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I was traveling to England, flying into Gatwick. In Vinland, at check-in, the attendant asked if I had anything to declare. Regardless of the length of my stay, and especially on pilgrimage, I carry one backpack (15-20lbs) and my staff. I told the attendant that both items were carry-on when she looked at my staff and asked: “Witchery or weapon?” I replied, “Both.” She then stamped my ticket and I proceeded to board the plane.
Upon arrival, standing outside, I pulled out my public transit schedule, when a taxi pulled up. I bent over and said: “No thank you. I don’t need a cab.” The driver looked at my staff and said, “Witchery or weapon?” I gave him a quizzical look then replied, “Both.” He then said, “Then you’ll want to be staying at the Green Egg ma’am.” I asked, “Why is that?” and he replied, “Well, its mostly weapon types there, but they have need for a bit of witchery right now, and I’m sure you and the Troll will be getting along.” I agreed to the ride and off we went.
The Green Egg looked more like a fortress than a pub/inn. It was very old, made from massive wood beams, between which were roughly hewn stones. Wrought iron was on every window, and the entrance had lowered through the years, so one had to bend down to enter. Still, this took nothing from the height of the structure, which was an impressive three stories.
It was very dark inside with dim lightening in the far corners, where figures huddled in conversation. Unable to see clearly, I stood there, with my back to the door, waiting for my eyes to adjust. From over my shoulder a voice said, “Welcome ma’am”, and I spun instinctively with staff at the ready. The same voice, a man’s, said, “Easy there ma’am, we’re all friends here. Didn’t mean to give you a start – won’t you come this way.” He walked forward into the pub towards a main desk. From behind it he asked, “And how long will you be staying with us?” I explained that I hadn’t planned on staying at all, that I was on pilgrimage and my habit was to walk from one sacred site to the next, but that an odd fellow in a taxi suggested I visit. The man behind the desk said, “Right that he did, you having your staff and all. And a fine looking one it is. Witchery or weapon?” I gave him a quizzical look and said, “Everyone keeps asking me that..” and he said, “So which is it then?” I stared at him for more than a few seconds before replying, “Both”, and without skipping a beat he said, “Ah .. witchery then!”
I then said, “I really have no plans to stay, perhaps just a pint before I’m on my way.” “A pint it is..” he replied, then walked out behind the desk and towards the back of the pub, where a group of men were sitting. Coming closer I noticed that they were all wearing military type uniforms, but not necessarily British. They were all matching, but not of an army that I could identify. Deep in their conversations, most glanced my way as I passed – walking towards the bar, where the man was now pouring me a pint. I asked him, “What sort of pub is this?” and he smiled, winked, then replied, “Both.” I gave him a questioning look but before I could ask anything more he quickly said, “Be right back” and walked away.
I grounded my backpack but kept my staff close at hand. Sipping the pint I was determining my next course of action as I started looking around the pub, at the pictures on the walls. Everywhere, on every wall, there were very old oil paintings of men and large dogs, but not dogs that walk on four legs, but those that walk upright. In some of the paintings, the men were dressed in clothing from the 17 or 18-hundreds – all standing shoulder to shoulder with large dogs. The pub was dimly lit so I was straining to see more detail when a man’s voice behind me said, “Pardon..”, I turned to see a soldier-type standing respectfully behind and to my left, he said, “Didn’t want to startle you. May I sit?” I agreed so was able to look closer at the uniform, which all the men in the pub wore. It was a mix of dark and light green, with muted brown pixilation, with no identification patches, but what caught my eye was the red tattoo on the side of his neck: It was the wolf rune, in red (laid on its side), across the side of his neck.
Sitting next to me, pint in hand, looking forward and sipping, he said, “You’ll be wanting to stay the night.” I took a deep and slow breath and thought to my dreaming self: ‘This is a dreamvision, and it’s going somewhere, so see where it takes you.’ So I replied to the man, “Thank you, I will.”
At the last word a young woman appeared behind the bar with a check-in book and said, “Right! I’ve arranged a lovely room for you on the upper level. It has beautiful views of Schiehallion, Glastonbury and Uisnech!” (Knowing this to be geographically impossible, I quickly realized but a small part of the nature of the dreamvision.) At this point I decided to ask, “Why is the pub called the ‘Green Egg’?” The young woman excitedly explained that ‘where we sit’ there was once a great troll cave inhabited by a fierce Trollwoman. Men came from across Britain and the ‘uncharted seas’ to test their metal against this ‘foul and loathsome beast’. For many lifetimes, ‘far too many to count’, the bones of dead warriors piled up, all meal for the Trollwoman, and so the cave and the ‘dark forest’ around it was called ‘haunted’ and ‘no one dared come near’. Many more lifetimes passed and the story turned to myth until a local man, who grazed his herd close to the Troll Wood, started missing his prized cows. With neither ‘hide nor bone found’, he offered silver coin to any man who would bring his cattle back. Many came and entered the wood, but none returned, until a ‘painted man’ came to the village. He approached the herder and the village Lord and told them, if he is able to bring back the cows and ‘keep such harm from ever happening again’, would he and his ‘kin be granted safe haven..’, and just then, the man beside me, who had been sitting and sipping quietly, softly said, “..from now until the Dawn of the Ruling Ones.”
“And that is what happened”, the young woman continued saying – the ‘painted man’ entered the Troll Wood and retrieved the cattle, unharmed, and was then granted, ‘for all time’, the Troll Wood for his ‘kin and kith’.
The first man I encountered then appeared next to the girl, literally materializing from the dim light in the pub. He placed his hand on her shoulder and said, “Now, now Aelfgife, don’t be giving our guest a fright.” Aelfgife then looked at me, smiled and said, “I don’t think she’s the frightful type da’.”, then closing her book, turned and faded into the surrounding darkness.
The first man said, “Well then, you’d have dinner won’t you? There is some fresh stew waiting, and dark bread, and when your ready, your room has been warmed and is ready for you.” And so I was shown a table where I ate alone. The stew was thick and rich, and the bread heavy and fragrant, and my pint never grew warm. While enjoying my meal I noticed many more military men come in – each finding a seemingly familiar place to sit with friends. After eating, Aelfgife appeared and offered to show me my room. I followed her up a flight of heavy hewn wood stairs, past huge doors with black metal rasps. The floor creaked underfoot and the walls were not even, so that I was walking through an extended trapezoid that seemed to more sway than have corners that went off in every direction. Up we walked, turning left and right, until we came to a door that Aelfgife opened with a long and oddly shaped key – the door creaked on its huge hinges, as it opened into a comfortable room with a fireplace and large wooden bed, piled high with feather blankets, and a foot step for climbing up onto. As promised, there was a large window that Aelfgife went to, pulling back heavy curtains to reveal an amazing view.
At first sight, immediately, I saw the darkening rooftops of the village outside, but then, every line and angle became a thread that extended outwards, further and farther for miles. Within seconds I was looking on Glastonbury to the west, Uisnech to the north and west, and Schiehallion to the north. Standing there amazed at the Wyrd window, Aelfgife said, “Wonderful, isn’t it!” She then turned to me and said, “You won’t be able to leave your room tonight, you being a guest .. and a dark moon. There is a bedpan, so do wash up now before settling in.” Without question I did as she suggested. Afterwards, back in my room, adding a peat brick to the fire, there was a soft knock on the door before it opened. Aelfgife was there, “Do remember, no leaving your room tonight. You may hear a bit of noise, but don’t be troubled. Its best if you stay here – from harm’s way and such.” She then closed the door and I heard it lock behind me.
Untroubled I stepped up into bed and nested beneath heavy feather blankets and down pillows. I slept soundly. Sometime during the night, however, I did indeed hear some unfamiliar sounds. Being still, quieting my breath, I listened intently. I heard heavy footfalls and what sounded like heavy air pressing against the door, then scraping sounds and what sounded like tapping on metal. My Seid-sense was unconcerned, so I closed my eyes and returned to warm sleep.
Morning came brightly as Aelfgife parted the heavy curtains to allow sunlight in. “How did you sleep?”, she asked in her, apparently usual, happy manner. “Good”, I said, “Very good.” “Breakfast is ready when you are.”, and off she went.
With staff in hand I managed to retrace my steps to the main floor – the smell of food helped. The main pub area was a bit more lit than the night before, so I walked up to the old paintings to examine them better. My eyes had seen clearly the night before, these were indeed pictures of men, but with wolves standing on two legs, sometimes one or two, sometimes in large groups. In the background of these pictures were stone sites, like Avebury, Silbury and Stonehenge, and sites further afield, like Ballymeanoch and the Grey Cairns of Camster, the Four Maols and Kilclooney, and farther still, like Altenrode, Steinkreis Gimte and Externsteine.
The first man I had met, the night before, approached me and said, “Morning ma’am. Your breakfast is ready when you are.” I replied, “I’m sorry – I never got your name last night,” and he replied, “I don’t recall giving it. Apologies for that, we don’t get many ‘both’ types here from America. Sigberct I’m called .. my daughter and I run the pub.”
I said, “Pleased to meet you Sigberct, I am grateful for your hospitality. About last night, though, I heard odd noises in the hallway..”, and he casually replied, “That would be the Troll. Mostly harmless, as trolls go, if she don’t mind you that is.” Taking a guess I asked, “Was she born from the green egg?” “Aren’t you clever,” he said, winking at me, then added, “..but not ‘from’. Most folk here keep her from harm, and in like, she does the same. You can sit here .. breakfast is on its way.” Breakfast did come, and two of the military men as well, asking to join me, they both had red wolf rune tattoos on their necks. This is when I noticed that the wolf rune was on both sides of the neck, on both of them. They invited me on a ‘tour’ they were taking. It didn’t seem important to ask ‘where’ so I agreed.
Next I was on a bus filled with the military men, all in the same uniform, all with red wolf rune tattoos on the sides of the necks. I was standing up, just past the middle of the bus, enjoying the brief warmth of dawning sunshine that filtered in from the quite large windows, which reached almost from floor to ceiling. One of the military men came and stood beside me, “Thrydwulf”, he said, then stood quietly there, looking out the window of the bus. “Yngona”, I answered back, and he asked, “Desmond?” “Yes”, was all I said, but it seemed every man on the bus heard it and turned to look at me, then turning back, nodded in approval. Thrydwulf then chuckled, “‘Both’ you are indeed.”
The bus did not follow a conventional road, but one that drove through time and space. Turning here and there through the past and present, over sea and mountain, not in one country but a few. When we stopped it was a landscape not readily familiar, and I had the impression that it was more past than present. All the men prepared to get off the bus – donning small backpacks that had been secured beneath their seats – as I looked out the window at the breathtaking landscape. Intuitively I knew – without speaking aloud – this place was Ulvskollen; then Thrydwulf turned to me and confirmed, “That’s right – this is Ulvskollen. Afterwards, we will head towards Trolltinden.”
Off the bus the men began to walk at a very fast pace. One of the men approached me and said, “I’m Ceolwulf. If you get tired Völva, just say .. and I will carry you.”, he then laughed and quickly trotted ahead. Thrydwulf came up behind me and said, “Don’t mind him, he’s but a pup”, then he too trotted ahead. Next I knew the men were loping, their eyes darting quickly left and right, catching every sight and scent. Just as quick they were outpacing me, so I picked up my speed, staff at horizontal, and followed behind them.
We journeyed this way, covering much ground, till the sun shone high above us, sending bright beams through grey clouds heavy with ice crystals. The men stopped at a small creek and lying down, drank water – some using cupped hands, others immersing their heads into the dark coldness. One of the men came up to me – as some men sat while others kept keen eyes on the distance – “I’m Wulfhere. I brought your food”, and he reached into his backpack and pulled out a leather satchel with my personal rune on it. He handed it to me and said, “Aelfgife made it special for you.” Opening the satchel I found a leg of lamb, a small barley loaf and a flask of ale. Wulfhere added, “She said to tell you, ‘your not a vegetarian’.” He shrugged at that, then sat next to me. Biting into the lamb, I then asked, “Where you born with the wolf rune?”, “Yes”, he replied, “All of us. We have no others here.” Intuitively I knew the ‘others’ were those not born as man-wolves .. as werewolves. We – all of us – ate in silence, packed just as quietly, then headed onward.
Half way up Ulvskollen, Sunna left us as Schnee covered us with her downy cloak. As the snow deepened, I slowed a bit, but the pace of the men never did. A man-wolf named Redwulf offered me his back, so I took it, and off we went. Now, in the middle of the pack, I could see the men more clearly – with Seid eyes. All were sturdy of bone and lithe, each had keen eyes that darted quickly – not casually glancing but rapidly identifying then moving one. Some looked like men while others were half-men, with clawed hands and head-hair that flowed like sinuous rivulets over stout shoulders; and others had taken to all fours. I felt caught-up in a fast moving current, similar to when I dive into and through the depths of the Well. I felt buoyant on Redwulf’s back, as if I were swimming in fiery water – for indeed, every breath a spark that surrounded us all as a mist of shimmering air. Suddenly, or so it seemed to me, lost in the fluid moment/movement, we stopped at a cave’s mouth. Thrydwulf looked at me and said, “Come”, as he turned and entered into the darkness. Already, ice hung like jagged teeth as we passed within.
My eyes did not need to adjust to damp dark, for Thrydwulf’s Glow shone like soft gold to my Seid-eyes, so I stayed close behind him. Making many turns while moving downwards, I knew not our direction or intent, but trusted that Thrydwulf did, and so we quickly arrived towards “the place”. In the darkness, upon a nest of old herb, bone chip and feathers, there rested a green egg. It was quite large and looked heavy, the outer surface appearing to be carved stone covered in lichen. Thrydwulf approached and placed his hand upon it, and I saw it move at his touch. He then turned towards me and forcefully whispered, “Take it!” In that moment I realized I now stood where many others had dared stand before me – unable to pass the Pertho, they abruptly found themselves back on Midgard. Likewise, I realized this is why I was here, why these wolf men had brought me – to test me, to see if I could carry the green egg. Without hesitation, instinctively remembering what to do, I pulled a deep red cloth from beneath my clothing, covered the green egg, wrapped it like I had done – seemingly, so many times before – and nestled it close to my heart, beneath my cloak. Secured, I looked to Thrydwulf, and with a quick nod, he turned and I followed, back, towards cave’s mouth.
Before rounding the last turn, Thrydwulf’s arm came across my shoulder and in a hushed tone said, “Be still!” Before us, in the dark, I heard growls and bellows, as my guard cautiously stepped forward, leaving me in the dark, the green egg warm against my chest, and within it, I felt a heart’s beating.
Peering around the corner I saw men, human men with spears, swords and torches. The wolf men were warding the cave entrance, hackles raised, and the men were demanding entrance. I sensed the attack before it came, so quick was the slashing and ripping of the wolf men that I could not see it with human eyes, so swiftly shifted to Seid-sight. I was in awe of their fighting prowess, mesmerized by their vicious and purposeful dance of blood. I felt no kinship with the human men as they fell like lambs, their bright blood freezing upon sparkling snow.
I stepped forward when the deed was done, and without a word, Redwulf appeared at my side and we were off again – weaving fast through space and time, weaving towards Trolltinden. Once there, the scene repeated itself, but with no forced encounter; so as Day gave way to Night, we made our way quickly back to the bus, green eggs safely in our possession, and before long, back to the dim warmth of the pub.
A large table was cleared for me to lay the two green eggs upon. Looking upon them, I noticed again how they appeared to be carved from stone and covered in moss, yet, their surface was softer, like rough, firm, yet moist leather. The wolf men stepped back, and rising in my throat a galan poured forth:
Upon arrival, standing outside, I pulled out my public transit schedule, when a taxi pulled up. I bent over and said: “No thank you. I don’t need a cab.” The driver looked at my staff and said, “Witchery or weapon?” I gave him a quizzical look then replied, “Both.” He then said, “Then you’ll want to be staying at the Green Egg ma’am.” I asked, “Why is that?” and he replied, “Well, its mostly weapon types there, but they have need for a bit of witchery right now, and I’m sure you and the Troll will be getting along.” I agreed to the ride and off we went.
The Green Egg looked more like a fortress than a pub/inn. It was very old, made from massive wood beams, between which were roughly hewn stones. Wrought iron was on every window, and the entrance had lowered through the years, so one had to bend down to enter. Still, this took nothing from the height of the structure, which was an impressive three stories.
It was very dark inside with dim lightening in the far corners, where figures huddled in conversation. Unable to see clearly, I stood there, with my back to the door, waiting for my eyes to adjust. From over my shoulder a voice said, “Welcome ma’am”, and I spun instinctively with staff at the ready. The same voice, a man’s, said, “Easy there ma’am, we’re all friends here. Didn’t mean to give you a start – won’t you come this way.” He walked forward into the pub towards a main desk. From behind it he asked, “And how long will you be staying with us?” I explained that I hadn’t planned on staying at all, that I was on pilgrimage and my habit was to walk from one sacred site to the next, but that an odd fellow in a taxi suggested I visit. The man behind the desk said, “Right that he did, you having your staff and all. And a fine looking one it is. Witchery or weapon?” I gave him a quizzical look and said, “Everyone keeps asking me that..” and he said, “So which is it then?” I stared at him for more than a few seconds before replying, “Both”, and without skipping a beat he said, “Ah .. witchery then!”
I then said, “I really have no plans to stay, perhaps just a pint before I’m on my way.” “A pint it is..” he replied, then walked out behind the desk and towards the back of the pub, where a group of men were sitting. Coming closer I noticed that they were all wearing military type uniforms, but not necessarily British. They were all matching, but not of an army that I could identify. Deep in their conversations, most glanced my way as I passed – walking towards the bar, where the man was now pouring me a pint. I asked him, “What sort of pub is this?” and he smiled, winked, then replied, “Both.” I gave him a questioning look but before I could ask anything more he quickly said, “Be right back” and walked away.
I grounded my backpack but kept my staff close at hand. Sipping the pint I was determining my next course of action as I started looking around the pub, at the pictures on the walls. Everywhere, on every wall, there were very old oil paintings of men and large dogs, but not dogs that walk on four legs, but those that walk upright. In some of the paintings, the men were dressed in clothing from the 17 or 18-hundreds – all standing shoulder to shoulder with large dogs. The pub was dimly lit so I was straining to see more detail when a man’s voice behind me said, “Pardon..”, I turned to see a soldier-type standing respectfully behind and to my left, he said, “Didn’t want to startle you. May I sit?” I agreed so was able to look closer at the uniform, which all the men in the pub wore. It was a mix of dark and light green, with muted brown pixilation, with no identification patches, but what caught my eye was the red tattoo on the side of his neck: It was the wolf rune, in red (laid on its side), across the side of his neck.
Sitting next to me, pint in hand, looking forward and sipping, he said, “You’ll be wanting to stay the night.” I took a deep and slow breath and thought to my dreaming self: ‘This is a dreamvision, and it’s going somewhere, so see where it takes you.’ So I replied to the man, “Thank you, I will.”
At the last word a young woman appeared behind the bar with a check-in book and said, “Right! I’ve arranged a lovely room for you on the upper level. It has beautiful views of Schiehallion, Glastonbury and Uisnech!” (Knowing this to be geographically impossible, I quickly realized but a small part of the nature of the dreamvision.) At this point I decided to ask, “Why is the pub called the ‘Green Egg’?” The young woman excitedly explained that ‘where we sit’ there was once a great troll cave inhabited by a fierce Trollwoman. Men came from across Britain and the ‘uncharted seas’ to test their metal against this ‘foul and loathsome beast’. For many lifetimes, ‘far too many to count’, the bones of dead warriors piled up, all meal for the Trollwoman, and so the cave and the ‘dark forest’ around it was called ‘haunted’ and ‘no one dared come near’. Many more lifetimes passed and the story turned to myth until a local man, who grazed his herd close to the Troll Wood, started missing his prized cows. With neither ‘hide nor bone found’, he offered silver coin to any man who would bring his cattle back. Many came and entered the wood, but none returned, until a ‘painted man’ came to the village. He approached the herder and the village Lord and told them, if he is able to bring back the cows and ‘keep such harm from ever happening again’, would he and his ‘kin be granted safe haven..’, and just then, the man beside me, who had been sitting and sipping quietly, softly said, “..from now until the Dawn of the Ruling Ones.”
“And that is what happened”, the young woman continued saying – the ‘painted man’ entered the Troll Wood and retrieved the cattle, unharmed, and was then granted, ‘for all time’, the Troll Wood for his ‘kin and kith’.
The first man I encountered then appeared next to the girl, literally materializing from the dim light in the pub. He placed his hand on her shoulder and said, “Now, now Aelfgife, don’t be giving our guest a fright.” Aelfgife then looked at me, smiled and said, “I don’t think she’s the frightful type da’.”, then closing her book, turned and faded into the surrounding darkness.
The first man said, “Well then, you’d have dinner won’t you? There is some fresh stew waiting, and dark bread, and when your ready, your room has been warmed and is ready for you.” And so I was shown a table where I ate alone. The stew was thick and rich, and the bread heavy and fragrant, and my pint never grew warm. While enjoying my meal I noticed many more military men come in – each finding a seemingly familiar place to sit with friends. After eating, Aelfgife appeared and offered to show me my room. I followed her up a flight of heavy hewn wood stairs, past huge doors with black metal rasps. The floor creaked underfoot and the walls were not even, so that I was walking through an extended trapezoid that seemed to more sway than have corners that went off in every direction. Up we walked, turning left and right, until we came to a door that Aelfgife opened with a long and oddly shaped key – the door creaked on its huge hinges, as it opened into a comfortable room with a fireplace and large wooden bed, piled high with feather blankets, and a foot step for climbing up onto. As promised, there was a large window that Aelfgife went to, pulling back heavy curtains to reveal an amazing view.
At first sight, immediately, I saw the darkening rooftops of the village outside, but then, every line and angle became a thread that extended outwards, further and farther for miles. Within seconds I was looking on Glastonbury to the west, Uisnech to the north and west, and Schiehallion to the north. Standing there amazed at the Wyrd window, Aelfgife said, “Wonderful, isn’t it!” She then turned to me and said, “You won’t be able to leave your room tonight, you being a guest .. and a dark moon. There is a bedpan, so do wash up now before settling in.” Without question I did as she suggested. Afterwards, back in my room, adding a peat brick to the fire, there was a soft knock on the door before it opened. Aelfgife was there, “Do remember, no leaving your room tonight. You may hear a bit of noise, but don’t be troubled. Its best if you stay here – from harm’s way and such.” She then closed the door and I heard it lock behind me.
Untroubled I stepped up into bed and nested beneath heavy feather blankets and down pillows. I slept soundly. Sometime during the night, however, I did indeed hear some unfamiliar sounds. Being still, quieting my breath, I listened intently. I heard heavy footfalls and what sounded like heavy air pressing against the door, then scraping sounds and what sounded like tapping on metal. My Seid-sense was unconcerned, so I closed my eyes and returned to warm sleep.
Morning came brightly as Aelfgife parted the heavy curtains to allow sunlight in. “How did you sleep?”, she asked in her, apparently usual, happy manner. “Good”, I said, “Very good.” “Breakfast is ready when you are.”, and off she went.
With staff in hand I managed to retrace my steps to the main floor – the smell of food helped. The main pub area was a bit more lit than the night before, so I walked up to the old paintings to examine them better. My eyes had seen clearly the night before, these were indeed pictures of men, but with wolves standing on two legs, sometimes one or two, sometimes in large groups. In the background of these pictures were stone sites, like Avebury, Silbury and Stonehenge, and sites further afield, like Ballymeanoch and the Grey Cairns of Camster, the Four Maols and Kilclooney, and farther still, like Altenrode, Steinkreis Gimte and Externsteine.
The first man I had met, the night before, approached me and said, “Morning ma’am. Your breakfast is ready when you are.” I replied, “I’m sorry – I never got your name last night,” and he replied, “I don’t recall giving it. Apologies for that, we don’t get many ‘both’ types here from America. Sigberct I’m called .. my daughter and I run the pub.”
I said, “Pleased to meet you Sigberct, I am grateful for your hospitality. About last night, though, I heard odd noises in the hallway..”, and he casually replied, “That would be the Troll. Mostly harmless, as trolls go, if she don’t mind you that is.” Taking a guess I asked, “Was she born from the green egg?” “Aren’t you clever,” he said, winking at me, then added, “..but not ‘from’. Most folk here keep her from harm, and in like, she does the same. You can sit here .. breakfast is on its way.” Breakfast did come, and two of the military men as well, asking to join me, they both had red wolf rune tattoos on their necks. This is when I noticed that the wolf rune was on both sides of the neck, on both of them. They invited me on a ‘tour’ they were taking. It didn’t seem important to ask ‘where’ so I agreed.
Next I was on a bus filled with the military men, all in the same uniform, all with red wolf rune tattoos on the sides of the necks. I was standing up, just past the middle of the bus, enjoying the brief warmth of dawning sunshine that filtered in from the quite large windows, which reached almost from floor to ceiling. One of the military men came and stood beside me, “Thrydwulf”, he said, then stood quietly there, looking out the window of the bus. “Yngona”, I answered back, and he asked, “Desmond?” “Yes”, was all I said, but it seemed every man on the bus heard it and turned to look at me, then turning back, nodded in approval. Thrydwulf then chuckled, “‘Both’ you are indeed.”
The bus did not follow a conventional road, but one that drove through time and space. Turning here and there through the past and present, over sea and mountain, not in one country but a few. When we stopped it was a landscape not readily familiar, and I had the impression that it was more past than present. All the men prepared to get off the bus – donning small backpacks that had been secured beneath their seats – as I looked out the window at the breathtaking landscape. Intuitively I knew – without speaking aloud – this place was Ulvskollen; then Thrydwulf turned to me and confirmed, “That’s right – this is Ulvskollen. Afterwards, we will head towards Trolltinden.”
Off the bus the men began to walk at a very fast pace. One of the men approached me and said, “I’m Ceolwulf. If you get tired Völva, just say .. and I will carry you.”, he then laughed and quickly trotted ahead. Thrydwulf came up behind me and said, “Don’t mind him, he’s but a pup”, then he too trotted ahead. Next I knew the men were loping, their eyes darting quickly left and right, catching every sight and scent. Just as quick they were outpacing me, so I picked up my speed, staff at horizontal, and followed behind them.
We journeyed this way, covering much ground, till the sun shone high above us, sending bright beams through grey clouds heavy with ice crystals. The men stopped at a small creek and lying down, drank water – some using cupped hands, others immersing their heads into the dark coldness. One of the men came up to me – as some men sat while others kept keen eyes on the distance – “I’m Wulfhere. I brought your food”, and he reached into his backpack and pulled out a leather satchel with my personal rune on it. He handed it to me and said, “Aelfgife made it special for you.” Opening the satchel I found a leg of lamb, a small barley loaf and a flask of ale. Wulfhere added, “She said to tell you, ‘your not a vegetarian’.” He shrugged at that, then sat next to me. Biting into the lamb, I then asked, “Where you born with the wolf rune?”, “Yes”, he replied, “All of us. We have no others here.” Intuitively I knew the ‘others’ were those not born as man-wolves .. as werewolves. We – all of us – ate in silence, packed just as quietly, then headed onward.
Half way up Ulvskollen, Sunna left us as Schnee covered us with her downy cloak. As the snow deepened, I slowed a bit, but the pace of the men never did. A man-wolf named Redwulf offered me his back, so I took it, and off we went. Now, in the middle of the pack, I could see the men more clearly – with Seid eyes. All were sturdy of bone and lithe, each had keen eyes that darted quickly – not casually glancing but rapidly identifying then moving one. Some looked like men while others were half-men, with clawed hands and head-hair that flowed like sinuous rivulets over stout shoulders; and others had taken to all fours. I felt caught-up in a fast moving current, similar to when I dive into and through the depths of the Well. I felt buoyant on Redwulf’s back, as if I were swimming in fiery water – for indeed, every breath a spark that surrounded us all as a mist of shimmering air. Suddenly, or so it seemed to me, lost in the fluid moment/movement, we stopped at a cave’s mouth. Thrydwulf looked at me and said, “Come”, as he turned and entered into the darkness. Already, ice hung like jagged teeth as we passed within.
My eyes did not need to adjust to damp dark, for Thrydwulf’s Glow shone like soft gold to my Seid-eyes, so I stayed close behind him. Making many turns while moving downwards, I knew not our direction or intent, but trusted that Thrydwulf did, and so we quickly arrived towards “the place”. In the darkness, upon a nest of old herb, bone chip and feathers, there rested a green egg. It was quite large and looked heavy, the outer surface appearing to be carved stone covered in lichen. Thrydwulf approached and placed his hand upon it, and I saw it move at his touch. He then turned towards me and forcefully whispered, “Take it!” In that moment I realized I now stood where many others had dared stand before me – unable to pass the Pertho, they abruptly found themselves back on Midgard. Likewise, I realized this is why I was here, why these wolf men had brought me – to test me, to see if I could carry the green egg. Without hesitation, instinctively remembering what to do, I pulled a deep red cloth from beneath my clothing, covered the green egg, wrapped it like I had done – seemingly, so many times before – and nestled it close to my heart, beneath my cloak. Secured, I looked to Thrydwulf, and with a quick nod, he turned and I followed, back, towards cave’s mouth.
Before rounding the last turn, Thrydwulf’s arm came across my shoulder and in a hushed tone said, “Be still!” Before us, in the dark, I heard growls and bellows, as my guard cautiously stepped forward, leaving me in the dark, the green egg warm against my chest, and within it, I felt a heart’s beating.
Peering around the corner I saw men, human men with spears, swords and torches. The wolf men were warding the cave entrance, hackles raised, and the men were demanding entrance. I sensed the attack before it came, so quick was the slashing and ripping of the wolf men that I could not see it with human eyes, so swiftly shifted to Seid-sight. I was in awe of their fighting prowess, mesmerized by their vicious and purposeful dance of blood. I felt no kinship with the human men as they fell like lambs, their bright blood freezing upon sparkling snow.
I stepped forward when the deed was done, and without a word, Redwulf appeared at my side and we were off again – weaving fast through space and time, weaving towards Trolltinden. Once there, the scene repeated itself, but with no forced encounter; so as Day gave way to Night, we made our way quickly back to the bus, green eggs safely in our possession, and before long, back to the dim warmth of the pub.
A large table was cleared for me to lay the two green eggs upon. Looking upon them, I noticed again how they appeared to be carved from stone and covered in moss, yet, their surface was softer, like rough, firm, yet moist leather. The wolf men stepped back, and rising in my throat a galan poured forth:
Again those feet, from ancient time,
will walk Earth’s face again.
Fear not! Roam free .. in wooded green,
Fear not! Roam free .. in wooded green,
and feed on holy lamb,
To keep at bay the rotten cross
To keep at bay the rotten cross
that festers in our land.
Come forth wolf-child, to be blessed,
Come forth wolf-child, to be blessed,
fear not the champions here,
Fore ever is joy born where your paw is spread –
Fore ever is joy born where your paw is spread –
Offspring of Iarnvidia dear.
As galan’s last vibration faded into the dark wooden walls, a sound emerged from behind me. The wolf men, before me, looked up and past me, and then lightly bowed their heads. Before I could turn a large and heavy hand rested lightly on my shoulder and a woman’s voice, old as Mundilfari, echoed from the depths of age, “Blessings full to fill your heart dear Völva, for your work here is just begun.”
______
I then awoke from my dreamvision to write this experience down.
Dream Deliberately!
