Pil

An original story by Ea.
A big thank you to molo and Rick for beta-reading and editing.
A/N: ‘Pil' translates into willow in Danish

Mmmh… The old willow stretched his roots in the sun-warmed water. Its sourness tingled and teased and a slight shiver ran down his trunk. He'd heard about how refreshing the water of a stream felt, but all he'd ever known was the still water of this pond, and right now that was more than enough. He felt his leaves arranging themselves just so to catch the light of the sun. It was a perfect summer afternoon, and a golden field of rushes stretched out before him while a dragonfly blue-shimmered in the bright light above it. All Pil cared for was right here – a peaceful, quiet corner where he could enjoy a nice drink of water with no one to bother him.

The chatty squirrel that lived in his branches was quiet too. Usually he was always up and down, teasing and taunting the other creatures around him, but it seemed that even he had been lulled by the warm, peaceful summer afternoon. By Pil's roots lived a very old adder, curled up and biding his time. It was not so surprising that he was silent, even when the sun warmed them so, but Pil's senses went out, searching, until he was certain that he was still there, close to his roots as always. The squirrel and the adder had lived with him for as long as he could remember, and their company felt reassuring. Whenever Pil tried to sense them like this, his sense of time passing seemed to blur and stretch to infinity. Always been here, he thought. The man has too…

#

The man, buried in the water by the roots, noticed Pil's presence. He kept silent, as usual, though sometimes he let Pil engage him in conversation. He had been here for a very long time, and he vaguely remembered the time when they brought him here. The bright, blinding summer day was exactly like that day a long time ago.

He was their finest offering to Nerthus in a long time. After several years of meager harvests, she would need the best they could give, and no one could be better than he. He was the only son of their chieftain and had done well in the games that year. Proud that he had excelled so, he felt that giving himself was his duty. He was fair and strong, and the goddess would be certain to receive him. He knew how much they all relied on her to survive, and now she needed a sacrifice worthy of herself.

When they cut his hair, his mother grasped a few locks, quickly stealing away, unable to hold back her tears. The whole time his father wore a stony look on his face. He knew what this offering meant, but could hardly bear that it was his only son that should go.

They bathed and shaved him and put him into a light robe. He would have to look well, but he felt cold and naked with all his hair gone and only wearing the thin robe. His hands were clammy and he fidgeted with the cloth, but they kept taking his hands away; it would not do to soil it. It felt so different from his usual clothes, and he just wanted something substantial and real to grab hold of. The thin cloth was anything but, and the world seemed slowly to slip away from him.

The gruel they made him eat tasted strange and was different from what he was used to. He knew it must be the herbs they had put in it, and he made himself eat it all. He would need them to aid his journey. Soon after he was finished, the room began to swim before his eyes and he felt light-headed. His body was far away and the voices around him floated. Suddenly they were very close or very far away. He had to concentrate hard to understand them.

The priests spoke to him about what he must tell her; that Nerthus must remember them and the offering they made her. As the son of the chieftain, he had been trained to speak to the gods, so at least it felt familiar. Clinging to that thin strip of reality, he responded to their questions with the formal answers he already knew so well. They needed the goddess to receive him, and they kept repeating to him how he should give himself to her. They went on until the oldest of the priests finally rose. It was time, and they could do no more to prepare him.

By now he was very far gone, and they had to support him when they brought him out. Putting his feet in front of him was difficult, and he felt like a child learning to walk. His pride made him try to walk steadily and not show the fear that gripped him, and as the sun beat down on them, its warmth started to dissipate the fear and anger and slowly turn it into anticipation; the goddess was here, waiting for him. When they reached the water, he shivered slightly, and the slow longing of his body overshadowed all other thoughts.

He barely felt them putting the cord around his neck. It was like a whisper of promises, and his mind and body went out to her. Then they pulled it tight, quickly. When it was all over, they lowered him down into the water, gently, calling out their offering and what they expected in return. For a long time they spoke, telling Nerthus of their gift and why she should receive him. This sacrifice was not done lightly.

Then they cut off a branch from the old willow tree that grew by the pond and stuck it into the ground near the place. The new tree would remember him. Its roots would feed on his body and forever remind her of this gift.

#

It was such a long time ago now. Nerthus had listened and their lands had been overflowing for years after. She had also taken care of the man. His body was kept carefully in the water, slowly sinking down until it was buried in the mud. His spirit merged with his surroundings until he was one with the place, and the man felt at peace, as if he rested in the arms of his mother once more. The warm rays of the sun almost reached the resting place of his body, and he listened to the quiet buzzing of a dragonfly.

Sometimes he pleased himself with conversations with the old willow. It felt like the tree had been there as long as he had. It couldn't have though; willows did not get that old…