NOVEL WEB Chapter 157: Chapter 157
The crisp Elbaph autumn air bit at Marya's cheeks as she moved through the intricate forms in Gaban's spacious yard. The rhythmic swish-swish of Eternal Eclipse cutting through the twilight was the only sound, a counterpoint to the rustling of giant-sized crimson and gold leaves overhead. Her focus was absolute, golden eyes narrowed, muscles coiled with Mihawk's lethal precision as she flowed from stance to stance. The riddle's demands – Celestial Dragon blood, the elusive Sun God – churned in her mind like storm clouds. Six torn veins. Tyrant's child. How does one even begin—
Suddenly, the solid earth beneath her boots lurched. Not the familiar, hearty tremor of a giant's step, but a sickening, hollow shudder. Her footing faltered. For a split second, the world warped. Jagged lines like rotting veins pulsed black and purple across the packed earth, radiating a wave of unnatural, bone-deep cold that stole her breath. A gust of wind smelling of grave dirt and wind whipped her raven hair across her face. She caught herself, blade sinking point-first into the ground for balance, heart hammering against her ribs.
Then, it was gone. The ground was firm, the air merely crisp autumn, the only scent woodsmoke drifting from Gaban's log house. The phantom veins vanished as if they'd never been. Biblo, hovering nearby, feathers ruffling in flustered confusion from an overlooking branch.
"So odd," Marya murmured, straightening, her knuckles white on the obsidian hilt. "Just like before." A flicker of unease, cold and sharp as the phantom wind, cut through her usual stoicism. What is that? The void curse on her arms seemed to throb faintly in response.
"Hey!" The booming call shattered the eerie silence. Gaban stood framed in the massive, ship-timbered doorway of his log house, hands on his hips. The legendary Roger Pirate looked every bit the weathered shipwright in his practical leather apron, though his eyes held their usual keen glint. "You're practicing again? Sun's dipping! Come on, lass, let's go! We're going to be late for the Veilfire Vigil if you carve up my yard much longer!"
Marya blinked, the unsettling vision forcibly pushed aside. She gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod, pulling Eternal Eclipse free and sheathing it with a smooth click. "Coming."
"Still got to fetch Ripley, Colon, and that wobbly blue fella!" Gaban added, already turning back inside, likely to grab his ceremonial horn or a warm cloak.
The walk towards the heart of Elbaph's main settlement was a journey through autumn grandeur. The path, wide enough for giants, wound past houses carved from entire petrified trees, their windows glowing warmly. The air hummed with anticipation and the scent of roasting nuts, spiced cider, and the unique, tinged aroma of preparing starlight amber. Giant pumpkins carved with fierce faces lined the way, their flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows. They passed the imposing structure of the Walrus School, its doors wide open, the sounds of clattering practice swords and gruff giant instructors echoing out.
"Marya! Gaban! Over here!" Ripley's cheerful voice cut through the bustle. The giantess, her chestnut braids bouncing, waved enthusiastically beside her son Colon, who was trying (and failing) to stand perfectly still like a statue. Beside them, vibrating with barely contained energy, was Jelly "Giggles" Squish.
"Bloop! Marya! Gaban! Adventure time!" Jelly chimed, his entire azure-blue, gelatinous form wobbling with excitement, the tiny red bandana perched jauntily on his head. "The sky is all… glowy! Like me when I see fishies! But not fishies! Bloop!"
Colon immediately abandoned his statue pose, puffing out his chest. "Marya! Look! I been practicing! Like you showed me!" He mimed a clumsy downward slash, overbalancing and stumbling into Ripley, who steadied him with a fond sigh.
"Careful, little walrus," Ripley chuckled, ruffling his hair before turning her bright, inquisitive eyes to Marya. "How's the big research going, Marya? Any closer to figuring out that ancient riddle?"
Marya sighed, the sound slow and measured, like steam escaping a kettle. The weight of Saul's deduction – Celestial Dragon blood – pressed down again. "It... progresses," she said evasively, her gaze scanning the bustling giants preparing for the vigil, the hanging memory tapestries already shimmering with potential.
Gaban chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound like stones tumbling down a mountainside. He clapped a massive hand gently on Marya's shoulder, nearly knocking her off balance. "Don't rush it, lass," he advised, his voice warm with the wisdom of countless voyages. "Secrets like that, they're like shipworm in good timber – stubborn. But you've got the keenest eye I've seen since… well, since a long time. You'll pry it loose when the tide's right." He winked, his confidence absolute.
Jelly, meanwhile, had noticed a vendor selling candied fruits nearby. His starry eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror. "Fruity… graveyard…" he whimpered, his body visibly trembling, losing its cohesive shape slightly as he tried to hide behind Colon's legs. "No bloop! Bad sparkly lumps!"
Ripley rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Come on, Jelly, it's just fruit. Look away!" She gently nudged him forward.
The Warrior Village of Western Elbaph thrummed with the vibrant pulse of the Autumn Equinox. Torches fashioned from entire pine trees cast long, dancing shadows across the moss-carpeted square, illuminating giants clad in polished leather and gleaming bronze ornaments. The air was thick with the scent of roasting boar, spiced honey mead, and the sharp, clean smell of frost-kissed air. Laughter boomed like distant thunder as warriors exchanged boasts, children weaved through legs like darting minnows, and elders sang gravelly sagas near crackling fire pits. Jelly, safely past the dreaded fruit vendor, had regained his wobbling composure, his starry eyes wide with delight at the spectacle. "Bloop! So many big friends! And the lights!" He pulsed a happy cerulean, momentarily forming a tiny, jiggly horn to mimic a nearby musician.
Suddenly, Astrid, a tall, stern-faced giantess with braids like woven iron and eyes that missed nothing, emerged from the crowd. Her gaze swept over Gaban, Marya, Ripley, Colon, and the bobbing Jelly. "Gaban," she stated, her voice cutting through the festivities with calm authority. "Volva Ylva requests your presence. And the outsider's." She nodded curtly towards Marya.
Gaban sighed, a low rumble in his chest. "On the equinox? Can't it wait 'til after the brew?"
Ripley kneeled, giving a reassuring expression. "Go on, you grumpy walrus," she said, a warm smile softening her features. "Colon wants to try the honey-glazed yams, and someone," she nudged Jelly gently, "needs distracting from sparkly lumps." She winked. "We'll enjoy the fires and keep Jelly out of trouble. Mostly." Colon beamed, already tugging his mother towards a food stall, chanting "Yams! Yams!"
Gaban grunted, then turned to Marya. "Come on, lass. Best not keep the Volva waiting." As they followed Astrid away from the bustling square, the sounds of celebration fading behind them, Marya finally voiced her question. "Who is Ylva?"
Gaban glanced down at her, his weathered face softening slightly. "Ylva Grimsdottir. The Sightless Seer. She's one of our Volva elders – priestesses who interpret the will of the gods and read the threads of fate. More importantly tonight," he added, his voice lowering, "she's the one who drinks the starlight amber and weeps the future during the Veilfire Vigil."
Marya absorbed this, her golden eyes thoughtful. "Weeps the future?"
"Aye. The fermented amber opens her mind to the Shatter-Visions. Her tears... they form constellations in the air. Patterns that warn of storms, invasions, blights – whatever the coming year holds. It's how we know where to fortify, when to plant, how to guard against..." He trailed off, his gaze hardening as they passed a group of warriors sharpening axes with grim determination. "Well. Against threats."
Astrid led them away from the central square, down a path lined with ancient standing stones carved with intricate knotwork. The air grew cooler, the scent of woodsmoke replaced by the mineral tang of fresh water and damp stone. Ahead, nestled beside the roaring cascade of Warrior's Spring, stood a simple yet imposing temple. Built from massive, unadorned granite blocks, its entrance was flanked by two weathered statues depicting hooded figures holding braziers that burned with cold, blue flame – Veilfire.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The raucous energy of the festival gave way to a hushed reverence. Giants moved quietly, their faces solemn as they carefully hung large woven tapestries along the walls – the memory tapestries. Each depicted scenes of harvest, battle, birth, and loss, vibrant threads capturing moments of communal joy and sorrow. The air smelled of old wool, damp earth, and something else – a faint, sweet-sharp aroma like incense and fermented honey.
At the far end of the temple, seated on a stone dais beside a natural pool fed by the spring, was Volva Ylva. Marya felt a flicker of surprise despite her usual stoicism. The giantess was immense, even by Elbaph standards, her skin like weathered obsidian, cracked with lines that pulsed with a soft, internal amber light. Her hair was a vast cloud-white afro, intricately woven with dozens of smooth, pale moonstone beads that caught the dim light. Where eyes should have been were deep, empty sockets – but it was the faint, luminous trails of silver liquid, like captured starlight, that slowly traced paths down her cheeks that held Marya's gaze. She wore robes that might once have been ceremonial finery but were now faded and tattered, patched with strange, luminous lichen.
Astrid bowed deeply. "Volva Ylva. Gaban and the outsider, as you requested."
Ylva didn't turn her head, but Marya felt an unnerving sensation, as if the empty sockets were somehow seeing her. A low hum, almost a vibration felt in the chest rather than heard, emanated from the Volva. "The sky balances," Ylva murmured, her voice a rasp like wind through dry reeds, yet carrying immense weight. "Light and dark hold their breath. The time nears." She raised a hand, gnarled and large enough to cradle a ship's anchor, towards a stone goblet resting beside her. It was filled with a viscous, shimmering liquid that seemed to hold swirling galaxies within its depths – the fermented starlight amber.
Gaban shifted his weight, the stone floor groaning faintly. "Aye, Volva. The feast is in full swing out there. They're burning the tapestries soon."
Ylva gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. The starlight tears continued their silent journey down her obsidian cheeks, dripping into the pool at her feet where they shimmered briefly before dissolving. "The threads of memory burn... to light the path ahead. But the shadows gather thickly this turning, Gaban." Her head tilted slightly, the moonstone beads clicking softly. "This one... she carries echoes of the deep places. The forgotten tongues." The empty sockets seemed to fix on Marya again. "The Sight strains... like ice on a branch. The cracks widen."
Marya met the unseeing gaze, her expression calm but her mind racing. The weight of the riddle, Saul's grim deduction about Celestial Dragon blood, and now this – the palpable tension in the temple, the sight of the Sightless Seer weeping liquid starlight, the imminent ritual that could shatter bones. The Veilfire Vigil wasn't just a ceremony; it felt like standing on a precipice, waiting for the earth to tremble and reveal what lay hidden in the dark. Biblo shifted on a distant perch, a long-lived spectator, silently observing in the vast, ancient space charged with magic and prophecy.
The air in the temple thickened as Ylva's humming ceased abruptly. Her obsidian-cracked fingers clenched around the stone goblet of starlight amber, knuckles glowing like embers. The silver trails from her empty sockets thickened, pooling at her feet with unnatural viscosity. When she spoke, her voice wasn't her own rasp, but a layered chorus echoing with the groan of shifting continents and the crackle of dying stars:
>"Roots drink deep, yet thirst remains,
Golden chains fray 'neath crimson stains.
The Lady dreams in fractured stone,
Her whispers lost, her power prone...
To shadows born of silent tread,
Where giants mourn their honored dead.
The tree weeps tears of starless night,
While Maw awaits in stolen light..."
Marya's golden eyes, previously observing with detached curiosity, narrowed almost imperceptibly. The weight of the Celestial Dragon blood riddle, Saul's grim deductions, the phantom rotting veins – and now this? Another layer of cryptic doom draped over Elbaph's already tense atmosphere. She leaned slightly towards Gaban, her voice a low, dry murmur barely audible over the temple's heavy silence. "Do all your prophecies come gift-wrapped in riddles? It's getting rather tiresome."
The effect was instantaneous. Ylva's head snapped towards Marya, the chorus vanishing, replaced by her own sharp, icy rasp. The starlight tears ceased flowing. "Disrespect blooms where understanding withers, child of distant shadows!" The Volva's voice cracked like glacier ice, echoing off the granite walls. Giants hanging the memory tapestries froze, their faces etched with shock. "The threads of fate fray not for your convenience! You stand at the precipice, blind to the fall!"
Marya didn't flinch, but her posture stiffened, a subtle shift from stoic observer to honed blade. Her gaze locked onto Ylva's sightless sockets, unflinching. "Then illuminate the darkness, Volva," she stated, her voice cutting through the tension like her obsidian sword. "Why summon us? What purpose do we serve in your…" she gestured vaguely at the tapestries, the pool of fading starlight tears, "...weeping vigil?"
Gaban, sensing the dangerous edge in Marya's tone, shifted his massive weight. "Easy, lass," he rumbled, placing a calming hand on her shoulder – a gesture that felt like a mountain settling. "The Volva sees what others cannot. Have ye not noticed? The air… it bites with a cold that shouldn't be. Moments where the world feels… thin? Like rot glimpsed on healthy wood, then gone?"
Marya's gaze flickered. "The phantom chill. The ground shuddering like sick flesh. The black veins." Her acknowledgment was clinical, detached. "I've seen it."
Before Gaban could elaborate, the temple entrance darkened. Sigrun, the ashen-skinned guide with legs trailing comet-sparked starlight smoke, ghosted in silently, her bioluminescent fungi pulsing a wary crimson. Beside her, Valgard, the glacial-blue cartographer, entered, his icicle dreadlocks chiming softly. Frost patterns bloomed faintly on the stone floor where he stepped.
Astrid, her jade-green hair seeming to wilt slightly in the charged atmosphere, stepped forward. "It's a sickness, Marya," she explained softly, her voice carrying the scent of crushed herbs and worry. "A blight seeping from the deep places. The great Adam Tree… it weeps amber sap like blood where its roots touch the Underworld. Freyja's strength wanes."
Marya let out a slow, controlled sigh, the sound of steam escaping a sealed kettle. "Fascinating," she said, her voice devoid of fascination. "And what, precisely, does this have to do with me?"
Ylva's cracked lips stretched into a humorless smile that didn't reach her empty sockets. A low, grating chuckle echoed in the chamber, startlingly loud. "You?" The word dripped with ancient knowing. "You are the one touched, outsider. The one whose blade drinks light and splits the veil. You carry the Void's chill in your very veins." She leaned forward, the amber light within her skin pulsing erratically. "Freyja stirs in her prison, not of stone, but of fading power. She seeks. She has seen. You are the key she whispers of. Her champion, whether you will it or not. You will turn this world inside out."
Marya's jaw flexed, a minute tightening of muscle beneath her pale skin. Champion? Prison? Whispering goddesses? It sounded like the ramblings of a fever dream, not a prophecy. The sheer, grandiose absurdity of being declared a deity's chosen warrior by a weeping, blind seer grated against her pragmatic, guarded nature.
Gaban felt the tension coiling in her frame beneath his hand. "Right," he boomed, his voice deliberately breaking the heavy silence. "Enough portents for one night, Volva. The lad's likely covered himself in honey-glaze by now, and Ripley'll have my beard." He gently, but firmly, steered Marya towards the exit. "We'll leave you to your brew and your visions."
As they turned to leave, Marya cast one last, cutting glance over her shoulder at Ylva. It wasn't fear in her golden eyes, but a sharp, icy annoyance, the look one might give a persistent, buzzing insect.
Astrid hurried after them as they stepped back into the cool night air, the sounds of distant festival laughter a jarring contrast to the temple's intensity. "Marya, wait!" the young giantess called, her floral scent momentarily replacing the temple's incense and wool. "Ylva… she's harsh, but the Sight takes its toll. Especially now, with the Ward failing. What she said about Freyja…"
Marya kept walking, her pace deliberate. "Who is Freyja?" she asked, her tone flat, analytical. Not dismissive, but demanding facts, not faith. "And why does your Volva believe in her whispers? Why stake your fate on the dreams of a bound goddess?" Her curiosity was present, but clinical, like examining a peculiar specimen. She wasn't seeking belief; she was seeking data, understanding the variables in this increasingly convoluted equation. Biblo hooted a soft, questioning hoot in the distance as they walked towards the festival's glow, leaving the weight of prophecy and the weeping seer behind, for now. The riddles remained, but Marya Zaleska dealt in tangible truths, not celestial whispers.
The crunch of gravel under Gaban's boots and the softer tread of Marya and Astrid replaced the temple's heavy silence. The path back to the festival was lined with ancient standing stones, their surfaces slick with condensation from the nearby Warrior's Spring, reflecting the flickering torchlight like wet obsidian. The scent of roasting boar and spiced mead grew stronger, mingling with the mineral tang of the spring and the distant, rhythmic boom of giant drums.
Marya walked beside Gaban, her gaze fixed ahead, golden eyes reflecting the distant bonfires. Biblo's wings beat as he soared overhead. "Who is Freyja?" she repeated, her voice level, cutting through the night air. "Not poetry. Not riddles. What is she, historically? What binds her? Why do your Volva hang on her 'whispers'?"
Gaban sighed, a sound like boulders settling. He scratched his beard, the coarse hairs rasping. "Right. Straight talk for a straight thinker." He gestured vaguely towards the colossal silhouette of the Adam Tree, its highest branches lost in the star-strewn autumn sky. "Freyja ain't just a story, lass. She's… bedrock. Older than Elbaph itself, some say. A primordial force, one of the ancient ones tied to the very bones of the world."
Astrid chimed in, her voice softer, carrying the scent of crushed pine needles. "She's the Lady of Roots and Sky, Marya. Our protector. Her spirit, her essence, is bound to the heartwood of the Adam Tree. That bond… it's what creates the Golden Ward."
"The Ward?" Marya prompted, her tone indicating she expected a definition, not a title.
"Aye," Gaban continued. "Think of it like… the tree's lifeblood, mixed with Freyja's power, flowing through the roots deep into the Underworld. It seals away… bad things." He glanced sideways at Marya, choosing his words carefully. "Darkness that shouldn't see the sun. The Ward keeps it contained. Keeps us safe. Has done for millennia."
"So, she's a guardian spirit bound to a tree," Marya summarized clinically. "Imprisoned by her own power?"
"Not imprisoned!" Astrid protested, her floral-patterned skin shifting hues slightly in the torchlight. "Bound, yes, but willingly! It's a pact. Her sacrifice shields Elbaph. The Golden Ward is her strength made manifest."
"And the Volva?" Marya pressed, ignoring the theological nuance. "What is their function beyond weeping starlight and speaking in tongues?"
Gaban chuckled, a low rumble. "They're the bridge, lass. Freyja's power is vast, ancient… not always easy for mortals to grasp. The Volva train for decades. Ylva… she's the strongest in generations. They practice Seidr – old magic. Through rituals, like the Veilfire Vigil, they commune with Freyja's essence. They interpret the… well, the Shatter-Visions."
"Shatter-Visions?"
"Glimpses of the future Freyja sends," Astrid explained. "Warnings, mostly. Where storms will hit hardest, if harvests will fail, where… threats might gather." Her voice tightened slightly. "But the visions are chaotic. Fractured. Like looking through broken ice. That's why they burn the memory tapestries – the collective history, the joys and sorrows, it helps ground the vision, gives the Volva context to interpret the shards. The tears… the constellations they form… that's the interpreted warning, made visible."
Marya absorbed this, her mind cataloging the information. "And the risk? Ylva mentioned fractures."
Gaban's expression sobered. "Channeling that much raw power… it takes a toll. Bones crack. Minds strain. Prolong a vision too long…" He shook his head grimly. "There's a reason Volva elders are revered. One, back in 1522… she held a vision too vital to break, trying to warn of a great calamity. She didn't stop. When the vision ended… she shattered. Literally. Turned to shards of amber."
Marya's only reaction was a slight tightening around her eyes. "Efficient, if brutal," she remarked dryly. "So, the Volva believe Freyja is weakening. Hence, the 'sickness' —the anomalies I witnessed. The Ward is failing."
"Aye," Gaban confirmed, his voice heavy. "Adam Tree weeps amber sap where its roots touch the deep dark. The air chills where it shouldn't. The ground… shudders wrong. Ylva's visions are getting darker, harder to hold. The cracks widen." He looked down at Marya, his gaze earnest in the flickering light. "That's why she reacted so harsh. She's bearin' the weight of a dying goddess and a crumbling shield for our whole island. Desperation makes folks sharp."
They reached the edge of the festival grounds. The noise was a wall of sound – laughter, song, the clash of friendly wrestling, the sizzle of giant skewers over roaring fires. Jelly's distinctive, wobbly "Bloop!" of delight could be heard nearby, followed by Colon's excited shouts. Ripley waved at them from near a yam roasting pit, her smile warm.
Marya stopped, turning to fully face Gaban and Astrid. The chaotic joy of the festival seemed a world away from the temple's dread and the weight of ancient bonds. Her golden eyes, sharp and analytical, held no trace of fear, only a cool assessment. "So. A bound primordial guardian is fading. Her protective barrier is failing, allowing… anomalies. Your prophetic priestess interprets chaotic visions at great personal risk and believes I'm somehow involved because I carry a sword that 'drinks light'." She stated it as fact, not question. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips – not amusement, but the recognition of profound, convoluted nonsense. "Elbaph is certainly never dull."
She didn't wait for further explanation. With a final, thoughtful glance towards the distant, shadowed bulk of the Adam Tree, Marya Zaleska turned and walked purposefully towards the roasting pit, her small form soon swallowed by the boisterous, giant-sized celebration. Biblo cooed, perched atop a food stand, watching her, leaving Gaban and Astrid standing in the torchlight, the echoes of ancient goddesses and crumbling wards momentarily drowned out by the vibrant, defiant life of the warrior village.