Tam Nok raised her hands and called out a greeting as they approached the white-robed circle. There was no reply but the circle stood aside to let them pass. As did the ring of blue. The chanting still continued from both circles and Ragnarok was now certain that the strange noise was coming from the other tall object, to his right.
The figure robed in red who had watched their arrival broke from the group next to the trunk and came toward them. The rest of the group kept its attention on whatever it had been doing.
Tam Nok again spoke in the strange tongue. Ragnarok felt out of place. His ax was heavy, pulling his left arm down. The chanting was running through his mind, urging him to join in. He shook his head, dirty hair twisting in the wind, and growled. The tree seemed to be alive, the bark gnarled and twisted from hundreds, thousands of years of life, the branches drooping overhead, covering them. Drawing him in to the Earth, to be one with the soil.
“Your friend is restless,” a woman’s voice came out of the red hood, speaking in Norse.
“There is not much time,” Tam Nok said.
The other woman pulled her hood back, revealing pale skin and fiery red hair. “I am Penarddun.”
“I am Tam Nok, and this is Ragnarok.”
Penarddun smiled. “A mighty warrior of the north seas. You travel in formidable company.”
Ragnarok shifted his feet, trying to stay focused on the two women. He was not sure if she was referring to him or Tam Nok. The chanting was getting even louder. And that eerie noise was still floating on the air.
“I need-” Tam Nok began, but the other woman held up her hand.
“I know what you are looking for.”
“Is it here?”
“No.”
The chanting abruptly stopped. The black robed figure- a man as near as Ragnarok could tell- yelled out something in the strange tongue and then headed toward the other tall object, the others falling in behind him.
Penarddun extended a hand toward the tree. “We worship the mighty oak, symbol of the Earth Mother.” The slender hand continued toward the other tall object. “And there we sacrifice to the Ones Before. Come.” She followed the last in line and Ragnarok reluctantly followed. For some strange reason he had no desire to see the cause of the terrible noise.
As he drew nearer- and the torches illuminated more of it as the robed ones gathered round- he began to make out the form. It was a huge figure made of wood and wicker, over sixty feet high, formed in the image of a man. Two legs rose to a thick body. Two arms hung at the side and the very top a head, made of bent wooden staves.
Ragnarok’s hand tightened on the handle of his ax. Inside the wooden confines of the structure were people. Crammed in, some standing on others, arms poking between the beams, their supplicating voices the horrible sound he had been hearing. The writhing forms captured inside made for a bizarre spectacle, as if the wooden creature were alive, its skin crawling with some malignant disease trying to get out.
“What is this?” Ragnarok hissed at Tam Nok, but she hushed him.
“It is their way,” she whispered.
“Those captured inside are murderers, thieves, betrayers,” Penarddun said as if she had overheard. They halted about fifty feet away as the same circles that had surrounded the oak reformed around the wicker man. The voices of those inside rose even higher, begging for release, for mercy.
“The gods listen best if the message is coated in blood,” Penarddun said.
Ragnarok was surprised at such words coming out of such a slight and beautiful woman. He had seen many horrible things done in combat, but this was something he had never experienced.
“And the message is very important,” Penarddun continued. She turned to Tam Nok. “Is it not?”
“I don’t-” Tam Nok began, but Penarddun cut her off.
“The Shadow is coming once more. And we need the Ones Before to help us stop the Shadow.” Her voice lowered so that only Tam Nok and Ragnarok could hear. “My fellow Druids believe this is the best way to get the help of the Ones Before. But you and I know there is another way. They do not hear the true voices of the Gods, but we do.”
The man robed in black took a torch from one of those in blue. He walked toward the base of the wicker man. The priest thrust the torch into one of the legs of the statue. One of the prisoners kicked it back out.
The priest turned and raised his arms, yelling something. The circle of druids closed on the wicker man and flung their torches at it. In seconds flame caught hold at a dozen places.
The screams of those trapped inside rose to a fever pitch. Ragnarok watched as limbs smashed against the wood in desperate attempts to escape, bones breaking almost unnoticed in the grip of the searing flames.
Ragnarok looked to his right. Penarddun’s face was lit by the fire, appearing almost translucent. Tam Nok had also pulled her hood back and her dark eyes were watching the gruesome spectacle with no expression.
“Is this getting us any closer to our destination?” Ragnarok asked.
Both women turned to him in surprise.
“You said you knew what we were here for,” Ragnarok said to Penarddun. “If it is not here, where is it?”
Penarddun turned from the fire. “Do you know what the it is you are searching for?”
“You said you knew why I was here,” Tam Nok said.
“I know why you are here,” Penarddun agreed. “I know you need something I am to give you. I know where it is, but I don’t know what it is. It is the nature of our position to only be given pieces of knowledge.”
Ragnarok shifted his feet impatiently. “Where?”
Penarddun pointed to the north. “That way. Not far.”
A man had broken through the wood, high up on the wicker man. He fell to the ground, his hair on fire. The body slammed in the earth and the man feebly tried to rise. One of the druids ran forward with a dagger and slit the man’s throat, blood splattering the dirt. The wails and screams were decreasing as those inside succumbed to the flames. Ragnarok was glad the wind was at their back and that the odor of burned flesh was being blown away from them.
Penarddun finally turned from the dying flames. “Come.” She walked to the black robed man and spoke to him in the strange tongue. He looked Tam Nok and Ragnarok over, then replied. They seemed to be arguing about something.
“What now?” Ragnarok asked Tam Nok.
“He doesn’t want her to lead us to wherever it is we must go. It is apparently a very holy site. He is scared,” she added. “The Druids have many enemies.”
“Not as many as they had before,” Ragnarok noted, nodding his head toward the remains of the wicker man.
“The Romans tried destroying them for centuries, hunting them down like animals,” Tam Nok said. “And now that the Romans are no longer here, it is those of the new religion, the Christians, who seek to destroy the old ways and replace it with their new beliefs. The king in London has been converted and is being urged to destroy the druids.”
“How do you know all this?” Ragnarok asked.
“I have listened while on my journeys,” Tam Nok said. “Something I recommend to all who travel.”
Before Ragnarok could reply to that, Tam Nok stepped forward, next to the two High Druids. She spoke to them in their tongue, then pulled out the bamboo section. She unstopped the end and showed them the map and writing she had shown Ragnarok on his ship.
The black-robed priest still seemed opposed. Tam Nok rolled the parchments up and put them back in her tube. She pulled something out of the neckline of her cloak, an amulet attached to a thin metal chain around her neck. It glittered in the reflected light of the dying fire of the wicker man. A blue glow suffused Tam Nok’s hand and seemed to spread out over those close to her.