Time for the WEP+IWSG Challenge and another attempt at a change of scenery and style. DC Sparkle Anwyl is on extended leave so a character from a previous Challenge reappears.
Warning: there are several attempts at literary devices, specifically kennings. For those stumped, I’ve deciphered the head-scratchers at the foot.
Note: A kenning is a metaphorical compound phrase that replaces a single, concrete noun. A kenning employs figurative language to represent the simpler concept, such as using the phrase “battle-sweat” to refer to blood. Kennings are plentiful in Old Norse and Old English poetry and prose.
For other flash pieces in the December Challenge, visit: https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2019/12/wepiwsgthe-december-challenge-is-open.html
Threat-cries echo in Nökkvé. The Holy Darkness stretches forever across the winter-blanket. Answering howls on the snow-breath affirm friends travel the self-same path of power.
Silver-face smiles her blessing on our journey granting light as I slide ski-swift over fresh frozen-tears.
Fur-girdled hunters silent-shadow me, protectors – even if of Fenrir’s race. Noble and wise denizens. Teeth sharp from natural prey. Flesh from those facing lights-end. Grim but just. A tooth-claw ending.
Balance. Season’s passage.
Life dies and is reborn.
Our deep-slumber Solstice whisper-sighs our presence.
Sleeping shadows stir and join our gathering.
Tracks appear, converge. Distant specks arise on the silent-fall, become threads weaving towards our annual heart-call.
I’ve visited time-turning-age to ensure spirit-breaths re-forge the natural order.
For I am Skaði. Goddess, giantess, huntress and snow-stealth specialist.
Size is not the issue. Speed is. The endless-revival needs sentient-life to affirm our faith.
Moonlight glistens on a spreading pool. I stoop. A wound-sea but no sounds of battle.
Earth Mother’s blood seeping too soon. Salt-tracks on my cheeks. Stings. My wealth-chambers reel. Is there time to save her?
Foul-howls tear the bleak-black embrace. Hounds baying. Wild shapes thunder past. Asgard-Riders with the Harrier of Hosts driving the fear-spreading soul-hunt.
Most quail and run. I remain tall. The wolf-pack crouch, baring fangs.
Hooves pound and swirl snow-dust as Oðinn wheels Sleipnir around so the spirit—swarm surrounds us.
I confront Slain Tamer, caressing his eight-legged horse. “My Breaker of Rings. What prey tonight?”
Never question the dread Huntsman of the Otherworldly Host, unless your sagas are entwined. But I ignore our wedded bliss.
He sneers and doffs his crooked head-hider. “My Snow-Stepper. You never fear even me. Why have you ceased your journey? For me?”
I shake my head as I kneel on the earth. “You? The Ruler of Treachery holds no fear.” I point to the death-stain. “But this evil does. Jörð, sister-wife bleeds. Blood-steps we need to heal with Solstice song and ceremony”
My shared-husband dismounts. His blinded eye reads the blood-runes staining the snow. “You are my Wise God-bride. This is the sweat-scent my hounds and host pursued. The Earth Mother dies from the weapon-weather man reaps. Will you ride with this harried Horse-wolf to save her? Will the wolves run with the hounds?”
I smile at his heart-bait. “Great ring-giver, you soar above the earth-coat. I will swift ski below matching your hunting pace. Will your hounds join the wolf-pack? It would torment Fenrir further.”
“The Wolf of Winter will be driven away. But healing Jörð must be soonest. Onwards.”
Together, our packs race time to reach the Gathering of the Nine Realms.
Deities and denizens mass around us.
“Welcome, Fenrir-Bane. Welcome Snow-Dancer. Do the shadow-wolves and wild-hounds hunt together tonight?”
Oðinn dips his hat to me. My heart stirs.
“Our Liege-Lord and I follow the self-same battle-sweat trail. Our Mother, Jörð is dying. Abused and abandoned by greed and ignorance within Midgard. Join our healing as we prepare a path for Sól’s return.”
The life-song rises from the Gathering. Deep chords from Oðinn’s male-band. Sky-climbing phrasings from my stepdaughter Freyja and our female searers. Wolves and hounds howl-lead the life-denizens. The voices weave, the Rite resonates, and the Nine Realms pulsate.
Our music echoes throughout Nökkvé. The Holy Darkness diminishes.
The life-bringing light returns as Sól, our golden goddess drives her chariot across the canopy.
Jörð breathes. Death-dew dissolves from Earth Mother’s flourishing footsteps
Asgard-Riders = The Wild Hunt
Battle-sweat = Blood
Bleak-black = Night
Blood-runes = Blood traces
Breaker of Rings = Oðinn
Death-dew = Blood
Death-stain = Blood
Fenrir-Bane = Oðinn
Frozen-tears = Snow
Great ring-giver = Oðinn
Harrier of Hosts = Oðinn
Head-hider = Hat
Heart-bait = Gift/Temptation
Heart-call = Rite
Horse-wolf = Oðinn
Liege-Lord = Chief, Leader, or Oðinn
Lights-end = Death
Ruler of Treachery = Oðinn
Salt-tracks = Tears
Silent-fall = Snow
Silver-face = Moon
Slain Tamer = Oðinn
Snow-breath = Winter Wind
Snow-Stepper = Skaði
Snow-Dancer = Skaði
Wealth-chambers = Mind & Heart
Weapon-weather = War
Winter-blanket = Snow
Wound-sea = Blood
See also Wikipedia’s List: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_kennings
Word Count 675: FCA
Comments are welcome as usual and the following applies: