Invitation
By Rey
11. The Identities
I manage to confront Eðlenstr regarding what they know about my mother only when we are already on the way to Útgarð. The teachers and pupils have been separated into tiny groups that fit in small, fast transports instead of the single big one from the day before, and the two of us happen to share the same transport, which also bears Elder Lúkra and the plantation owner from yesterday, Elder Lýða. The convoy is also guarded by armed vehicles from all angles, which makes me curious, but not curious enough to ask about it before I pursue the matter of how a jötun could have been so familiar with Frigga the Allmother to have threatened me with her wrath.
Of course, I do not name her outright, as such could be used by Heimdall to defeat the shield of invisibility that I have been sheltering under all this while since I left Asgard. I use the rare chance of privacy when the two other jötnar seated in front are talking lowly among themselves, as well.
But, as the answer, Eðlenstr only stares at me shrewdly and thoughtfully for a long, long, long while.
I ask why they gave me the plantation owner's "kin-lines" as part of my identity, next, to circumnavigate the wall of silence.
Sadly, it meets with the same obstruction.
But, before I can choose another question to yet again try to find some weak point in Eðlenstr's stubborn silence, they speak at last, with solemn gravity that startles me for its alienness on them: "I think, we are talking about different individuals."
They explain that they know the plantation owner personally and find the latter trustworthy in keeping secrets and guarding children, before I can push the matter.
I scowl at them. Like their previous statement, this elaboration is clearly missing a huge, important chunk.
"I am not a child, you know, where I am from, as I told you countless times before," I point out flatly, bluntly. "The knowledge is rightfully mine, and you are concealing it from me."
They simply give me a look that would otherwise be represented by a raised eyebrow.
I take a deep breath and give them my best cool, regal glare.
They smile wanly at me, to that.
Reminiscently, even.
And people often say my cool, regal glares are akin to my father….
How did they know not only Frigga the Allmother but also Odin the Allfather?
Damn it. Yet another question, while the previous ones have not been answered satisfactorily – or at all.
The glare crumples into a scowl.
Their smile deepens, becomes wanner, but also becomes fonder.
"You will find out once we are in the capital, child," they promise me softly, while giving the tip of my nose a gentle tap with a finger.
"I prefer to be forewarned," I rebut.
"People prefer many things, and some of those are never realised," they retort mildly, before fishing out a reader machine from their poket dimension. "Now, let us practise your Ýmska."