The Enlightenment of Toril

Lost for eons among the stars, the legend of a powerful seeress seeking redemption for her broken soul, has been found again. It has been pulled down from the stars now for storytellers to speak their enchanting words on their lips, delighting all who devoted time to listen to such a tale.

Deep in the realm of Vanaheim, within the coven of the Devoted Sisters To The Sea King, was the breaking heart of the volva, Toril, High Seeress of the coven. There, her mind has been slowly drowning in the darkness pooled in her mind. In her tower alone, she wept for her losses. She wept for mistakes made. She wept from her agonizing pain.

Frode, brother and closest confidant of High Seeress, wondered about the cause of his sister’s pain. He worried deeply for her sanity, and the future of his non-blood sisters within the coven. Her breaking could lead to the damnation of them all. Frode knew deep in his heart, that if his sister continued to drown in her darkness, the coven would fall weak to their many enemies. He went to Toril, beseeching her to seek out wisdom for her overwhelming grief from the one referred to as the Barred Owl, a very powerful volva. It was said that the Barred Owl lived in the darkest cavern of the Singing Willow Forest.

Toril agreed to do as her brother wished. She traveled for days by ship across the Emerald Sea until finally stopping on the beaches next to a willow forest. The beach was covered in coarse sand and sea moss that had been swept up by waves onto the shore. The willows were gloriously tall, with some trunks thicker than Toril and her crew put together. As they approached the willows, an overwhelming feeling of grogginess swept over the crew. The willows' songs could be heard clearly by Toril and her crew as they gathered themselves together on the perimeter of the forest. The incredibly strong winds created enchanting melodies through the branches and leaves of the willow trees. Their songs created a lack of motivation and grogginess among them all. Many of the ship crew members were barely able to keep themselves awake, for the songs of the trees created a calming lullaby that could place anyone into a deep slumber. The Singing Forest was slowly taking over all their minds, except Toril who came prepared for such melodies. She used her own charm to counter the songs’ effects. Toril told the others to stay behind with the ship. This was a task she would complete on her own. Alone, she moved off into the singing forest, her mind more focused than ever on the objective at hand.

Toril wandered through the trees in search of the Barred Owl for hours. She found this to be extremely challenging, considering her charm made her ears attuned to only silence. While the charm was keeping the willows’ songs at bay, she still found herself with many disadvantages when it came to other predators lurking in the forest, and tracking the volva. Toril had hoped, regardless of her lack of hearing at the moment, the seeking portion of the quest would be quick. It did not take her long to realize that that would not be the case.

Toril wandered aimlessly for many days, until she finally came across what she believed to be her destination. She happened upon a cavern, cloaked in draping moss with a clear path leading up to it. It was clear that someone was living there, so Toril proceeded cautiously. Upon entering the dark cavern, she ended the charm she placed on her hearing earlier. The willows' songs miraculously could not reach the inner areas of the cavern. Toril sensed another, much more powerful, volva’s magic at work here.

She stayed on her guard as she called out into endless shadows of grey and black, “Hello?! Is anyone here?!”. She received no answer, so she tried again.

“Hello?! I am looking for the Barred Owl!”, she called out once more. All of a sudden, the walls of the cavern ignited with flames within torches, lighting the cave in entirety, except for one corner where shadows still laid claim.

“Barred Owl? Hello?” Toril said with significantly less confidence in her voice. She looked around at her surroundings frantically. Then, from the shadows, three barred owls flew out and landed right in front of Toril. She gasped, as she witnessed the three owls morph and transform. A great light leaked out all round the owls as their bones bent and shifted with their flesh forming together anew. The creatures’ shape shifted into an older, haggard looking woman.

The woman’s body was hunched over and draped with albino caribou pelts over her crooked back. Her shoulders were not only covered by the pelts, but shoulder pads made from owl feathers. It covered her like cloth. Beneath lay a more torn up, dirty, plain brown dress, fitting the woman like a paper bag. It gave no shape to her, but it was apparent that beneath all those layers was a frail aging woman. Contrary to the woman’s frail, abnormally pale, human hands, she did not bare the face of a human. Partially hidden behind many poorly maintained, white blonde braids, was the face of a barred owl. Toril was taken aback by the strangeness of the seeress standing before her, mysteriously silent the whole time. Toril bowed her head in respect, as she cautiously approached her fellow volva.

She spoke calmly and firmly, “Great Barred Owl, I have heard of your mystical powers with spirit guidance. I ask you for your help to mend my now broken soul, for I cannot bear to go on like this any longer.” The Barred Owl stared at her with wide unblinking owl eyes. She remained silent.

“Please!” Toril pleaded, bending down to her knees like a beggar on the streets, “I cannot go on this way any longer! You must help me! I will give you anything!”.

The Barred Owl remained silent. Just as Toril felt she would give up and turn around, the mysterious owl-face seeress pulled out a very old looking lyre. It was made from aging wood, with carvings of different birds flying, making a beautiful pattern. The woman began to play, and she made the sweetest of melodies that Toril had ever heard. To her astonishment, it was not the only thing she could hear. A voice spoke within her own mind, the voice of the Barred Owl volva.

“I feel your pain child,” a cracked feeble voice stated in her mind. She shuddered as if a ghost had just walked through her. All she could do was nod in response, still watching the seeress play magnificently on her lyre.

“So much pain, anger, sadness, and guilt. Oh yes, I feel it all,” the Barred Owl continued.

“Help me, please,” Toril squeaked.

“I will”, she said while starting to play faster, a more sinister melody flowed out, “but it will come at a cost.”

“Anything,” Toril whispered.

“Very well,” the owl-faced woman croaked in her mind. Without another word, the seeress transformed into three barred owls. They flew in a circle directly above her head, causing a kind of trance. Toril could hear the faint sound of a pounding drum, as she was surrounded by the hovering owls. The drum beat got louder and louder, as the owls flew in almost dance-like rhythms around her head, their wings weaving through an infinity symbol drawn in the static air. The drum released one final beat, causing Toril to collapse where she stood, falling deep into a trance slumber.

Toril awoke as a mere ghost of what she once was, experiencing a time in her life once more, but as a bystander outside her body. Beside her, perched on a branch, sat the first barred owl of three, the only black one. It stared at her in whimsical silence. It gestured its head to observe the events below them, events that have already transpired. Toril recognized herself in her battle armor, standing at the edge of a besiegement camp, at the end of the hostile takeover of Mereden, the City of Silver Isles, as was demanded by Njord, the Vanier god of seas and winds. The city was already on fire, and Toril could see her former self relishing it. She remembered the sickening honor she felt when seeing the will of her king and god being executed perfectly. Her true self, the ghost above, now saw the true horror of her actions unfolding before her very eyes. She now knew there was no honor in the events of this day. She wished to look away, but could not, once she saw her husband and her son trailing behind him, for the first time since their sudden demise.

She could see her husband’s long, silky, jet black hair tied back into intricate elfen braids. His beautiful thin, downturned, emerald eyes shimmered in the sunlight overhead. His ivory skin was just as perfect as she had remembered, not a single blemish or wrinkle upon it. His ears were pointed, like all his elfen brothers. He wore a bronze tunic marked by The Sisters of the Devoted Seas’ emblem, with grey robes and a matching sash.

Her son’s hair was long, matching his father’s in colour and sheen. His eyes were larger, more almond shaped like his mother’s, but with the same emerald colour of his father’s. His skin was light honey beige, almost shining in its perfection. He was turning into quite the handsome young lad, wearing a bronze tunic with the coven emblem to match his father’s.

Toril’s heart ached at the sight of them, but continued to watch as they approached her former self.

“Alf? Espen? What are you both doing here? I thought you were visiting your elfen parents in Alfheim?”, she sputtered, not looking in the least bit happy to see her handsome, bright elf husband standing before her. Nor did she look happy to see her son, who looked more frightened of her than the battle at hand, as he cowered behind his father’s leg. She used to think of the six year old boy as a disappointment, too much like her tenderhearted husband. Now, looking down on them both, she would have given anything to be with them one more time.

“We came immediately when word was brought to us of your planned conquest, your assault to and desolation of these people. You must not go through with it Toril! This is pure massacre! It isn’t even a fair fight!”, Alf pleaded.

“This is the will of our god! They defy his will! They must be dealt with!”, she spat back at him venomously.

“By eliminating an entire city full of innocents who have nothing to do with the governance of this grand city? This is genocide! Please my love, stop this at once… Call off your armies, your volvas. Have mercy on these people! They do not deserve to die because Njord wills it.”

“You dare defy our god?!”, Toril hissed in a condescending tone. Alf shrank back, much as their son was. Pain riddled his face, but he pressed on.

“The god I honor is one of peace and prosperity. I do not follow his warmongering father. Nor do I want my son to, either. This god you follow is selfish and obsessed with riches. He is biased, and cares for no-one, not even you.” Toril snarled, showing her teeth, like a wolf who is being challenged.

“Leave, now! Your presence is not needed, nor wanted here! Take our son and go home!”

Toril watched herself bark her last words to her husband. Such hurtful words, that she would have given anything to take back, but it was done. She watched herself finish the desolation of Meredan, determined to claim honor for herself and her coven by doing it all herself. She never really needed anyone else to take this city. It was for pure convenience. That’s why Njord tasked her with it in the first place. Thus, Toril started her spell, draining herself dangerously low of energy, she wielded a great wave to form along the shores of the Silver Isles. The ghost of herself in the branches above, screamed at herself not to do it, but it was no use. She could not hear herself. Like the black barred owl, she was forced to watch events transpire, as they once did. A tsunami as tall as the tallest mountain, arose from the seas, heading directly for Mereden.

Suddenly Toril, still appearing as a ghost, vanished from the war camp and reappeared in what seemed to be the streets of Mereden. All around her she heard people screaming as they saw the enormous tsunami, and their inevitable doom.

“Why am I here?!”, Toril sputtered, looking frantically at the owl, now perched on her shoulder, although she could not feel her talons digging in, since there was nothing to dig into. She was still some form of ghost, afterall. The owl gestured, with a black wing out, to an elfen man running around frantically in a failing attempt to help evacuate people from the city. At his side, was a young mixed boy, with only slightly pointed ears, trying his best to help his father. Toril gasped at the sight of her husband and son in their final minutes, acting more heroic than she ever did in her entire life.

“No! No! Please do not make me watch this! I cannot bear it!”, Toril screamed, sinking down to one knee. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched the scattering of screaming civilians and her selfless husband yelling directions, trying to herd them to safety. Little did he know it was no use, and Toril watched in horror from their perspective, as the tsunami finally hit the city. Toril wept profusely as she watched her beloved husband and son’s lungs slowly fill up with water as they drowned with the rest of the population of Mereden.

Toril closed her eyes and screamed, “I cannot look at anymore! Please! Please!”

When she finally opened her eyes, she was no longer in Mereden and the black barred owl had vanished. She now understood her mistakes more clearly than ever, and the tragic, heroic deaths of her late husband and son.

Still a ghost of herself, Toril appeared no longer in the city of Mereden, but instead back in her home with her coven, as if she had never left in the first place. She saw herself once more, but this looked to be only a day ago. Once more, a barred owl was perched beside her, but this one a snowy white feathered one, as opposed to its opposite, which she encountered previously. Why was she here? She kept asking herself. Toril observed herself rubbing at her belly. She remembered this pain because it was very recent. She remembered what happened next, as she watched herself dash to a nearby bucket, unloading all the contents of her stomach. The sight almost made Toril repeat the whole event in ghostly form.

“Why are you making me watch this? I remember it, I just experienced it. This is the day I left to seek you out… Why make me relive it so soon after experiencing it?”, Toril asked the owl, but it remained silent, just staring at her. It gestured a wing to the door to her sleeping quarters just as someone knocked at the door.

“Toril? Are you alright?”, the voice called out from beyond the door. She watched herself say nothing in response, because she was still too busy vomiting.

“I’m coming in…” the familiar male voice called out once more, and then Toril’s younger brother, Frode stepped in.

“I did not say come in!”, Toril raged from beneath her hair, draped over her face like a curtain. She could not stop vomiting, not even with Frode now in the room.

“Sister, this is the fifth time I found you like this in the morning. Could you be with child? Did you and Alf… you know, before he died?”, he asked the questions awkwardly for it was not something one usually enjoyed discussing with their siblings.

“It’s none of your business!”, Toril snapped, then sighed. “Is not the answer to your question obvious?”. Frode nodded, blushing from embarrassment.

“Are you sure you can still seek out the Barred Owl? You are in no condition to travel.” Frode hesitated before continuing, “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you should stay, for the baby’s sake. I never realized what was going on when I first…” then Toril cut him off.

“I’m going,” she stated firmly, as she brushed back her hair from her face. She set the bucket on the ground, finally relieved of her morning sickness. Frode nodded, knowing better than to argue with his sister, especially when she was in this state of mind.

“Go then, I’ll take care of things here.” Toril nodded and she left for the ship docks shortly thereafter.

The ghost of Toril sighed heavily. She looked ashamed of the encounter she witnessed. Why did she always have to be so hard on everyone she loved? This is what drove her family to their demise, her unrelenting hardness. She closed her eyes, no longer wanting to look, but when she reopened them, she was no longer in her sleeping quarters. She was on the streets near the ship docks.

She stood beside her brother, Frode, although he could not see her. The only one who could, was that same snowy white owl, flying above them. They both watched as she and the crew sailed away. A woman walked up to them, standing on the opposite side of Frode. It was his wife, Alvara.

“So she's gone now?”

“Yes.”, he whispered softly to her, so only they could hear their conversation.

“And she wants you to lead the coven until she returns?”, Alvara asked, copying Frode’s soft whisper.

“Until she returns, before, after, what’s the difference? She asked me to do what I have been doing ever since Alf and my nephew’s death. She just acknowledged it now,” Frode sighed.

“She has not been doing her duty as High Seeress. Many recognize you in this position now.”

“Well they shouldn’t. It is not my responsibility to bear. It was never supposed to be.”, Frode stated, pain written all over his face. Alvara placed a hand on his forearm to comfort him.

“Was I right about her morning sickness? Is she with child? Is there a new heir?”

Frode nodded, “You are, and she is.”, he gazed into the distance and continued, “but she does not seem to care. She acts as if she doesn't want it, like it is Alf’s last curse upon her.”

“Is it?”

Frode shook his head, “No, it is a blessing to this coven. We will have a new apprentice for High Seeress.”

“Not if she let’s us dissipate into legend. I know you are trying your hardest, but it is not good enough. This was never meant to be your role. You are our Serum Master. We need our High Seeress’ leadership before our great coven is lost,” Alvara stated gravely.

“I know. We need Toril, but her mind is lost in grief.”

“Then pray to Njord that the Barred Owl can find it.”

“May she find enough understanding to accept the events she cannot change,” Frode stated, wisdom radiating off him.

The ghost of Toril felt utterly shocked to hear the conversation unraveling in her absence. Has she really been letting her coven down this much? Has she really been failing on her responsibilities? Will she be the cause of their fall? So many questions rolled around in her mind. She knew it was true, she had been failing them. She only had to look around the coven, bare in food, growth and the happiness of its people, to confirm her fears.

“All this because I have fallen blind with grief?”, Toril called out to the owl who flew down beside her. It cocked its head at her, then nodded in response.

“Frode’s right. I need to accept what I have done, or no one in the coven will ever be able to move on. I need to accept my faults and mistakes. I need to be better, for them,” Toril gestured at the volvas and serumists still present in the streets for her send off. The snowy white barred owl bowed its head in a gesture of acknowledgement of Toril’s epiphany. It then flapped its wings majestically, before it vanished. Then, Toril followed suit after one last look at her broken coven.

Toril reappeared, back in the Barred Owl’s cave, but it looked different now. It was covered entirely with ice, bare of any possessions. All that stood at the center was a frozen podium, with a large translucent ice ball sitting upon it. A beam of light shone down from a slight opening in the cavern ceiling, creating a spotlight effect. It drew Toril in closer, her curiosity growing as she stepped closer, and closer, but with caution. As she reached the ball of ice, sticking out her hand to touch it, she was startled by the last and final barred owl. This one was different from the last two. Similar to the last she encountered, it had snowy white feathers everywhere, except for its chest, which had feathers that looked gold in colour. Its eyes were as blue as the sea, and had Toril completely mesmerized by them, not paying attention to the ice sphere. The owl flapped its wings majestically, soaring in a circle above her head, before landing on the top of the ice sphere. It looked directly at Toril, staring into her soul. Toril returned its stare, not knowing what else to do. The sphere then started to glow intensely with golden, luminescent light. The owl gestured her head, telling Toril to look into the sphere. She did so without a word, knowing full well by now that these birds would not utter a word of guidance. Their gestures, in silence, were enough.

As she looked into the ice ball, to her surprise she could see herself, only much older than she is now. Her tawny beige skin was covered in wrinkles. Her dark brown hair, almost black in colour, was starting to gray at the roots. The strangest part of it all was that Toril actually had a large smile, a smile that spoke truth of the happiness she looked to be feeling. She watched, as this version of herself was guiding a young girl through early volva training, and who looked like a younger, smaller version of herself, except for her beautiful green, downturned eyes. Those were identical to her father’s, as were her very pointed ears. Toril saw so much of Alf in this child, who laughed as she made a mistake, causing her to fall back on to her bottom. She saw the older version of herself look at the girl with such love and admiration. The sphere showed her brother, Frode, and his now pregnant wife, Alvara, walking towards them. She had not seen him looking so at peace with life in such a long time. A large improvement from the stressed figure she just saw previously. The sphere not only showed Toril, her unborn child and brother thriving, but her entire coven. No longer were they planning for battles and assassinations for a warmongering god, but choosing to honour the wisdom that her late husband had brought back from Alfheim. No longer seeking out war, but living in peace and working towards improving the state of their coven, and realm as a whole. It was the most beautiful thing Toril had ever seen.

“Is it real?”, she asked the owl, “Is this my future?”

The owl just cocked its head at her.

“No? But could this be my future?”, Toril pressed. The owl nodded in a response.

“How? What must I do?”

Suddenly the podium and sphere melt into a puddle of water. The owl flew above her, now being joined, suddenly, by the other two owls that had taken her on her spiritual journey previously. They flew in a perfect infinity symbol. To Toril’s surprise, she could hear the playing of a lyre again, although she could see no one, nor the instrument being played. The most beautiful melody sifted through the cracks of her mind, followed by slow soft words.

“You must understand your past,” the black owl flew down hovering in front of her, then rejoined the two flying once more.

“You must accept your actions. They have come and gone,” the snowy white owl flew down much the same as the black one did, before returning to the infinity symbol.

“This will lead you to enlightenment, to truth, to transformation,” the last owl with the golden chest feathers flew down in the same way. Then the rest transformed back into the Barred Owl Seeress in her human form, with her owl-like face. She was playing the lyre.

Finally her beak opened, croaking the words, “This is what you must do to fulfill the destiny you saw,” the Seeress paused, letting her words soak in before continuing.

“Do you understand your past?”, she asked Toril, as if she was about to make a vow to her.

“Yes, I do,” Toril stated with confidence. She did understand her mistakes. She understood why all the events that took place happened the way they did.

“Do you accept your past?”

“Yes, I do.” Toril accepted every part of her past, the good and the bad.

“Ah, then you see who you must be. What you must do. You see the light now?”

“I do, and I will not go back to darkness,” Toril confidently claimed to the Barred Owl, to the cavern, to all who would hear. She announced to the world, she was lost but now she was found.

“You found the light child, now you must pay as we discussed.”

“What is it?”

“I have given you sight. I have shown you the way, your destiny, if you continue to walk in the sight of light. You have sight of the soul now, so you will lose the sight that once blinded your soul. You will give me your eyes and live through the sight of your soul.”

Toril gasped at the request, “My eyes? Isn’t there anything else I can offer you, grand volva?”

“I want nothing more than your eyes. Your eyes will be your payment. You do not need them any longer.”

“But, but I do! I need them to see what’s in front of me!” Toril pleaded.

“No you do not. There are other means of sight than just your eyes. You have discovered this today. Trust your senses.” Toril shuddered, but nodded in agreement silently. She and the Barred Owl had a deal. The Seeress had held up her end of it, and so would Toril, for the loss was nothing compared to what she had gained that day.

Toril, returned to her Devoted Sister of the Sea coven, a leather veil covering where her eyes had once been. Frode, Alvara, and the rest of the coven welcomed their High Seeress back with warmth and celebration, for they knew it wasn’t just her quest she returned from, but the darkness that had once consumed her. Although there were many questions about what had happened while she was gone, she did not speak of it to anyone, not even Frode. She just smiled, enjoying the celebrations, and caressing her growing belly, for how could one explain the sight she had gained from the Barred Owl.

The legend of the powerful High Seeress, of The devoted Sisters of The sea, has been spoken once more by Midgardian lips. Her soul was redeemed, allowing for her coven to be led into a new age of peace and prosperity. She led her people towards a better Vanaheim. Her legacy lives on through her daughter, her heir, who leads the coven with as much wisdom as that of her mother before her. Thus ending the glorious tale.