She was a fine hunter. I was better suited cooking our meals, although I was a competitive fighter with my weapons.
We each knew many stories from our childhood. We spent the evening telling these stories to entertain ourselves, sitting around the campfire. The tales were of the brave warrior god, one-eyed Wodanaz, and of his wife, Frijjo, who was magical. Punaraz was the son of Wodanaz and Frijjo. Punaraz was known for his thunderous voice, and he wielded a hammer. The gods lived in Asgard, in Middle Earth, and one would have to cross a rainbow to get there. To the north, was Hal-ja, the land of the dead and giants. Another god, Loki could transform into any being, be it a creature or a man. Loki was the father of Hal-ja, the goddess of the dead.
These were the gods we worshipped and to whom we made sacrifices in our sacred groves. We carried their wooden effigies, the bear, the wolf, and the boar, into battle. We prayed to them for strength in battle and relief from floods and famine. They were involved in all aspects of our lives. Wodanaz was the ruler of Valhalla, where the brave warriors went in their afterlife. I hoped to go there in the end, as well.
The next day, we traveled safely past the Vandali people, a fierce tribe who lived upstream from the Gutthiuda. It was one of the tribes that had tried to take back our land long ago. We rode up into the highlands, just below the white-peaked Carpathians.
The summer air here was fresh and cool. That’s where we found a small tribe of people traveling along the upper Wisla. They were the Gepids, from what we learned from them. They were more peaceful than the Vandali, but still mighty in battle. They noticed us riding up behind them and looked startled at first, until they realized we were only two older girls. Our smiles won them over. They trudged slowly along on foot, and by horse and wagon. It was tough moving anywhere because of swampy bog and rocky outcrops on the steeper slopes. We decided to assist them in their journey uphill.
“Do you want us to give you help?” We asked with smiles that generated concern for their hardship. The people replied with warm smiles and nodded. We dismounted and let some children ride up on our horses, as we led them along the wagons. A younger man looked us over and saw that our weapons were not drawn, so he did not seem too concerned for his safety.
The men spoke the words of our tribe—“Gutthiuda?” they asked us. We nodded and walked on, telling them that we were from the Gutthiuda village at the fork of the Wisla River.
We gave the children some of our food, for they looked starved. They rode on our horses, four on each, hungrily shoving morsels of bread and cheese in their mouths. Their mothers raised cups of water for them to drink. The children’s eyes reflected the brightness of the sunny water in the river. They were very polite as they spoke, “Thaoks,” in our Gothic language.
“I wonder where they are going, Saskia?” I whispered.
“Probably returning home, since they live up here,” she answered.
“How do you know?” I asked her quietly.
“I have seen their villages before, hunting with my father. They are fun-loving people. They love to sing and dance in the evenings,” Saskia informed me.
“Maybe we will get to see them perform at their summer festival. Tomorrow night is the summer solstice,” I said.
“Wouldn’t that be thrilling . . . to experience another tribe’s festival?” Saskia said.
We walked on through the afternoon. It was late when we arrived in their village. The women helped us find some warm shelter, for in the mountains—it was still cold at night. Often there were storms that blew in, without notice. We were thankful for the women’s good care.
“I hope someday I can be a good mother to my children,” Saskia revealed. I always wanted little boys and maybe some girls. My sons will be heroes among our tribe. My father will finally have a grandson to take hunting.”
I was stunned that she thought of having a family someday. I thought she would never be remotely interested. I told her that I planned to marry when I was older and wiser . . . when I had seen more of the world. Saskia considered this and spoke wisely, “If you grow old, without the love of a husband, you’ll grow too old for children.”
Again, I was astounded at the thought of growing too old and never being able to have children. I had never thought about the age one had to be to have children. It’s true that some older women had healthy infants, but more than likely, not. Their children were different in their behavior and facial features. Often they became orphans when their older mother or father died. It was the kindness of relatives or tribe that took the children under their roof. I considered this revelation. I learned much from Saskia.
We slept soundly that night in the village of the Gepids. They were peaceful people. We slept until midmorning, when we were awakened by voices at our door. Three older men spoke in Gothic. Saskia and I got up and hurried to the doorway to speak to them.
“Come. The summer solstice has arrived. You must prepare with us, the slaughter of fresh meat for the gods. We must appease Wodanaz, so we will be safe in battle against the warriors who invade our land. We know you have weapons and great skill. Hurry and eat your breakfast. We must leave now for the stables and to the sacred white grove,” said one man with a commanding voice. “The prisoner must be carried to the sacred white grove. He will be sacrificed to Wodanaz. You will watch, as witnesses to his death.”
We swallowed our breakfast, and led our horses from the stable. We tied several goats to our horses, along with an old limping horse, to be led slowly to their demise. The prisoner was led in a wagon by two horses and several people. The whole tribe appeared in their doorways and soon followed up the trail to the sacred white grove, shrouded in fog.
In the grove, were many sacred white trees and wooden stakes, upon which, there were bleached skulls of animals. Huge wooden effigies of the gods, with carvings that displayed their eyes and male or female animal parts, also stood around the sacred grove. The women carried bowls of offerings to Wodanaz and placed them in the boggy mud at the entrance to the grove of sacred white ash trees.
Their priestess stood by a stone altar near the trees, where three eagles looked on with intense stares. One of the eagles shifted its weight and turned its head. It’s gold eyes watched as the animals were slaughtered on the altar and their blood collected in wooden bowls. The priestess chanted sacred words to bless and offer the sacrifice to the gods. Women sliced off the animal’s limbs and hung them in the branches. The carcasses were deposited on the roasting fire, for the tribe would partake of this food in celebration of their life and their enemy’s death. It would transfer Wodanaz’ power to them.
The prisoner was led to a sacred ash tree with the fresh limbs of animals hanging from its branches. On the altar near this tree, the prisoner’s life was solemnly taken, as an offering to our god; the priestess spoke to Wodanaz. The prisoner’s arms were cut off and hung in the tree. Blood seeped from the wounds and drenched the ground below. We were repulsed, but we knew it was necessary for our survival, as Gutthiuda and Gepids.
We chanted and sung songs of Wodanaz’ brave deeds. Later, we feasted upon the roasted meat of goats. The bonfires were lit, left to burn all night and into the next two nights to give strength to the sun. Couples leapt over the bonfires to determine how high their gardens would grow. The three released eagles soared over us for several days. We felt the power of our god, Wodanaz. He would surely protect us from death. Wodanaz would decide who lived or died.
In a week, we would travel to the battleground, into the villages of the enemy, to slaughter again, every man or woman that fought us. We would hold their captured children and women as slaves. We would seize their livestock and food, their treasures
