Late May 915, Near Stromness, Orkney Islands

The snows were gone and Sunna's fire warmed the land. Now that the little bit of planting was done, she needed to retire, away from the eyes of the rest, far up in the hills, to learn of what was to come. Ursta had died but a month before, passing on the labors to Fursa. The last of the tattoos still healed on her shoulder, reminding her of the calling she bore.

All was prepared around her. The niche prepared with furs and a couple blankets for warmth. The pack with the food to break the week long fast lay against the back wall, the large leather water bottle closer to hand, the mead horn in her hands.

Fursa was nervous, very much so as she filled the mead horn to murmur fervent prayers to the Gods and honor her ancestors. A blot for them all and then a deep draught for herself. The powder mixed therein darkened the mead and gave it a faint bluish hue. Derived from the lichens that grew on the the rocks in the crag, was potent and potentially deadly.

The strong bitter taste was only bearable with effort and it took several swallows to drain the horn, but the sweet aftertaste that followed signalled the beginning of the effect. She took a deep breath and exhaled as she felt the slow spreading warmth and sudden heaviness in her limbs. Now she lay back and concentrated on covering herself against the chill as the darkness pushed in around her vision. It took only the act of letting go, then she slipped into the blackness.

March 2009, Somewhere in Torpor

Through the blackness, through a darkness that seemed impenetrable to the naked eye, Fursa fell. How long and how far were of no consequence. Time and distance meant nothing here. The mind lolled and that was all that mattered...

..until impact sent a shock wave through her being. The hollow rattle of bones, strewn deeply everywhere, greeted her ears. Pain, unlike any she could remember, ripped up through her body, especially her chest. She finally screamed, the torment ongoing though the sound was cut short by a strangled choke as the paralysis overtook her.

How long before the agony subsided enough to think? She had no way to tell. With effort, she slowly forced her eyes open. The darkness had given way to a faint gloom, just sufficient to see the huge piles of bones. Mountains of them in eerie white contrast to the black of the night here.

Still paralysed, she looked for the source, her eyes finally being drawn to the long, smooth wooden shaft that jutted skyward from the hole in her chest. Feeling little, wanting less, she stared blankly at the blood soaked shaft. Freedom meant imprisonment--how utterly fitting. It was fitting, to be staked and left like this. If she had cared more, she would have smiled at the irony of it all.

Blackness encroached again. She closed her eyes and let it take her completely.

/The screams were unreal. A great maw rose up and engulfed people, houses, livestock. No one could stand and they were sucked away in an unnatural windstorm. She was frozen in her tracks, unable to help anyone as the chaos reigned around her. All of it was disjointed, surreal, frightening, she yanked herself away from the images and sought shelter in nothingness./

The foul taste in her mouth roused her from the deep sleep. Cold. The hides and woven blankets were not enough to stave off the shivering. The sound of the howling wind outside carried through the chamber and helped to make it feel even more chill. Her eyes opened slowly, vision blurred. A lethargy overshadowed everything, numbing her senses to the world around her. It took great effort and several hard blinks to bring the faint gloom around her into focus.

Smooth stone arched overhead, near enough to touch with a hand, if she had the strength to lift one. Three symbols carved in the rock reminded her of where she was, the sacred cave. The place that Saeme hid her seal skin, where she taught the Arts to Ursta, where Ursta had taught them to her daughters, and where Fursa had learned from them.

A storm raged outside. The sound of the howling wind was unmistakable. Late in the year, yet not unheard of. There was nothing to do about it. Then, an indiscernable nod, a silent thanks to the gods for continued life, and then Fursa drifted back into sleep.

~~Now it is time for you to complete this journey, Fursa Hand-Seinn.~~ The voice permeated her consciousness. It was only in her head, not in her ears that it came.

Familiar, yet not one that she could readily remember, the Gangrel strained to hear it, fought to open her eyes to see its source. Only the dim greeted her. ~~Who?~~ her mind called back into the void, the mountains of bones around her immobile body a reminder of the grim reality here.

~~A friend,~~ the voice answered, ~~here to keep you company in your prison.~~

A wave of lethargy swept over her again. In her mind, she nodded a little to the voice, finally saying ~~...must rest...~~

~~Then sleep, Fursa. I will be here when you wake.~~

Into sleep she fell again, but the wonder of who it was clung to her as she drifted away into slumber.

/The screams continued. Her feet were rooted while others were uprooted by the winds. They pleaded for her to help, yet she couldn't, frozen in place and silenced by an unseen force. Again, she pulled herself away from it./

Sweat soaked, she roused again.

Thirst. The body cried out for something, anything to drink. Eyes snapped open this time, though it still took some effort to clear the haze from her vision. This time her body responded and her left hand moved out over top of the leather water bottle under her hand. Need propelled the rest of her body into movement, albeit slow movement at best.

Shaking hands lifted the vessel to her lips and she drank. Slow sips. She reminded herself not to gulp and choke. Discipline and sheer force of will let her drain half the water before restoppering the bottle. Still cold. This time, she found the edge of her covers and curled up, cradling the bottle nearer her.

Finally, after warming up a little beneath the furs, she dozed again.

Fursa came to consciousness again from the nightmare. The stake prevented her from screaming. The green wolf eyes were forced open again, the dim persisted. The after images of countless deaths poured into her mind and she forced them away from her with a strong mental shove. ~~Enough.~~

~~Curious.~~ The voice said to her.

~~What is?~~ The presence in her mind was a bother, but her curiousity was still aroused.

The voice seemed to riffle through her memories and then said ~~You do not regret these.~~ It hung close and then asked ~~Why then?~~

Confusion. Then a quiet reply, ~~I do not understand.~~

A pause before the voice replied, ~~It is nothing. You will rest again and we will talk more after.~~

~~But...~~ then she felt her will being smothered, somehow. She panicked and tried to fight it, but the force would handily overwhelm her.

~~Rest. There is time for everything....~~

Blackness consumed Fursa again and this time, she was unable to fight it.

/A desolate landscape, ravaged by the storm. Death greeted here everywhere she looked. Twisted corpses stared skyward. Dead fish and some few livestock lay amid the ruins of the houses here. She had seen this before when she was younger, when the sea rose up and devoured Helgi's village. It made her sick inside. Again, she pulled away from the death stench, the smell and the taste overpowering./

Clammy. Sweating again. Messages that still made no sense. Death, but the stench of it faded now.

Her eyes opened once more. This time the little bit of light from outside showed her what was nearby. She could think. Lichen sleep, the sleep of visions, was finally lifting. Not as thirsty, but her body still craved water. Less effort to steady her hands, a good sign. Two things made themselves apparent after she took another drink from the bottle. Hunger spoke loudly and she would break her days long fast as soon as she attended to her other need--relieving herself.

The food was wrapped in seal skin and wrapped tightly against the elements. The tremor in her fingers made opening the package harder. The gnawing feeling in her belly was enough to make her want to rip it open with her teeth. Finally, she loosened the strange knot and opened the wallet. The smell of salted, dried fish in herbs and dried seaweed made her mouth water as she stilled herself with prayers and began the slow task of carefully consuming the food.

Later, when the portions were gone, she drank from the bottle again, this time drinking gently and enough to wash her meal down. Still a little hungry, she pulled out a small package and opened it up to reveal the treasure within, the sweet, wonderously sweet, dried berries from the hills overlooking the island. Hoarding them jealously, this was a time when she could bring herself to sample their sweetness. Just a few in the palm and the rest went back in the pouch. More for another time.

She looked to the light in the far end of the cave. The long shadows in the crag indicated it was nearly sundown. Being nearly June, the days were nearly endless. It was a walk of several hours out from the interior of the island down trails that not even the goats liked. No, better to sleep the short night and begin at first light.

This time, she curled up and covered herself over, taking the time to reach up and invoke Saeme's blessing by touching the sacred inscriptions.

A tickle in the back of her mind brought Fursa awake again. The presence there brought her eyes open aand she stared at the stake, now red brown with the dried blood, her blood. She snapped her focus on the other and said, pointedly ~~What do you want of me?~~

A chuckle in her mind and then the voice returned with an answer, ~~To know why you are here.~~

~~To rest.~~

~~To escape. To run away.~~

She didn't hide from the accusation. ~~Why do you care?~~

Silence for a time, then the voice said ~~Because you must be free.~~

~~Why does it matter?~~

~~Because you do. Because you are needed. Because you are worthy, Fursa Hand-Seinn.~~

Silence. She turned away from the voice in her mind, choosing not to touch upon that matter. Feelings to the contrary surfaced.

~~You staked yourself here for a reason.~~ the voice almost accused. ~~Why?~~

She didn't answer. No sense in exposing herself to an unseen and unknown presence that way. The voice was still familiar, yet beyond her ability to remember. She cursed 1100 years of memories. Why was this voice beyond her grasp to remember?

~~Are you sure you could have changed it? Any of it?~~ The voice paused and then asked ~~Why do you think you -should- have?~~

Frustration built up inside, memories welled up that she had to fight back down with all her strength. Terrible images of death and feelings of helplessness from an unlife filled with a lot of both. They threatened to sweep her away a moment before the presence intervened and smothered them. Shaken terribly, Fursa shook inside as the unseen benefactor bouyed her up and gave her respite.

In a voice kind and gentle, the voice said to her, ~~You -are- worthy, Fursa. Rest now.~~

She didn't fight the smothering of her consciousness this time.

/She looked out over the devastated landscape. The bodies were gone, as was the stench of decay. Emptiness, loss of purpose were what she felt. Her eyes drifted through what remained. What did it mean? Then, she looked out upon the sea, staring. Out in the distance, beyond what the naked eye could see, would be her answer./

Fursa woke quietly, her body finally free of the grip of the draught. After drinking the last of the water in the bottle, she gathered her things together, offered her last prayers of thanks to the Gods, and began the climb down to the village. She emerged into brilliant daylight, the sky a deep blue and beautiful. Any foreboding she might have felt disappeared as she followed the narrow paths and trails that led out of the crag to the north.

It was a half day's walk from the crag, past the Four Sisters, the 4 hills that lay just inland from the village. All the way down, she noted that the storm damage was more severe than usual. She walked a little faster, knowing that she might be needed at home. Fursa ap Rolf held many positions and did many things in the settlement, she was the chief's daughter.

The sun was at nearly at zenith when her hurried pace brought her around to the knoll overlooking the small settlement that hugged the bay here. Her own house, built of stone and sturdy timbers, stood there, its roof damaged, but still otherwise sound. Her father would need help with the repairs and tending affairs with the others who called this place home. She dropped her gear and moved to gather a few items she'd need, turning to leave. Then she heard the pained voice from outside.

"Saeme...?"

Fursa stopped, her uncle's voice catching her short. Her hand grabbed the bag she had been reaching for, then she stepped outside. There, struggling to make the last few feet up the rise was Thorvald, a jagged cut across his face and his arm in a makeshift sling. Her heart sank when she saw him, the visions playing out in her mind as the others made it up the path behind him.

Thorvald made it up and then the boy, Gil, walked up behind him. The old fisherman, Aed, who was severely bruised and battered, her dragged a litter up behind them with Freydis, Aed's wife, in it.

Fursa looked at Thorvald expectantly, everything blurring at the edges. She heard the words as he told the story, numb, trying to keep herself together as she heard how the storm rolled in from seemingly nowhere and the huge wave swept houses, livestock, and people into the sea. Her father and Helgi had been killed while getting Gil to safety above the waves.

"We're all that's left. The others are dead." Thorvald said, coughing. He'd aspirated some water and wasn't feeling well. He smiled and said softly to her as she attempted to tend his wounds "Ran took them, Saeme." He coughed again, "You were spared, thank the Gods. The line remains intact."

A walk around below revealed the carnage, and the work it would take to bury the bodies. The boy and Aed were the least hurt, though both withdrawn and in shock. She put Thorvald in her father's bed, he was going to need time to mend, a long time. Freydis was grave, Fursa did her best to make her comfortable.

It was nearly sundown before Fursa fell into her own bed, having gathered and hauled what little she could carry up from below. She was exhausted and needed sleep, feeling empty.

Of 42 souls, only 5 were left. When Freydis passed on in the dark, there were only 4.