was no longer a question; it was a path laid out before him, and the first steps began here, in the familiar places.
'And I know just the perfect place to start' Erik thought
He found his way to the village paddock, the scent of hay, horse, and damp earth a welcome anchor after the dizzying heights of the godswood. His eyes went immediately to his trusty mare, Luna. Her coat, the color of a moonlit cloud, seemed to glow in the afternoon light. She whickered softly in greeting, trotting to the fence and nudging his chest with her velvety nose, right over the pulsing runes. He felt a thrum of connection, deeper than before—a thread of understanding that passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the change in him.
"That's right, girl," he murmured, running his hands along her neck. "It's still me."
It was then he saw the other horse. A tall, old stallion, his once-dark coat now heavily flecked with grey, his frame still proud but lean with age. He stood a respectful distance away, but his ears were pricked forward, watching Luna and Erik with a quiet, intelligent interest. There was no aggression, only a kind of weary companionship.
He was the reason Erik was here today after all. The chief's old stallion. The only other horse in the entire village.
"Who's your friend?" Erik asked Luna, scratching behind her ears. "Is he good?"
He opened his senses, not just with his eyes, but through the new, green-tinged awareness the weirwood had granted him. He felt the bond between the two horses—not the fiery passion of young mates, but a deep, settled affection. A companionship of two solitary souls who had found comfort in each other. Luna's emotional accent in his mind was one of contentment, of peaceful acceptance.
She likes him, he realized. She's not lonely anymore.
An idea, brilliant and fully formed, blossomed in his mind. It was more than a thought; it was a blueprint, delivered on a wave of instinctual understanding from his enhanced powers.
He looked at the old stallion, truly looked at him. He saw the ghost of the powerful warhorse he must have been, the strength in his bones, the dignity in his bearing, all shackled by the relentless decay of age.
Why stop at healing? the idea whispered. Why not renew?
He would not just heal this old stallion. He would rejuvenate him. He would scour the age from his cells, reverse the decay in his joints, stoke the dimmed fire of his vitality into a roaring blaze. He would craft him into a young, powerful stallion, a true match for Luna in spirit and body. A partner for her, and a sire for a new, stronger generation of horses for the Free Folk.
And he would do it here, in the open, for all to see.
This would be his first true miracle as the Runemarked. Not merely healing but a public act of creation. A show of power so profound it would shatter their understanding of what was possible. It was a message, not to the horses, but to every man and woman watching: The old gods have a new champion and I hold the power to defy the chaos and the long winters. Even the decay of age itself.
"Stay here, Luna," he said softly, his voice firm with newfound resolve.
He would not just heal this old stallion. He would rejuvenate him. He would scour the age from his cells, reverse the decay in his joints, stoke the dimmed fire of his vitality into a roaring blaze. He would craft him into a young, powerful stallion, a true match for Luna in spirit and body.
And he would do it here, in the open, for all to see.
He spotted a young stable boy, one of his older students, Torbjorn, gaping at him from the fence. "Torbjorn!" Erik called, his voice cutting through the quiet. Torbjorn jumped. "Run along now and go and fetch Chief Frode and the elders. Tell them to come quickly. What happens next, they must see for themselves."
The boy didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled away, his feet kicking up puffs of dust as he sprinted toward the longhouse.
Erik turned back to the old stallion. He would wait. Let the audience assemble. Let the anticipation build. He stood calmly, a hand on Luna's neck, feeling the buzz of confusion and excitement spread through the villagers who were already gathering. By the time Chief Frode, Helga, Gonir, one eye korb, Grumpy Agnar, the grizzled old Ullar and the other elders arrived, a small crowd had formed, their murmurs a low, anxious hum.
Frode's brow was furrowed. "Erik? What is it? The boy said it was urgent. Is my horse sick again? "
"It is urgent and Thor is fine. In fact, he's why I have gathered you all here" Erik said, his voice calm but carrying. "You have all seen me heal wounds. You have seen me grow a house from a tree. But the power granted to me goes deeper than that. The long harsh winter that consumes all life, that feeds on decay and weakness. To stand against it, we must be able to defy decay itself."
He gestured to the old stallion. "This loyal heart is shackled by time. Watch now, as I break those shackles."
The paddock fell completely silent.
Erik placed his hands on the stallion's flank, the runes on his own arms beginning to glow with a faint, pulsating green light. He closed his eyes.
He saw it all—the arthritic joints, the clouding eyes, the tired heart. It was a map of entropy. And Erik began to redraw it.
'It's easier to wield my powers now' Erik thought marveling at the ease 'and much more power efficient and smooth as well. I can do twice maybe three times more than before.'
"What is the Green Man doing with Old Thor?" Elder Agnar muttered angrily "That horse can barely pull a cart. Is he going to put him down?"
Erik ignored them. He placed his hands on the stallion's flank, the runes on his own arms seeming to pulse in sync with the animal's labored heartbeat. He closed his eyes and dove inward.
He saw it all—the arthritic joints, the clouding eyes, the tired heart, the muscles withered by time. It was a map of entropy. And Erik began to redraw it.
He didn't just accelerate the body's natural healing; he commanded it to remember. He found the pristine, youthful template encoded deep within the stallion's cells and, with a surge of power that made the runes on his chest flare with visible green light, he imposed that memory upon its present form.
Gasps erupted from the crowd as the visible transformation began...
Before their eyes, the grey hairs began to darken, melting away into a rich, glossy bay. The sagging flesh tightened, sculpting itself over suddenly swelling muscle. The stallion shuddered, a deep, full-body tremor, and let out a sharp, powerful snort. His spine straightened, his head lifted high, and a fiery light returned to his eyes. The knobbly joints in his legs smoothed out, the hooves that had been chipped and worn regrew strong and dark. The transformation was not silent; it was accompanied by the soft, wet sounds of reshaping tissue and the crackle of energy that made the air smell of ozone and fresh-turned earth.
In less than a minute, it was done.
Where Old Thor had stood, there was now a magnificent stallion in his prime. He tossed his magnificent head, his mane and tail flowing like black silk, his body a monument of equine power. He pranced in place, his energy boundless, before turning to nuzzle Erik's hand with a force that was entirely new.
The paddock was utterly silent, save for the stallion's excited breathing and Luna's soft, approving whicker.
Then Gonir's voice, cracked with awe, broke the silence. "By all the gods... he didn't just heal him. He... un-aged him."
Erik turned to face the stunned villagers. His gaze swept over them, but he specifically sought out the older faces—the grizzled hunters whose reflexes were slowing, the weavers whose eyesight was failing, the elders who sat by the fire waiting for the end. He saw the dawning, impossible hope in their eyes.
"This power," Erik announced, his voice carrying clearly, "is a gift from the earth, from the Old Gods who see that things must change and are willing to become part of the change. It is not just for mending wounds. It is for forging strength."
He patted the rejuvenated stallion's powerful neck. "Age is a cage. I have the key." He let his words hang in the air, watching the idea take root. "I am leaving this village soon. My path leads me to all the Free Folk, to unite them, heal them, to defend the weak, and bring them prosperity. It is a task too great for one man."
He looked directly at an old, one-eyed hunter named Korb, who had once been the village's finest tracker. He'd refused to get his eye healed "I need wisdom. I need skill. I need those who remember the old ways and have the strength to teach them again."
He saw the understanding flash in Korb's single, keen eye. The offer was unspoken but clear: I can give you back your youth, your strength, your purpose. In exchange, you leave this comfort and follow me on my adventure.
Erik turned and walked back to Luna, leaving the rejuvenated stallion—a living, breathing miracle—as his argument. The seed had been planted. He had shown them a future where the winter of their lives could be spring again. Now, he would see who was brave enough, or desperate enough, to reach for it.
He looked directly at the older faces in the crowd—the grizzled hunters whose reflexes were slowing, the weavers whose eyesight was failing. He let his gaze rest finally on the two most respected elders: Gonir and Helga.
He saw the understanding flash in their eyes. The offer was unspoken but clear. He decided to make it explicit, starting with the two he trusted most. He nodded to them and they nodded back.
He left the paddock and the villagers there.
'Let them think it over' Erik thought 'See who's interested'