Bonds of the Fallen

Bat awoke from her slumber when the first golden rays of dawn peeked through the hole in the cabin’s roof. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, yawned, and inhaled a deep breath of the crisp morning air laced with the scent of pine and damp earth.

Stepping outside, Bat was taken aback by the sheer beauty that surrounded her. But there was something different about the forest this time – the trees stood taller and prouder, their leaves a more vibrant shade of green, and the air was fresher and purer. They were transported to an entirely different part of the forest.

The cabin now sat on the edge of a vast clearing, a sea of grass and wildflowers that stretched out in all directions. In the distance, a herd of deer grazed peacefully, their coats glinting in the morning sunlight. A family of rabbits hopped past Bat, their little noses twitching as they sniffed the ground for breakfast.

Moja emerged from the cabin, a wicker basket filled with herbs and flowers cradled in her arm. “Good morning, dear,” she greeted Bat, her voice a gentle lilt. “The cottage can move as it pleases. It’s our way of remaining hidden and safe.”

Bat nodded as if magical moving cottages were an everyday occurrence. “The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know,” she confessed.

Moja chuckled, a rich, melodic sound that echoed through the clearing. She reached into her basket and tossed an apple to Bat. “You’ll grow accustomed to it, dear,” she reassured her. “Fate has a knack for throwing us curveballs when we least expect it.”

Bat followed Moja into the clearing. The tall grass swayed and rustled beneath their feet, and swarms of bugs took to the air, their wings buzzing like the strings of a violin as they danced in the warmth of the early morning sun.

“Come, sit here beside me,” Moja beckoned, patting a patch of lush green grass.

Obediently, Bat settled herself next to the older woman, the soft grass cushioning her as she made herself comfortable.

Moja’s voice was like a lullaby, her words weaving through the air as she began to instruct Bat. “The first step is to learn how to expand your awareness, to sharpen your focus so you can separate each thread and access the visions you seek,” she explained.

Moja placed her palms on her lap and gently closed her eyes, entering a state of tranquility. “Navigating through visions can be overwhelming. They don’t come on command, and when they do, they can flood your senses, much like waters breaking free from a dam.” She cracked one eye open and regarded Bat. “Close your eyes, dear.”

Bat did as Moja told, sitting up straight, placing her hands on her lap, and allowing her eyelids to flutter closed.

Once again, closing her eyes, Moja continued her meditation, her hands resting peacefully in her lap. “The visions are like a vast ocean,” she murmured. “They don’t present themselves willingly, and when they do, they rush in like a torrential flood, eager to break free.”

Mirroring Moja’s actions, Bat found a comfortable position, took a deep breath, and allowed her thoughts to drift away. She concentrated on her chest’s rhythmic rise and fall, feeling the air fill her lungs before slowly exhaling.

Gradually, she felt her awareness expand, stretching outwards like tendrils, reaching for the threads she knew surrounded her. At first, she felt only a slight vibration, like a heartbeat’s gentle pulse. But as she harnessed her energy and honed her focus, the beat grew more vigorous, drawing her closer to Moja until she could almost feel the older woman’s essence intertwining with her own.

“I think...I think I’m feeling something,” Bat exclaimed, her eyes snapping open, only for the sensation to vanish like smoke in the wind. She slumped in frustration. “It’s gone.”

Moja’s chuckle was gentle, filled with understanding. “Fear not, dear. These abilities of ours require time and patience to master fully. Let’s try again.”

The small cabin and its magical clearing became their sanctuary for the next forty-eight hours, a place of learning and discovery as Bat mastered manipulating the golden threads. She filled pages of her notebook with meticulous observations, detailing the intricacies of isolating a single thread, then meticulously following its course until it faded into the recesses of her mind.

The first time she managed to conjure a vision, a chaotic whirlwind of sights and sounds left her head spinning. Images of a colossal tree, its branches sprawling across the cosmos, and a terrifying abyss that called out to her filled her mind. With each successive vision, she grew more confident and attuned to the intricate tapestry of threads that wove the universe together.

Seated beneath the shade of an ash tree, Moja questioned, “What is your understanding of the World Tree?”

Bat paused, flipping through her notebook before responding, “I know it’s said to be a massive tree that connects all the realms.”

Moja nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. The World Tree, Yggdrasil, is a conduit that links all realms, binding all human and divine beings to their destinies. But it’s more than just a physical tree; it’s a symbol of energy and truth, the very essence from which the universe and everything within it originated, gods and humans alike. It’s a delicate entity, its existence intricately tied to the fabric of time. Legend has it that three Norns tend to this tree.”

“They are the custodians of time, each one representing the past, present, and future,” Bat supplied, her voice confident.

“That’s precisely the nature of the Norns,” Moja explained, her voice a musical hum in the tranquility of their secluded clearing. “They exist beyond the confines of our reality, not bound by the chains of fate like gods and mortals alike. The prophecy foretells that with the arrival of the third Norn, the golden era of gods will draw to a close. Just as energy cannot be birthed from nothingness nor be consigned to oblivion, fate can be diverted, reshaped, severed, and reknotted by the sands of time. That energy that flickered to life within you during the ceremony is the same energy that entwines your destiny. Norns, and some seers, can sense and even manipulate this energy, but only the original trio of Norns have the omnipotence to etch into stone the past, present, and future.”

“But how do they discern what actions to take?” Bat asked, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“The Norns exist outside the normal flow of time, unbound by the constraints that govern our existence,” Moja said, her gaze distant, as if peering into the realms unknown to mortals. “Picture yourself as an immense bird, soaring high above the realms, where everything - mortals, deities, the universe - is laid out before you in a grand tapestry of chaos and order.”

“It would seem like a sea of entropy from such heights,” Bat contemplated.

“And that’s the point,” Moja nodded. “From our vantage, it’s an unending swirl of chaos. But as you dive deeper, immersing yourself in beings’ lives, it crystallizes, becoming something you can grasp and comprehend. That’s how Norns, and even some Volvas, can discern the threads of fate.”

“And if we can perceive these threads, doesn’t that mean we possess the ability to alter them, however minutely?” Bat wondered aloud.

Moja shook her head, a cunning smile on her lips. “It’s naive to believe we can slip the noose of fate. While we may attempt to twist and bend time and fate to our will, it’s an exercise in futility. Ultimately, fate will claim its due, leaving those who dared challenge the ancient entities that predate even the gods themselves to rue their audacity.”

“Then what’s the point of this all? If we can’t change fate, why bother glimpsing into it?” Bat’s voice edged with frustration.

“Our gift allows us to provide solace to those in need,” Moja said softly, her eyes gleaming with the wisdom of ages. “For some, we act as beacons of hope; for others, we are the guiding hand in the dark, ensuring they do not traverse their chosen paths in solitude.”

“Val once shared a tale of a Norn who brokered peace between the gods,” Bat reflected aloud.

“Aye, that’s a well-known legend,” Moja nodded, her voice laced with nostalgia. “There are two factions of gods - the Vanir, to whom my allegiance lies, and the Aesir, the patron deities of the Vampir. Their enmity spanned centuries, a seemingly unending war that stained the realms with the blood of gods and mortals alike. The second Norn, Verdandi, weary of the relentless carnage, took it upon herself to broker a truce between the warring deities. Unlike the first Norn, Urd, who presides over the realm of ancient times and bestows upon us glimpses of the past, Verdandi is the guardian of the present, the seamstress who weaves the fabric of now.”

“She forged the treaty to silence the conflict of war.”

“Indeed,” Moja affirmed with a solemn nod. “Peace is not an eternal state. The sands of time flow unceasingly toward the return of the third Norn, Skuld, heralding the demise of this golden age of the gods and reigniting the embers of war.”

“Val expressed his apprehension that the peace might shatter before his departure.”

“And rightly so,” Moja agreed. “Even the gods stand in trepidation of the third Norn, for she wields the shears of fate that can cut asunder their very existence. Skuld, the weaver of the future, crafts a tapestry of chaos for those uninitiated in her mysteries. She’s neither malevolent nor benevolent; she is. Her realm encompasses the Valkyrie and extends even to the gods themselves. She’s the spider at the center of the cosmic web, with the power to sever and knot the threads of fate as she pleases. Her actions are mysterious, her presence an enigma, shrouded in the shadows of her web.”

“But aren’t countless routes one can traverse within a web?”

“True,” Moja said with a knowing smile. “But regardless of the path chosen, they all commence and conclude within the confines of the web, encapsulating all that is, was, and ever will be.”

Bat collapsed into the soft grass, sighing as the weight of worlds briefly lifted off her shoulders. Above her, the sun spilled warmth onto her face, wrapping her in its golden embrace. She found herself entranced by the vast canvas of the sky, her gaze following the lazy waltz of the fluffy white clouds against the cerulean backdrop. The grass whispered secrets beside her, and turning, she beheld a butterfly, its wings a vibrant array of colors, gleaming in the sunlight as it fluttered on the breeze.

Moja’s hand rested gently on Bat’s shoulder, a grounding presence. “I think you’ve done more than enough for today,” she said softly, her voice laden with pride. “You have managed to reign in the threads of visions, to wield them as you wish. Your skills will only sharpen with time.”

A glow of triumph swelled within Bat as she nodded. “Thank you, Moja. Now I finally understand who I am.”

Reality dawned as dusk began to cloak the world in its velvety shadows. “I should head back. Lyell must be either delayed or lost.”

Moja’s expression darkened the weight of her gaze heavy upon Bat. “We’ve returned to where we started, my dear. Lyell won’t be coming. The path you tread from hereon is yours alone to traverse.”

Desolation clung to Bat as she pushed herself off the grass, brushing the blades from her clothing. “Thank you for everything, Moja.”

Moja’s eyes held a glint of sorrow, but her lips curved in a reassuring smile. “The universe unfolds as it should, dear. May your journey be guarded by the stars.”

With that, Moja turned and disappeared into the shelter of her cabin, leaving Bat standing at the precipice of a new chapter. Inhaling deeply, she faced the path before her, a mix of trepidation and exhilaration pulsating in her veins as she stepped into the unknown.