were incomprehensible, but the very rhythm and solemn intonation made the boy’s hair stand on end.
He was not the only one who felt uneasy, however. Tahon kept pricking up his ears and turning his head, his gaze sweeping across different parts of the forest. Surt, on the other hand, was trying to steady his nerves, clutching his younger brother’s arm tightly. The other members of the procession also seemed nervous; only the druids and the priests of Vathr continued on their way calmly.
Einar soon lost his bearings and could not tell which way round the island they were heading. There was something terrifying about it, yet at the same time calm and alluring. No one stopped or tried to turn back, so the young Toinen carried on walking.
At last, the shadows amongst the trees began to lengthen, and the sky, visible here and there between the treetops, was studded with stars. It was only when it had grown dark that they emerged into a clearing surrounded by pillars of rough-hewn stone several metres high. The clearing ended in a steep cliff, from which there was a view of the Ovein Sea, shrouded in darkness, with the stars reflected upon its surface.
Right at the very edge of the cliff stood a marble arch, devoid of any ornamentation. Its columns were still entwined with green ivy. Einar realised at once that this was the Gate that Surt had spoken of. Just a few paces away stood an altar. A large block of polished stone, upon which the druids had already laid their offerings. Upon it lay goblets of wine and mead, a whole roasted wild boar, candles adorned with intricate patterns, bunches of dried herbs, an open casket containing gold and valuables, a pouch of grain, fruit and many smaller offerings.
Heres stood before the altar with his hands raised towards the sky, intoning the final lines of the prayer. Behind him, arranged in a semicircle, stood nine other druids sustaining the monotonous chant, whilst further voices echoed them from deep within the forest.
Everyone stopped at the
