The ocean breeze stirred across the coast, and the tall green grass that met along the sandy edge of the beach whipped back and forth at the wind’s behest. A boy, no older than 13, stood on the shoreline, several wooden sticks had been dug into the earth, with long lines cast out into the sea attached to them. He wanted to capitalize on the brief window of squall-less weather and wrangle in some (fiskr) for back home, a well-deserved respite from their usual meals.

As he sat attentively watching the lines sway in the wind, waiting for any sign of a bite, his senses picked up something else entirely. Something that shook him to his core and sent shivers down his spine. Three men were coming OUT of the Ocean, a few meters away from his fishing spot. One looked like a mighty warrior, with an unimaginably large axe on his back. Another bore the blindfold of a (prestr) but was armed with a bow and arrow. These two came out of the water, far calmer than the third.

The third looked like a mix between the two, armed with a sword at his hip, and with the largest black eyes he had ever seen. This one was furious, shouting in an unintelligible language at the other two as it tried to catch its breath. Maybe it couldn’t swim…but why were they in the ocean? Where did they come from?!

The boy had little time to think as his shock and fear seemed to have honed in on the angry one, who looked in his direction. For a moment, he thought the figure was looking deep into his soul, and as it pointed out to him and shouted. The boy lost all mental faculties, abandoning his poles and lines, and ran screaming at the top of his lungs. He had to get back, he had to warn (amma), warn everyone!

[Brynar, Village Coastline]

“DAMN IT!” Michael cursed. “That kid is terrified! If we don’t catch up, he’s going to set off the rest of his village.” He exasperated.

“Sir, I really think you should sit down and catch your breath…” Archie started.

“WHO THE HELL CAME UP WITH THE IDEA TO BEAM US INTO THE OCEAN!?” the commander snarled, turning to Romen as if he already knew the answer to his question.

“Sorry, the tides must have come in a lot sooner than we anticipated.” Romen tried to justify.

“Ya THINK?!” Michael snapped, furiously blowing his nose, which was on fire from the sudden saltwater inhalation.

“Romen and I can try and cut the child off before he reaches the village. If you wait here…” Archie tied again, but was dismissed once more.

“No, we stick together,” Michael affirmed, shaking off his discomfort and looking towards the village on the horizon. He tapped the necklace around his neck to activate the universal translator. “Grab those…” He motioned to the fishing poles in the sand. “…first contact, we need to play this right.”

[Brynar, Brunr Goltr Village]

“AMMA, AMMA!” the boy shouted, his feet carried him like the wind down the worn path back to the village. His not-so-subtle screaming drew attention from other villagers who poked their heads out of their huts to see what all the commotion was about. “AMMA! THE MEN! THE OCEAN!!” he shouted, finally collapsing at the door of the central-most hut.

The door opened, and a stout elderly woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a simple brown dress with an old, stained apron over it; her braids were wound up in a bun on top of her head. “What’s all this noise then? Staki, why are you cryin like a damn (kalfr)?” She cracked.

Collapsing at her feet, the young boy Staki breathed deep to catch his breath, his legs aflame from his retreat from the oceanfront. “Amma…I’m sorry…I was on the coast trying to line some (fiskr)…and these men…three men…. they came out of the ocean! One tried to curse me!” he blathered between labored breath.

The old woman looked down on the pitiful boy with a look of perturbance. In one fell swoop, she took a small broom handle from the doorway and started swatting Staki with it. “HOW! MANY! TIMES! DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU! DON’T GO TO THE SEA ALONE?!” She grunted between smacks. They weren’t relatively strong strikes, but they were enough to discombobulate him into the fetal position to protect from the broom’s bristles.

“Nidi…three men DO approach from the west. (okunnir).” An elder man called out from across the road. The elder woman set her broom back down and stepped over poor Staki. On the horizon, she too could make out the three people approaching on the scant beaten path that led to the ocean. All three of them were in drab, worn white clothing, and not a banner or tabard to identify them. “Ready your (bogi), everyone in the house. Tell Rikolfr to get out here with his hammer.” She commanded. Without question, the village folk followed her instructions to the letter. Nidi may have been the old amma of the village, but her wits were still as sharp as ever.

[Brunr Goltr Outskirts]

“Looks like they have archers posted in the windows,” Romen reported as the trio drew closer to the picketed fence that marked the boundary of the village.

“It’s fine, we’re strangers approaching their homes, they have a right to be defensive. Let’s not give them any reason to use them.” Michael cautioned, feeling outward with his telepathy. Two people were approaching on the same path they were, an elderly woman and a burly man who rivaled the stature of Romen, carrying a long-handled smithing hammer. Michael could feel hesitation, concern, even anticipation from them, but not hostility; it was enough to put his mind at ease.

“(Heill!)” Archie called out, waving his bow hand above his head and smiling warmly at the approaching couple. A warm greeting and a sign that they weren’t hostile were paramount to making first contact. The hospitality officer suggested quietly that the three of them stop at the fenceline and wait to be let in, to set the right precedent.

“Ahh, (heill) travelers. Welcome to the village of Brunr Goltr. I’m sorry for the state of the road, but we don’t usually get travelers from this direction.” Nidi replied coyly as she sized up the soaking wet trio.

“Oh, the apologies must be on us, for the shock we gave the boy. Our arrival appeared to have startled him so that he left his catch behind.” Archie bowed. Though a blindfold was over his eyes, he still looked in the direction of Romen, who threw a hook line holding several fish from over his shoulder into better view.

Nidi looked at the catch and nodded to Rikolfr, who approached, crossing the threshold, and accepted the fish from Romen, but still walked backward towards the elder, keeping his eyes on the men. “Quite perceptive of a Blind (prestr)…” Nidi commented coldly. Michael could see flashes of yellow ravens, doubt, suspicion in her mind.

“Archie, you may remove your bindings,” Michael announced. “Please excuse my squire, he is still in training,” Michael explained, giving Archie a telling nod. Archie hesitantly did as he was bade to do, and undid his blindfold.

Nidi looked now at Michael with intrigue. “If he’s the voice, and that one…” she gestured to Romen, “…is the muscle. That means you’re the boss?” she asked.

Michael nodded, “My Squire, Archie, and my Guardian, Romen. I am Michael…” he introduced respectfully, bowing his head so that his eyes met Nidi’s from behind his shades. “And we mean you and your people no deceit or harm.” He proclaimed, holding his hand out to the elder.

She saw his eyes, his real eyes, and for a moment she could hardly believe. At his hand, she approached, but did not take his grasp, instead walking past it and reaching to his face. Her hands hesitated for a moment, hovering over the dark reflective circles resting on the bridge of his nose. But with a nod of approval from Michael, she slowly removed them.

She could see his eyes were as full and black as the (Nattsteinn). She waved her hand in front of his face, testing to see if there was any reaction. Thankfully, Michael sensed her intentions and played along. The holy priests they had researched were said to be blind, not just through ritual coverings, and given his betazoid iris, he appeared for all intents and purposes to be blind.

“We see, without seeing…amma.” Amma, Michael had picked that word out of her mind; he felt it was a term of affection, paternal…like grandmother if he had to guess. His words seemed to put all doubt in Nidi’s mind at ease, as Michael took the shades from her and pressed them back to his face.

“You are of the Svart Augu?” She probed. Michael could see her mind flash with the same dark-robed and blindfolded figure they had seen in their records. “No, but we are on the same path as them. We come from a distant land, across the sea, to reach beyond the mountains.” Michael pointed behind her, off to the horizon, where the distortion field was centered.

“You seek the Bones of the Gods,” Nidi whispered. “You come at the right time, we are amid the (uppvakning). The Banner lords will have set out for the Holy Site by now.”

“Wait…you mean you successfully sailed the endless squall?!” Rikolfr blurted out in amazement.

“I wouldn’t call it successful. We lost our ship, our crew, and all of our provisions, but what we carry with us now. But if still being alive counts, I guess you could call it a success.” Romen smirked.

Clapping her hands onto her knees and bolting upright, Nedi declared, “Hells are we doing standing here, Come! We need to get you three inside and warmed up!”

“STEINOLFR! PUT THAT DAMN (BOGI) DOWN AND GRAB THE ALE! WE HAVE GUESTS!” She cried out towards the village, beckoning the away team to follow.

[Brunr Goltr Village Hall]

Michael found refuge near the hearth as his clothes dried and bones warmed back up from his unexpected ocean dip. In one corner of the gathering hall, several of the village men were surrounding Romen, marveling at the craftsmanship of his oversized axe. On the other side, Archie was chatting it up with the more pious denizens and children, as he regaled them with tales of their ‘Homeland’, though Michael knew he was just re-hashing the descriptions of ancient England.

Brunr Goltr Village was an agricultural staple on this side of the island and accounted for 80% of the western continent’s meat production. They bred, tended, and slaughtered the local livestock that closely resembled a Boar or tame Klingon Targ, then traded with the local powers to the north and south of them. Because of the importance of their key export, the village was spared from being conquered or absorbed by a major banner, so as not to spark a war with the other, allowing it to remain a neutral party. The banner of a boar’s head on brown tapestry hung all over the village. Most of the occupants were farmers, a few craftsmen, and a handful of hunters for herd defense.

As Michael learned more from Nidi about their hosts, she could not help but to notice his shift in attention. “Remind you of home, Lord Michael?” she asked, turning to watch the villagers come and go from the great hall.

Getting called ‘Lord’ was almost as vexing to him as being called ‘Captain,’ but he shrugged it off. “I have dedicated myself to the cause for so long, I can’t help but marvel at what could have been.” He finally answered.

“Aye, (prestr) here are much of the same, except their all mostly held up at Heilagt Auga. They only come down every so often to visit the (Nattsteinn).” Nidi exclaimed.

Though the universal translator hadn’t fully picked up on it, Michael had deduced that the Nattsteinn was the local word for the Blackstone pillars, ritualistic holy sights of the old gods. “Is there a Nattsteinn around the village we could perhaps visit? I’d love to see the differences between yours and what we have back home.” Michael inquired.

“Are you mad? During the (uppvakning)? I may not put much stock in the old tales, but no one goes near those sites. Unnatural they are. Echos of the dead, mist that’ll melt yer flesh off, and the stories of the dreaded (Holdskrimsl).” She huffed.

Michael only smirked, “You’re not telling me anything that would deter me, Amma.” He teased, raising his glass of pale ale to his lips. There was a strip of dehydrated meat inside his cup that had been absorbing the alcohol that fell into his mouth, which was very tender.

“I take it back, you (prestr) are mad. You did not survive months in the Squall just to die your first night on land. I insist you stay, investigate in the morning if you must, but at night it’s too dangerous, especially during the (uppvakning).” Nidi protest.

Michael held his hand up in defeat. He had understood this ‘uppvakning to be the starting cycle of energy pulses that occurred. And from the tales of Nidi, this happened once roughly every 5 years. And though her memory was not what it once was, she was certain this year was happening earlier. “I acquiesce! A good night’s sleep is well in order. And with the light, we can see the carvings on the Nattsteinn much better than in torchlight.

He could sense ease in Nidi. Though she was not as superstitious as most others, the tales of the Blackstone pillars instilled a primal fear in her heart and mind. And though his curiosity was piqued, he did not wish to ruin the goodwill of the people by testing the limits of their hospitality. For now, they would wait and see what mysteries they could uncover when the sun rose once more.

[To be Continued]