2,301A/N: Review responses are in my forums under the Infinite and Divine Form. I did my best to answer the broad questions most readers had. To confirm what many readers have deduced: Planetos is a lost human colony within the broader 40K universe. Voluspa is primarily a GOT crossover. You can read a bit more in my forums, but no spoilers.
Thank you for reading and reviewing.
Chapter Two: Nor Sea Nor Sand Nor Salty Waves
Morag liked to be the first up in the morning on days she was checking her traps.
She took the night soil pot out of the one-room hovel where she, her little sister, brother and parents lived, and tossed it into the midden heap down the hill from the God Tree. Walking back, she stopped and knelt at the tree, giving thanks to the white-bark for letting her wake another day.
The red leaves of the god tree that covered the whole of the village whispered in the morning summer breeze. She glanced up at the ancient face carved into the white bark. Red sap ran in silent tears from the long, empty eyes. She hoped they weren't tears of mourning. Aunt Sattie was sore ill with a cough that didn't go away.
Just thinking about it made Morag glance at the old, charred bones inside the tree's mouth where they burned Kern's little boy that died two months back.
Across the tree, Nob left his hovel. "Morag," he said with a nod.
"Uncle. Tall pa I went to check the traps?"
The old man waved her off. "Don't let the Crows catch you."
"I won't!"
With his blessing, Morag walked away from the four hovels that comprised her world of White Tree. That early in the morning, hoarfrost clung to the thin grass and bushes that filled the ground between the endless march of trees. It was their fifth month of summer, and all of them had food enough for the first time since Morag was little.
With a happy swing of a stick, Morag hopped across the bridge stones in the creek, and as if crossing a magical boundary, she found herself in another whole world. The stench of the midden heap faded from her nose, replaced by the sharp, pungent scent of the soldier pines around her. The carved wooden soles of her sandals crunched through the frost, which lingered in the shade of the haunted forest.
The loam and trunks of the trees glistened in the distant sunlight. The sound of the frost crunching under her shoes gave a counterpoint to the singing birds. She could hear wood grouse singing to each other, while a crossbill twittered in the trees. Somewhere, a kite was flying, though she could not see it.
Crunch, went her wood-soled shoes. Crunch. Crunch. Slip, stumble. "Ooph!" She righted herself on the smooth bark of a soldier pine and continued on.
It was unwise for the people of White Tree to be more than a day away from their home. Lots of things in the woods could do a person in.
So she made sure to set her traps within a single day's walk around her village. Even so, she felt disappointment when the first trap proved empty. On to the second, and the third. She stopped at a northern bend of the creek for a drink, and saw that her fourth trap had a nice hare inside kicking at the sturdy wicker basket fiercely.
"Oh, don't you worry, little 'un," she said. "Summer ain't the time for eating rabbits. We need you to make us lots'a babies!"
After a day's walk, she reached her northernmost trap where another fat hare waited. She picked up the trap, and switched out the spare with a new bite of old carrot, and started back south.
She talked to the hare as she made her way back to the fourth trap where the other hare waited. She paid mind to the forest around her like any Free Folk would. The forests were filled with all sorts of ways to take a soul. But she wasn't really looking for trouble. It was such a pretty day.
When Nob told her not to let the Crows catch her, she thought he was joking. It was something he said to all the kids in the village. When she stepped out onto the open game trail the Crows used, she just froze and stared up at the man on a horse. He wore a heavy black cloak that looked hot for the day, and had a sword at his waist made with real castle-forged steel.
Another man in a black cloak rode up beside him. This one was shorter and fatter, with a bald pate atop his head and two chins just like old Nob. But he had a sword, too.
"What've we here, Chet?" the taller man said. His voice made Morag's skin crawl.
"Looks like a pretty little birdy," Chet Two-Chins said.
Morag was supposed to be running. Every part of her yearned to be running. She could see the footpath between two soldier pines just on the other side of the trail. But just as she couldn't seem to breathe, she couldn't make herself move. Why couldn't she move?
"You want to come with us, little birdy?" the taller man said. He leaned forward, and she'd seen the same gleam in a forest cat's eyes when it saw prey that she saw in this man's gaze. "We could take good care of you, couldn't we Chet?"
"Oh, Mez, could we! We could give you wine and good clothes. We have tools to build a good home and seed to plant a good crop. We could make you really happy, little birdy!"
As the short, fat Chet spoke, Mez saw how her eyes kept moving to the foot trail and nudged his big brown horse over until he blocked her way. When he did so, she saw the third horse standing behind them, so laden down the poor beast looked like it's back was broke.
Finally, finally, Morag found some words. "My pa's waitin' for me," she gasped.
Morag groaned when Mez pulled a real, castle-forged steel hatchet from his saddle back. "What do you think she's worth, Chet? Think one of those Wildlings at White Tree would sell a girl for a piece of castle-forged steel?"
Her stomach sank, because her pa would sell her for a hatchet. She was fourteen and near ready to be stole away, and there weren't any boys her age around the area. And a hatchet like that would help the whole village. Cold Gods take 'em, Morag would almost sell herself for that hatchet.
Except the way that Mez looked at her, she knew she wouldn't be safe. No more than if she tried sharing a cave with a snow bear or a dire wolf.
Chet moved his horse close enough to reach down and touch her hair, and in that split second the spell that kept her motionless broke. She jerked away from him, spun, and ran back into the forest, her hares forgotten. She knew of a hill deep in the woods with a cave where the village killed a snow bear three years past. Its pelt bought them two sheep from Ruddy Hall.
The two Crows followed right behind, diving headlong into the forest with their horses. She fought hard not to look back when she heard a crash and angry cursing. Instead, she continued on just as fast as she could.
For a while, it sounded like she was gaining enough ground to hide. But suddenly a gloved hand grabbed at her arm, forcing her to stumble. "Got you!" Mez cried.
He didn't, not really, but he came close. She regained her footing and ran harder, even though her chest burned and her sides hurt and her legs felt like water. Up ahead, she could see the rise of the Snow Bear hill and the cave at the top. No point hiding in it now, not with the Crows on her heels. She kept glancing over her shoulder as her heart tried to beat its way from her chest as the Crows chased her down. She knew she wasn't gonna get away, she felt it in her bones, but she ran anyway.
She caught movement from the left. A third Crow? But as she swerved away, she saw the third person's eyes and her knees buckled.
Cold, cold blue eyes like stars in the sky stared down at her. She didn't see the face or the body; all she saw were the eyes. She tried to scream, but just like before the terror stole her voice. Was it the Other stealing her voice? She scrambled desperately back the way she came, crawling backward almost like a river crab. The Other followed her, speaking words that didn't quite register.
Suddenly she found her voice. "Others! Cold gods! Others!" Morag screamed and threw herself desperately back to her feet. The terror ran so deep she didn't even fight when a leather-clad hand grabbed her arm and yanked her bodily up.
She found herself pressed against black-dyed wool as Chet gripped her arms. "What is that, Mez?" the fat crow said.
Mez didn't answer at first. The two Crows were just as concerned by the Cold God as she was; but like all stupid Crows they didn't know what she was. Mez just stood in his finely made leather boots, with his castle-forged steel sword and his black great cloak, and studied the Cold God.
Within the uncertain protection of Mez's arm, Morag also turned and regarded the Cold God.
It took the shape of a woman wearing a strange tarp around her tall, thin body. What woman stood taller than a man? Her hair was dark and hung in rings about her bare shoulders. Her skin had strange lines of black tattoos that ran down the sides of her neck and broke off into separate lines. One ran down the outside of each arm, while the others curved in around the bones of her shoulders to meet under her throat and run down into the sheets. None of that, though, mattered. All that mattered were the two glowing cold eyes that regarded them.
The cold god smiled; Morag shuddered.
The woman spoke. Morag heard the words in the Common Tongue. I won't hurt you. It felt like the words reached past her ears and went straight to her brain. All the terror was gone, like someone flipped a switch.
The woman with Other eyes shifted that otherworldly gaze from Morag to Mez, and that gentle smile turned very stern. Morag couldn't tell how old the Other was. Her skin was too clean, and she was far, far too tall to be one of the Free Folk. Plus she wore a tarp; that was strange.
Mez found his courage well before Chet. He straightened and placed his hand on the hilt of his Castle-forged sword. "And who might you be, my lady?"
"My name is…Taylor. I'm lost. Can you tell me where I am?" The woman's voice sounded deep, and southern. The way she shaped her words reminded Morag of Mez himself. Like a kneeler.
"North of the Wall," Mez said. He seemed to have the same thought Morag did. "Southern ladies do not come to this part of the world. Ever. And with respect, my lady, those eyes are nothing I've heard of in the South. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
The way he spoke to the woman sounded different than how he spoke to Morag, as if he could hear something of his own land in her words. She sounded Southern enough, Morag thought. Then again, she managed to get the Crows to stop chasing her, so the kneeler couldn't be too bad, could she?
The woman turned her head as she studied the Crows. "I don't know how I got here. I don't even know where here is. What does it mean, being north of the wall? What wall? And why were you chasing that girl? She's scared of you. Why?"
"'Cause they gonna rape me and beat me, prolly," Morag explained helpfully.
"What?"
Mez looked over at Chet, who gripped Morag harder and nodded. Without a word, the taller of the Crows whipped his sword free from its scabbard and lunged forward in one smooth move. The strange woman tried moving away but she wasn't fast enough to avoid the blade completely. She cried out in pain as the point of Mez's blade sank into the meat of her right shoulder.
Mez's mistake was not aiming for her head.
He pulled the blade back to slash, and in the time it took to pull his sword back for the killing blow, the woman lunged forward with a clawed hand toward his face. Morag stared, dumbfounded, as a cold blue fire burst from the woman's fingers. Mez had only the slightest moment to scream himself before her claws reached his head.
Morag saw no blood. The woman didn't cut his throat or tear his head off. She just touched him with her cold blue fire and Mez the Crow dropped like a stone to the rain-soaked leaves and pine needles of the forest floor.
Chet threw Morag down and scrambled back. He made only a couple of steps before he caught his heel on a rock and fell. From the leaves, he struggled to get back to his feet and run.
The woman knelt down, holding her wounded shoulder with her left hand, and snarled words that made Morag's ears hurt and her heart thud painfully. All around the clearing, wind suddenly roared like a great storm approached. The sky exploded with a loud crack of thunder that made the ground shake, and a bolt of lightning like a tree buried itself in Chet's head.
Morag pressed herself into a tiny ball on the ground as the world went mad around her. She covered her face and prayed to the White Tree to take her soul to her family. But after a few moments, death didn't come. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and stared at where the woman knelt in the leaves.
The woman's strange, thin tarp was stained with blood. The blood looked very bright and red in the sunlight, almost sparkling. Morag realized that the woman wasn't a Cold God. Or, if she was, she was a really hurt Cold God. Cold gods didn't bleed, Pa told her.
Finding the courage her Pa told her all Free Folk had, she called, "Hey, you hurt?"
"He stabbed me." The woman's voice sounded thick with disbelief.
"He's a crow. They stab us Free Folk. You kilt him, though. How'd you do that?"
Those shining winter eyes looked up at her, and it felt almost like the woman was looking through her. "You've never even seen a book," she said.
Morag wasn't sure what a book was, or why the strange cold god that wasn't would make it sound like there was something wrong with her for the lack of it. Before she could set the woman straight, though, the stranger shook her head and looked around her. "Can you tell me where I am?"
"It's 'bout a half-day's walk to my village. Nearest village after that is Riverbend. That's a week out or more. Nothing else but bears, wolves and them Crows you kilt."
The woman glanced back down at her shoulder. "I don't understand how he cut me."
"He used a sword," Morag said helpfully. She was beginning to think maybe the cold god was a little simple, like Uncle Othor.
Those impossible eyes looked up at her, and suddenly the god laughed. It wasn't a good laugh, though, like when Old Shaen told a funny story or Birs tripped or something. No, it was a crazy, hurt laugh, like when Kern killed that raider that tried to steal one of his girls last year when she wasn't old enough. Like the whole world was wrong.
The laughter faltered into a sob. Still cradling her hands, she moved her chest weird, like she was trying to stretch her back, and then went completely still. "Not a dream, then."
Morag didn't even want to guess what she meant. She was actually torn, realizing that she should probably be running home about then. But she'd seen those crow's boots, and was sure her Pa would give her an extra helping of dinner if she brought a pair back. And she didn't want to pull the boots off without knowing the crazy god in the tarp wouldn't kill her or eat her soul or somesuch.
"Your name is Morag," the god finally said.
"Yeah."
"This really hurts, Morag. I don't know where I am. Is there a stream or a river nearby?"
"There's one down the hill a bit," Morag said.
"Could you...would you help me reach it?"
"You gonna eat my soul or kill me?"
A burst of hysterical laughter made Morag doubt, but it was answered with, "No. I promise. I just need help."
"If I help you, can I have one of them crows' boots?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
She came around to the woman's left side, and let her put an arm around Morag's shoulders. She hissed a bit as she stood. The woman towered over Morag. She was taller even than Pa, Kern or Nob. "You're tall," Morag said. "You sure you're a woman?"
She was answered by another burst of hysterical laughter, then a moan. "Please don't make me laugh, Morag. It hurts too much."
They made their way slowly down the leafy hillside until they reached the stream. It was running deep with snowmelt and rain, and would be all summer. To her surprise, the Cold God dropped her tarp. She was tall and skinny, but was thicker and stronger-looking than Morag would have guessed. Those lines of tattoos ran down her arms and legs, and down the middle of her body too. She had a fierce burn scar on the lower reach of her back, and two more wicked-looking scars behind her shoulders.
The woman stumbled away from Morag's helping hand and fell right into the deepest part of the stream. Morag knelt beside the banks and watched as the clear water washed away the blood.
Those bright blue eyes of hers kept staring up at Morag through the water. The woman didn't come up for air, and didn't seem bothered by its lack. Instead, her lips were moving like she was talking under the water.
At first, Morag didn't notice the light. It came on gradually, like how they would boil the frogs in summer. The frogs didn't start kicking until it was too late. But the day got brighter around her, until she had to stumble under the shade of a tree and hold her hands over her eyes. The light seemed to be shining down on the stream where the cold god lay.
Suddenly the light faded; the day looked dark in comparison. Only, the light wasn't gone, it was under the water! Morag stumbled back to the stream's bank and stared down at a cocoon of sunlight that surrounded the god under the water.
"Gods," she whispered, falling to her knees.
Finally, that light faded too, and the strange god-woman sat up in the water. She'd been under for a long time, but she didn't gasp or anything. She just sat up and ran her hands through her clean hair. The water rushed around her shoulders, pushing at her with a swift current and pulling her black hair around her neck.
She stood, and Morag watched breathlessly as the water seemed to just...fade from the woman's skin. She wrapped her too-thin tarp around her now dry body. There was no sign of the injury or any trace of blood. By the time the woman stepped onto the bank, it looked as if she hadn't been or injured wet at all.
"I fooled myself into thinking it was all a dream." The tone of loss in the god's words reminded Morag of Nob's woman, Aunt Sattie, when she felt at her firstborn son's forehead and it wasn't warm no more.
"How'd you do that light thing?" Morag asked.
"I asked the sun and the water for healing."
"I ask for stuff all the time; I ain't never got it though."
The woman laughed again. It still wasn't that happy a sound, like she really wanted to cry but couldn't. "You asked for a pair of boots, right?"
"Oh, right! So, if I go take them boots, you ain't gonna kill me?"
"You helped me, Morag. I promise I won't hurt you."
"Good!" With that, Morag went to study her bounty. Mez already stank from his loosed bowels, but that didn't stop her from pulling those boots off. They were bigger than what her Pa could wear, she was sure of it, so she went over to try Chet's.
When she got closer, she saw that Chet's head was blackened and burned, and smelt like charred forest boar. She shrugged it off-he was a shit anyway. Instead, she pulled his fine kneeler boots off, admiring the leather and the thick soles, and knew Pa would be happy about these.
Nearby, she saw the cold god had left the stream and knelt down beside Mez, staring at the man.
"Never seen a dead man?" Morag asked.
"I've killed people before when I had to," the god said. Morag developed a sneaking suspicion that this was a young god. The old gods didn't care about people, and didn't get hurt so bad or walk like people, so she had to be a young god. She looked young, anyways.
When she looked up at Morag, the Free Folk girl thought she could almost see crystals in the god's eyes. "My name is...Telos. Morag, please don't be scared. I just need to find out what's happening, or where I am."
"You're in the forest," Morag said.
Telos snorted. "Yes, I figured that part out. Do you know where this forest is?"
"North of the Wall."
"And do you know what's south of the wall?"
"Kneelers and sheep fuckers, mostly."
Telos stared at her with those crystal eyes of hers, and then laughed. The laugh wasn't quite as not-right as before, but Morag was fairly sure the young god was a bit touched in the head.
That was, until Telos put her hand on Mez's cooling forehead and started speaking in a strange tongue that made Morag's head hurt and the hair on her arms and neck stand on end. If she weren't squatting down beside Chet with his boots, she'd have fallen.
"Mez Rivers, I've seen your soul," Telos said to the body. "I've seen the girls you've murdered and hurt, and the lies you told to get away with it. I see the truth of you. Answer my questions, and I will let your soul go. Deny me, and you will be damned to rot with your body."
It took both Morag's hands over her own mouth to keep from screaming when the dead man spoke. "I obey. Please let me go."
"Where is this place?"
"The lands beyond the Wall."
"What lies south of the wall?"
"The Seven Kingdoms."
So the questions went, one after the other. Each answer came with a breathless, slithering voice that made Morag's chest ache, until finally Telos learned what she wanted. She lifted her hand from the man's head and stared down at the body in confusion.
"Just like Sennecherib said." She looked up at the sky and frowned. "Another world completely."
"You are a cold god!" Morag finally stumbled back to her feet, grabbed her boots, and then ran for all she was worth.
Her screams turned to moans of terror as the very earth under her feet began sucking at her, forcing her steps to slow, and the wind blew through the trees so hard and fast it took her breath. The cold gods were around her, and Morag screamed and kicked and punched. "Don't kill me! Don't take my soul. Pa, Nob, help me!"
The arms held her, but no pain or death came. They just held her, shaking almost as much as she was. They were strong arms, as strong as Pa, and no matter how she fought she couldn't get free, until finally she ran out of breath to fight and went still with a terrified sob.
"I'm sorry I scared you, Morag," Telos said. "I am...I mean I was a god. But I wasn't one of your cold gods. I was a goddess of hope. I lived to protect and help people, not hurt them."
"You kilt them crows and hurt that man's soul!"
"I did. I was scared, Morag. Just like you. His sword shouldn't have hurt me, but I'm...I lost a lot when I fell here. But I'm alone, and you're the only one here. Please don't be scared. I promise you, I won't hurt you. I promise, Morag, just please don't run away and leave me here alone."
She let Morag go. The girl scrambled free, and this time no wind or soil slowed her steps. She spun around and stared at where the young god knelt in the mud and leaves and stared at her with those impossible blue eyes.
"I ain't never heard of no gods walk like men, 'cept the cold gods. Where'd you come from?"
"I'm from a land so far away I don't think I can ever get back. I'm so far from my home, and my family and friends."
"Gods have family?"
Telos nodded. "My father. And I had friends that became my family. People I loved, and now I'm not sure I'll ever see them again. I'm a god, but I'm also a person. And I really am sorry I scared you."
The fear receded a little. "Well, okay, then. The Crows had horses, too, when they started chasing me. Don't know where those are."
Telos looked past her and pointed toward the forest. "A quarter mile that way, tied to some trees. There are three of them, and it looks like one is a pack horse."
"How'd you see that?"
"My eyes are magic."
"Oh, right." Morag surveyed the situation, and then made her decision with a nod. "No point bustin' our heads over what can't be changed. Prolly wanna hide the loot. And maybe not talk about the god stuff. Don't think Pa'd be too keen to have a god holdin' up with us."
A/N: And with her arrival, Taylor has already dismantled cannon. In this fic, Morag was Caster's mother, and Mez was Castor's father. So no Caster of Caster's Keep.