Snippet #2701020

The silence in the forest was thick, the only sound Brynjar could hear being the pounding of his heart as he pushed through the deep snow between the trees. Steam rose from his breath in great clouds, quickly dissipating in the freezing air. His hood was pulled as far over his head as it could be, a scarf covering his mouth and nose, and a piece of bark with two slits in it covering his eyes against snow blindness. Around his shoulders was a new bearskin he had been preparing during the autumn, its heavy folds saving his shoulders from the piercing cold. Slung over his back were all the possessions he had. His pack, containing dried food supplies, his flint, and some other bits and pieces hung next to the long shaft of his Dane-axe, the steel head of which was sheathed in a leather covering. Forcing his wrapped feet through the snow, Brynjar had been walking for days, the conditions getting better as he had dropped down out of the mountains to the West. Now he could see his destination ahead of him, a few plumes of smoke, and rising above to the North, the slanted eaves of the temple. Every year he made this journey, from wherever he was, and he would continue to do so until he could no longer walk.

The sun reaching its height on the short winter day, Brynjar, avoiding the settlement for now, began to climb the hill towards the temple. Following the trail marked by branch-woven arches and hanging symbols laden with snow, he climbed further and further. Icicles hung from the trees, and jingled with a strange ethereal sound in the breeze, the silence of earlier broken gently by that and the faint sound of waves from the sea far below. Reaching the exterior of the temple, Brynjar reached up his mitten covered hands, taking the bark from his eyes and pulling his scarf down. The temple rose above him, its dark wooden eaves looming into the sky in stark contrast to the white trees that surrounded it. Stepping between two braziers outside the entrance, Brynjar entered with his head bowed. Little shards of ice fell from his beard as he raised his head and pushed back his hood, casting his piercing blue eyes around the dimly lit space. Carved statues of the gods rose out of corners, surrounded by their symbols, but there was only one Brynjar was interested in. Stepping forwards, his footsteps echoing in the high space, he walked towards the largest statue at the far end of the temple. Odin, the All-Father. Falling to his knees Brynjar raised his hands above his head, feeling every one of his scars pulse with the moment.

It was a while before Brynjar emerged from the temple, the sun already beginning its swift descent. He shrugged his shoulders to reposition his pack, now a little lighter than before, with tokens of his victories over beasts left before the altar of the All-Father. Casting his gaze round the forest before him, he pulled his hood back up and smoothed his beard with his hand, brushing more ice onto the floor. Wrapping his cloak around his forearms, he stepped off back down the track towards the settlement. Brynjar didn't like being around large numbers of people, but it seemed impossible to avoid them this time. He needed to buy a few items he could not make himself, and besides, he had felt something pulling him in the direction of Uppsala since before he had crossed the mountains from Hordaland. He did not understand, but for some reason he felt he was meant to be there, and long experience had lead him to trust these feelings. A movement in the corner of his eye caught Brynjar's attention. A raven. So that was who had pulled him here. But for what purpose? Time would tell.

As he descended Brynjar could see more of the settlement laid out below him between the trees. Uppsala was small, and hugged the coast below the temple. It consisted of a great hall and a few wooden huts, some turf huts spreading out from the centre. Pulled up against the small dock were a couple of longships, which, by their markings, Bryjar guessed came from Danemark. Smoke rose from the houses, and from the noise that rose up in snatches with the wind, some heavy drinking was in progress at the hall. Brynjar sighed. He would try to find shelter in one of the outlying houses, after he had seen what was going on at the hall. He wanted to be around the noise as little as possible. Hefting his pack and axe, he continued his descent, keeping an eye on the raven as it followed him from the treetops.