Good Morning, Smár Einn!
I wanted to mention a quick thing from last chapter. Edvard and his family are what we would call Vikings. The word Viking only applied to these cultures when they were at sea/ trading or pillaging. It's sort of like our English usage of the word pirate. As far as we know, these cultures did no own that identity while they were at home (though we don't have any record of what they called themselves.) Most scholars will refer to them as the Norse, and the language they are speaking is Old Norse.
So for all intents and purposes, yes they are Vikings, I'm just trying to deliver an accurate as possible representation of these cultures. If anyone wants to talk more about this, reach out to me! I'm always down to nerd out!
On to one of my favorite chapters thusfar!
Thank you to Mel and Jill!
.: Tuttugu ok Fimm :.
A boy comes to the house on the night of the full moon. "Eydís!" he calls, his voice sharp enough to reach us inside the house. Eydís is on her feet immediately, rushing to the door. "Eydís, I was sent by my master. Tove is in labor."
Eydís nods to the boy, sending him back down the mountain with instructions until she can reach the woman. The boy nods and turns back around while Eydís springs into action.
"Bella, come with me!" she barks. I follow her immediately.
We move to her stores, gathering herbs and cloths. I pack them as she mutters to herself.
"See to it that one of my sons has readied horses," she instructs as soon as I've packed the first sack. I leave it with her and run out toward the stables. Edvard is there with two horses already bridled. "I…" I realize I've never ridden a horse, and in the dusky summer night when there is a woman needing Eydís's help seems a bad time to learn. "I don't know how," I tell Edvard, the panic clear in my voice. He looks at the horses, then nods.
"All will be well, Smár Einn."
I trust him immediately.
We bring the horses to Eydís, who emerges, placing her supplies on the animal's back. She mounts one horse while Edvard turns to me. He smiles at me, hopping up on the other horse before turning and offering me his hand. I hesitate. Can the horse really support both of us? There is no time to wonder because Eydís is off, her horse galloping down the path. I reach up, taking Edvard's hand. He yanks me up onto the horse effortlessly, placing me in front of him. It takes me a moment to adjust to sitting on the large animal, but a longer moment still to adjust to sitting pressed against Edvard. His strong chest is at my back, his arms around my body as he grabs the reins and urges the horse forward. There is no time to even yelp as we take off.
I don't know where to hold—should I hold the mane, or will it upset the animal and slow us down? My fingers flutter around the mane of the creature before finally settling on Edvard's arms.
Instead, my hands grip the sleeves of Edvard's tunic, bringing me somehow even closer to him than I was.
I can't catch my breath as we gallop down the mountainside, and the horse has nothing to do with that.
According to Edvard, the trip down the mountain can take up to approximately two hours if you're walking, but on horseback, it goes much faster. Still, it is a long while through dusky night and quiet forests until the horse begins to slow down.
When we slow to a trot, my grip starts to loosen from Edvard's sleeves. He chuckles, and it brings him even closer to my back.
"Easy, Smár Einn," he says, sounding amused. "You'll break your own hands with that grip."
I grunt in response.
Edvard shifts his hands, one letting go of the bridle and brushing over my thigh. We both become aware of my dress riding up at the same time. In the incessant motion of the horse, my dress is bunched around my waist, barely covering any of my dignity.
Immediately, my face catches fire, and Edvard chuckles through a groan.
"I'm sorry, Smár Einn." His voice is raspy in my ear, making my breath catch in my throat. "Were we in less of a hurry, I would have let you enjoy your first ride."
How does he make such an innocent sentence sound so filthy?
I'm confused and too warm all of a sudden. I tug at my skirt, but it's useless. I'll have to find another way to keep my modesty when we travel back to the farm.
Before I can get too worked up over any of it, the village comes into view. It's small, as Edvard said, and sits near the water of what has to be the most magnificent view I've ever seen. Mountains scale to the sky on either side of the water, and the little village is nestled between it all.
"It's beautiful," I whisper, my eyes flitting from mountain to sky to sea to village.
Edvard hums. "It is."
I want to ask him more, but soon the trees are cutting off our view again. I glance up at him over my shoulder.
"Edvard?" I ask. "What am I expected to do tonight?"
Edvard frowns. "Aid my mother," he says slowly. "She's a very gifted healer, and she has told me that you too may be one day."
I look at him in surprise. "She said that?"
Edvard nods.
"We've all seen your gift growing in you," he says gently. "You have been blessed with kunnusta."
I frown, glancing up at him again.
He gently taps my temple. "The plants," he explains. "They speak to you."
I'm not sure what he means, but I turn back around to think on it as we continue toward the village.
…
Tove's home is small in comparison to the home Edvard and his family inhabit. Eydís is already dismounting her horse when we arrive, and she motions for me to hurry up. Edvard climbs off the horse before reaching up to help me off as well. His hands brush my exposed thighs as he reaches for me, and I fight a shudder in his arms.
He lifts me off the horse, bringing me close to his chest as he settles me on my feet. The intimacy of our position grows slightly, when his fingers flex around my elbows, brushing against my waist.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice breathy and desperate in a way I'm not sure I understand. He hums, and I feel it vibrate through me.
"Hurry, Smár Einn. My mother needs you." He lets go of my body, taking a step back from me and sucking in a deep breath. My head feels fuzzy from his proximity, but somehow I manage to turn and follow Eydís into the home.
Tove is pacing on a pile of animal skins near the fire, her hand over her back and stomach as she sings softly. Beside her, an older woman prepares bowls of hot water. There is a man I don't know, but who I presume to be Tove's husband, waiting by the entrance with the boy who had come to fetch us. "Eydís," I hear the man say in relief. "Thank you for coming."
His eyes flicker to me, and I watch his eyebrows pull into a slight frown.
"Bella," she says, motioning to me. "My þræll." She says it dismissively, and he nods in understanding. I look between them, wondering what it is she's just called me. I don't know the word she's used to describe me, but I know this is not the time to ask.
Instead, I try to commit it to memory as I get to work helping her.
"I will leave," Tove's husband says, edging toward the entrance.
"Go," Eydís tells him, not giving him another moment of her focus. I glance up at him before he departs. He's not quite as tall as Edvard, though he is similarly built. His eyes are on his wife, and in the low light of the home, I can see something like wistfulness on his face. I wonder if he wishes to stay, though I can't imagine it would be allowed. It's not even something done much during my time.
He hooks an arm around the boy's shoulders, and together they both leave. I turn back to the events in front of me.
"My daughter, come here."
I look up to see Tove pace toward the older woman as they both greet Eydís. It's only Tove who acknowledges my presence. She offers me a smile, which I return happily.
Eydís goes immediately to Tove, inspecting her while I unpack herbs.
I'm nervous. Despite the time I've been spending with Eydís getting familiar with healing herbs, I have absolutely no useful medical knowledge. I don't know what to expect, what will be expected of me.
But I'm also terribly excited about it.
When Eydís is finished examining Tove, she turns to me. "Prepare the raspberry leaf," she instructs me. I nod. This is a remedy that has already become familiar to me as it's a tea that Eydís makes me when I have cramps.
I get to work, happy to have a task to focus on.
"Have you sacrificed to Eir yet?" Eydís asks.
The women shake their heads.
"Only to Frigga when I first felt the pains. My husband goes now to sacrifice more."
Eydís nods, accepting this. "Good, good." She turns to me. "Sigurð, have you called upon your gods?"
I glance up to look at Tove's mother. Her back straightens, her eyes—the same shape and color as her daughter's—are harder, more suspicious than Tove's round trusting gaze.
"I have done what I have needed," she says vaguely. Eydís nods, continuing to set up around the room. I wonder what that means. Do different people pray to different gods? How does that work? And why does Sigurð pray to different ones from her family and not talk about the details of it?
I'm still not sure how belief works in this community, though through observation and eavesdropping I've gathered there are layers of complexity that I hadn't expected. I want to ask about all of it, but I realize now is not the time.
Instead, I store the questions away inside of me, intent to follow up on them later.
"Prepare a bowl for me. I must also sacrifice," Eydís says, looking up at me.
I don't even know where to begin with that. I finish the raspberry leaf tea, bringing a small bowl to Tove who takes it gratefully. Eydís looks at me expectantly, and I return to her satchel, pulling out a thin bowl. She takes it from me, stepping toward the fire. I don't know what to expect, but I watch fascinated as she produces a pouch of the same letter carvings I once caught Edvard using. She rolls them in her hands before setting them in the bowl. She comes to fetch a few herbs from her bag before returning to the fire.
The three of us watch her as she murmurs to herself, removing the chips of bone from the bowl. She carefully tips some herbs in before using the house fire to light the herbs. They smoke a lot, and she sets them before her, as she carefully selects letters from her bag. She produces a small blade she uses to carve the markings into a thin stick as the smoke continues to crowd her face. The room is filled with a heady scent, thick and cloying but somehow not unfamiliar. I'm mesmerized as Eydís works, calling upon the goddess Eir for her favor as she works.
Eydís burns the small stick she's carved into, letting the ashes mingle with the herbs.
When everything is burnt and the smoke has clogged the room, she looks up at us.
"Eir will be with us," she says quietly.
Tove and her mother both nod.
"As Frigga will be with us."
…
I have literally no experience with delivery. I've never even met a pregnant woman until I met Tove, and not once in school did the health class curriculum go into depths about what to expect from the birthing process.
I don't know how it normally goes, but I expect something loud, violent even. Hearing my mother talk about the agony of delivering twins, I anticipate the absolute worst.
What I don't count on is for it to be so… beautiful. Eydís and Sigurð work to keep Tove calm, singing to her as she rocks back and forth on all fours. She is in pain, it's clear, but there is a serenity on her face that tells me there is something more, something I can't feel, happening in this room.
It's like magic. One moment, we are four women, gathered together in a room, and in the next moment, we are something more. Eydís motions me to join them at Tove's side, and I come over, kneeling on her right. She glances at me, and despite the sweat on her brow and the wince in her features, she gives me a small smile.
Eydís moves behind her to check the baby's progress, and I try to pick up the song they are singing. I don't know the words, but I begin humming, feeling the need to participate. Tove's eyes close as she rocks back and forth, and I feel a welling of compassion and strength in me. I reach out to her, needing her to have my own strength in some way. My hand lands gently on her back, and I see her body shift, accepting the energy I'm trying to pour into her. She is rejuvenated, and with her new strength, she begins to push.
Each of us are crying as we sing, pouring energy and strength and love into Tove and her son. Tove accepts it all, using all that we can offer her to push.
Eydís lets out a small gasp, and Tove cries out when the baby is finally free of her. There is a heavy, silent moment, and then the sweet sound of an infant's cry fills the room.
Tears are racing down my cheeks as Tove weeps, her body fatigued from her fight. Sigurð and I help her to lie back against the furs, and I get a bowl of fresh water to clean her up while Eydís tends to the baby.
When mother and son are cleansed, they are reunited. Tove accepts the babe, tears still streaming down her face. "My beautiful boy," she cries, stroking the perfect child's soft head. "You have been blessed by the gods."
She leans to kiss the boy's soft wisps of hair.
Sigurð and Eydís both take turns, kissing the child. Then Tove turns to me. "Bella," she beckons me. Sigurð looks surprised, but I step forward. Tove holds her son out to me, and I smile at his sweet little face. I bend to press a kiss to his silky head, my eyes falling shut as I whisper my own prayer for him.
May this child live a blessed life, surrounded by love.