The same night, near the hamlet, on an open plain
Bureus had followed the noise to its origin. Looking out from the deep woods he saw a great clearing. There were many man dancing around a great fire, all clad in age-old armour, holding their war axes in their hands and swirling around the fire with loud clanks of metal uopn metzal, followed by even louder growls and yells.
The old man deared not to move, but, as his sight sprang from one warrior to another, he noticed that the sky in the horizom was starting to glow with a light he had never seen before.
The vikings noticed this chnage as well. One by one, they slowed down their dance, and then stopped in their tracks, the snow on thier backs colouring their armour with white stripes, the sweat from their brows dropping into pearls of ice into the white below their feet. Then, when all stopped, they all looked up at the illuminated nightsky.
Odins valkyres have blessed us! - yelled a loud voice Bureus recognized from the longhouse. And with these words, he took a drinking horn from somewhere Bureus could not see, and took a sip from it, than reached it to the berserker next to him. One by one, they all took sips from the horn. When it reached back to Þórri, he threw the mead into the falmes, and then cast the horn after it as well.
Then, the flames reached higher than the highest trees of the forest, their heat rivaling those of Surtr. The warriors resumed their monotonic dance, their speed ever-increasing, their cries louder, their thumps heavier than before. They circled and circled the flames, and bureus could see int the near-day light that their eyes were no longer looking at anything in this World.
Þórri was the first to enter the rage. He threw down a lot of his armour in the previous circles, but now, all he was wearing was the fur of a bear. His mouth was foaming, and his whole body was shaken by the power of the Bear Spirit.
He let out a loud growl, and began to circle closer to the bonfire. Soon, other berserkers would join him, barefooted in the frozen snow, in a posture more resembling of a standing bear than a grown man.
Even others were wearing wolf-skin, and were circling even closer to the flames than their bear-clothed breathern.
The thumps of the crowd gave off a monotone, mesmerising beat, Bureus had to use all his concentration to remain of clear mind. The yelling of the warriors reached a level that the loudest battle could not rival, their cries turning into animal growl and screams and yells, their toes digging themselves deeper into the snow with every step, their hands closed to fists or opened to claw-like rippers. The crackle of the fire and the crackle of the snow were almost rivaling the sound of the bear-man and ulfhednar, when with a sudden thunder, everything stopped.
Then, the man yelled with the noise of a thousand cannons, jumped into the fire, to emegre on the other side. Unscathed.
The berserkers, and the ulfhednar were ready.
Bureus, still mesmeized from the ritual, got to his feet, and went back into the longhouse, with weary and half-numb limbs and with a mind confused and awed from what he had seen.
A stone-circle, the next morning
Though his sleep was light at best after he had watched the ritual, the old kaballist stood strongly before the godi in the snowed circle. He moring mist was still clearing up, and he saw only a few of the stones.
Welcome, traveller. Now, it is your time to pass the Ritual.
As the godi spoke these words, the mist revelaed a lone stone at the center of the ring. Bureus recognised it immidiately, though he had only seen it in a dream.
As if he had read the alchemists mind, the wise man nodded.
Yes, these are powerful runes, but they will serve the last day of their duty now. Our hamlet is old, our will to live is growing weaker. For many hundered years, we have waited, gathered what we could of the Old Faith, protected it agaist those few who journeyed here, have made maps and drawing of our holy places, have preserved The Runes, and stood our guard. But now, af the Dreams Freya sent me have told us, our time is at an end. Here is the rest of our tomes, guard them wisely. -with this, he gestured towards another pile of stones, leather and metal tablets, like those the kinmgs tutor received the day before. Then, he fell into a deep chant.
O, I am a man and I hold in my hand my fate
Free as the wind as if even
I had wings that carried me
Still in the middle of the night
Even I will need light to guide me
So I turn my face to the sky from
Where he with one eye is watching over me
My fathers' gods - I ride for you
My fathers' gods - I fight for you
My fathers' gods - I die for you
My fathers' gods - I am coming through to you
My fathers' gods - I am yours
Through blood by thunder
By the time he murmured the last words, the snowstrom than was brewing from the beginnig of his chant was turning the whole world into a swirling ocean of white. As he said these words, he took a long stone knife from his clothings and cut down the offering, a pig Bureus had not noticed till the moment of its death-wail. He mixed its blood with the mead of a drinking horn, and reached the horn to Bureus, gesturing him to drink it all.
The kaballist drank the sweet, steaming mixture, and his world fell black.
The godi wrote the sacred runes with blood on Bureus' forehead before falling unconscious on the snow.
The Dreamspace
Bureus saw the stone-cricle, but not in the age-ridden state he saw in a few moments ago, but in the time of its pride, all stones soaked in sacrificial blood, all runes glowing with power.
Quickly, traveller, we do not have much time before I will walk Hels Halls! Look carefully, listen with open ears, and be quiet.
The godis voice was stronger, younger than it was back in the snow. Finishing his dream-words, he drew many stange and powerful runes into the air, their marks glowing long after his finger had started to write another one. He told Bureus of many secrets, of many power, of many enemies and few allies Man had left in this World. His words echoed powerfully in the misty emptiness of the Dreaming, creating reflections of times long past, deeds long forgotten, songs long unsung. This knowledge could not be written down, could not be told it the real world, for the tounge of Man can only say the few words Man has been thaught. After a time that seemed to strech on for hour, the godi finished his work, and a very awed Bureus had to listen to his parting words.
You are now the godi of all our people. Your shoulders cary a great burden. May all our Gods watch your steps.
Upon hearing this, Bureus awoke, the lifeless body of the wise man beside him, covered with red snow.
A group of man approacheds him. He recognised them from the night. They were the berserkers and the ulfhednar, all clad in their finest armours, bowing before him.
Johan Of Uppsala, you are now our godi. We will now defend your life at the cost of ours, and follow you whereever you go! -shouted Þórri.
It took Bureus many minutes to come back to his senses, but when he did, he felt stronger, wiser than ever, and felt all the knowledge of his predecessor swirling in his mind. He was now truly ready.
Well into the night, in the hamlet
The new godi carried out his tasks with a familiar feeling. He packed all the knowledge written down, and told the berserkers to prepare for the final Ritual of the day. The people of the hamlet were also prepared. They had long accepted Orlong, and all knew this would not be avoided. Those, who had once been warriors took out their old aromur, polishing them for one last display. The rímur-singer sang songs of great heroes and great deeds. The woman were slaughtering what little lifestock remained in the hamlet and prepared portions for those who would travel. The children were cleaning the old moss and dirt from the century old stones that formed a ship-like line around the small village. By nightfall everything was complete.
The first fire was started in the longhouse, its roof bursting with flames despite the snow. Slowly, all houses, shacks, and everything in the hamlet was on fire. The last thing to burn was the tree at the center of the village, its high stem standing out of the stone-ship like a mast.
Bureus and his guardian warriors were watching form the clearing, in silence. The silence was reflected by those still in the hamlet. Not a cry was heard, not a door was ripped open in an attemt to flee the Flames Of Surtr. All had died without even a silent whisper. It was a worthy funeral for the last town of the Old Believers.
By midnight, the cinder was beginnig to fade out from the relentless cold of the still-raging snow-storm. The new godi and his companions turned their backs upon the remains, and set forth towards Uppsala, again.
Halls Of Freya
Finally, the once-been iwarriors of the village were joined with their blood-brothers.
Freya was smiling strongly, Odin was laughing with all his heart, and Thor was praising the recently fallen with songs he had not sung since the Great Summer Army arrived in Asgard.