Voyage of the Three Winds, II

When you wander far from home, does a part of you remain? Does a period of exile sever your familial bond, or can it wait within you like a seed in winter, only to burst forth in the summer of your return?

Weeks had passed since Frokl and Gryfa had left their brother upon that cursed isle and continued their journey west, and there was discontent amongst their crews. Supplies were low and with the scuppering of the Cold Wind the two remaining longships - Evening and Homeward - groaned with overcrowding. Frokl's crew were particularly disconsolate, as their captain was given to indulging them with the tastiest parts of their plunder and they were unused to such meagre and joyless provisions.

For his part, Frokl was frustrated. He viewed himself as a dashing raider and talented drinker, one for whom the songs flowed, and therefore as a worthy suitor of Dibella. He had crossed the ocean - further than any Nord since Ysgramor yet had - to win her hand, and instead found himself adrift and without her bounty. Under his breath he began to curse the Hirser's youngest, deriding her gifts as mere illusions that led great Nords astray, and though none aboard heard he had comprehensively transgressed by the time the Evening Wind's lookout sighted land.

However, his griping did not last. The land stretching out before him was an island in what the Nords now call Jokuud, one of many, and upon its shore lay a wondrous and colourful settlement. Although it was but a rustic village, to the crews of the Three Winds it seemed larger and more prosperous than any settlement they had yet seen; standing at the prow, Frokl eyed its ornate structures and licked his lips with desire.

As the ships drew closer, tall pillars could be seen rising up from amongst the buildings, and atop these Men fluttered from perch to perch. Where each landed, they would puff their breasts and sing a beautiful rainbow that left the Nords speechless with wonderment; sometimes they would sing in harmony, and their creation would stretch all the way across the sky. And as they guided their longships into the harbour, Frokl and Gryfa saw that a delegation had formed to greet them on the shore. These Men were dark of skin and garishly dressed, and they smiled warmly and welcomed Klaga's children in a language each understood. Leaping from the prow of the Homeward Wind, Gryfa raised her hands in greeting and explained what had brought their crews so far from home.

She told them of the gods' disappearance, and the foolishness of Borgas, and the hunger that had fallen upon her people. The Men of Jokuud showed much consternation at the Nords' plight, and ushered them ashore to where a great feast was set out. They expressed their sympathy, explaining that their village had similarly been struck by famine and that this feast comprised the first good harvest in three winters. But they were generous, and the bounty was great, and so they invited the starving crews of the Three Winds to join them in breaking their fast.

And so, as the Nords took their places at the feast amongst the kindly Jokuudans, Frokl felt a certain understanding form. He looked upon the sumptuous feast before him, full of pleasures that the Children of the Sky had never known, and an idea took root within his heart. He gazed upward at those rainbow-singing Men, perched still upon their pillars, and realisation blossomed. Dibella had not abandoned him; no, she had been listening all this time, and - chastened by his earlier cursing - had set out all before him for his long-stymied gratification. He decided, with some consideration, that he accepted her offer.

Before all the assembled, starving Nord and starving Jokuudan alike, Frokl leapt atop the great food-laden table and began to consume. Pitching his head forward, he devoured the strange meats and plump fruits that the villagers had hungrily prepared. Throwing his head back, he gulped down the heady liquors they had spent their precious grains brewing. None moved as they watched him in horror, hearing the great gasping breaths he remembered to take between mouthfuls, and only Gryfa had the presence of mind to take notice of her surroundings. And when the insatiable Frokl had eaten all that there was, he stood entranced with all that he had just experienced.

So it was that while Gryfa furtively motioned all around her to step away from their seats and move back towards the harbour, Frokl grabbed his sagging gut and belched an extraordinary belch, which he loudly dedicated to Dibella's bounteous beauty. He was too lost in his own grandeur to notice what his sister had - that those Men high atop their pillars were no longer singing rainbows. And as he dropped his breeches and proclaimed this a worthy wedding feast, the Men of Jokuud sang swords instead. Gryfa and the few Nords she could save barely got away before the villagers fell upon Frokl and the crews of the Three Winds, butchering the transgressors with delirious brutality.

With the screams of their countrymen lingering behind them, Gryfa and the last few survivors pushed the Homeward Wind into the water and rowed with all their might for the harbour mouth. They did not slow until the village was a mere smudge on the horizon and they were confident that the Jokuudans were not pursuing them; only then did Gryfa dare to unfurl the sail and let the wind carry her exhausted and defeated warriors westwards. The dying sun was blood-red, its light carrying across the water and into the bewildered, tear-filled eyes of the last remaining Nords as they struggled to comprehend their losses and failures.

Gryfa, however, remained a devoted shieldmaiden of Mara and did not give into despair. Instead, she found a place in the centre of the ship where should could kneel, breathe deeply, and meditate upon the Breath. Matching her own breath with that of all creation, she felt the horror and despair flood out of her and be replaced by calm and blissful emptiness. She remained in this state until long after the sun had fallen and darkness had settled upon the waves around her, and so her crew were all long-asleep when from the depths of her empty mind she was visited by three figures. Each burned with an astonishing beauty and an unbearable fierceness, and Gryfa knew that she herself had been found by those she had these long weeks sought.

Although the figure to the left would not meet her gaze, instead hungrily watching the horizon, and the figure to the right barely acknowledged her in aloof contemplation, the figure in the centre smiled warmly at Gryfa and spread her arms in greeting. Gryfa, already kneeling, drew her sword and offered it up to these objects of her devotion. She longed to ask for help, for understanding, to know what all these tribulations meant, but she was a loyal servant of the Hirser and knew her place; instead, she bowed her head, deepened her focus, and raised her sword a little higher. And seeing her devotion, the goddess Mara smiled and spoke these words:

"Be at peace, child. The gods of the world-hearth do not vanish or find themselves lost - they wander forever across the Sky, and dwell for a time wherever there is piety. The foolish followers of the foolish king have forgotten how to worship, and so we have taken our leave for a time. It is not for our Children to bring us where they would. Instead, return to your home in the land we have given you, and dwell there until the coming of the great Ashen Tongue. On the waves of his fire shall we return."

And Gryfa heard these words, and wept, and with her limping ship and ragged crew she turned and made her way home to Skyrim.