Three
The egg isn't grey as she had first assumed. Or maybe the egg is grey, but only when it's sick, because Iza watches in bemusement as the stony shell begins to shift from the pallid grain to an array of gentle hues. Soft lilac and golden-pink near the top of the egg, just like the wildflowers that bloom in late spring, and a richly bronzed red near the bottom and around the side where the egg is closest to the fire.
It must be warm, she thinks, tapping the very top of the egg with her finger nail. She wonders if the baby dragon inside can hear her. Probably, if Iza can feel what the egg is feeling. How very strange.
But beautiful. Otherworldly. If Iza didn't know any better, she would think that the egg is one of Idunn's apples, here to grant her peace and immortality. She's never seen its like in all her days. She isn't sure if placing the egg right on the edge of the hearth this morning was a good idea, but then this odd instinct she seems to have developed is almost humming with contentment.
The egg likes heat.
For the first time, she wonders what kind of dragon the egg's mother was – there are so many, each of them equally as frightening. Iza recalls that the dragon was very dark and probably smaller than others she has seen, although it's difficult to make that judgement since she's never been that close to one before. And it was very dark. She remembers the glow of slanted green eyes.
Will the baby dragon look the same?
And what will Iza do when it hatches?
She wishes the Norns would supply her with answers, but she knows better than most that the Norns work in mysterious ways.
For now, Iza will have to make do with the flimsy plan she's cobbled together. She turns way from the egg and continues rummaging through the wooden chest by the apple-laden table, glad that her father started his day earlier than usual. He should be in the Great Hall again, seeing to the running of the village, which is good. Iza's plan should go off without a hitch if she doesn't have to work at lying to her father. As far as the Chieftain knows, Iza will be going about her usual routine today.
She'll just be carrying a basket while she does.
Iza makes a noise of triumph when she finally finds the shallow bowl cast in iron at the bottom of the chest. She carries the bowl to the hearth, reaches for the fire prod, and carefully scoots red-hot coals into the bowl. "This should keep you warm," she says to the egg as she gently places the egg into the bowl, watching with fascination as the vibrant colors on the shell shift once again, blooming red right where the heat source is hottest.
Iza smiles, transferring the iron bowl into a woven basket padded by the deerskin pelt. She then covers the egg with clothing in need of washing and mending, packs a few other supplies into the basket, and ties on her leather shoes. She leaves the house with the basket – and hidden egg – on her hip and walks toward her destination on the lower, flatter, far-end of the village, mindful of every step so as to not jostle her precious burden.
She is satisfied that she doesn't feel cold at all on this day. She was right – dragon eggs need to be warm. She hopes the egg doesn't hold her previous ignorance against her.
Iza does not spare a moment for conversation as she passes through the outskirts of the village. She offers a smile to a few of the children playing a rowdy game in the foothills, making sure to hold the basket high enough that it is not jostled as she continues on to the farmlands belonging to Bran, one of the more lucrative farmers in Forks.
Iza reaches the longhouse on the farm far before the sun crawls to its peak in the clear blue sky. If she squints, she can see Bran and his younger children working the land to prepare for planting, while his wife circles the fruiting trees with an infant on her hip. Such a large family…
Iza shifts the basket, struck by sudden nerves as she knocks on the door, a polite perfunctory warning, since she doesn't wait for a response before opening the door and ducking inside. This longhouse is much different than her own, warm and chaotic with evidence of well-worn lives on every surface – a striking contrast to the quiet, almost destitute austere of the Chieftain's home. Seeing that the longhouse is empty, Iza sighs and turns right back around.
If Alise is not minding the stove, then she can only be one other place.
Around the back of the longhouse is an open-face awning on slatted wood facing the expansive fjords in the east – the best place, according to Alise, to work a loom in the shining light of day. This is where Iza finds her closest childhood friend. Iza stops just outside Alise's field of vision, watching as nimble fingers toil at freshly dyed wool, weaving an impressively intricate bit of fabric into existence. Iza cannot rightly recall any time where she could not find Alise working some kind of handcraft, something which has given Alise distinction in the village for something other than being the most seidr-touched among them.
Not for the first time, Iza wonders at the strangeness of men. They all seem to believe that each women has seidr at her fingertips and that it is seidr that makes women special, forgetting always that it was Frigg who taught such magics to Odin so Odin could protect mankind. Men can have seidr just as easily as women, but Iza has never met a Viking who believed it. And seidr, for all that women are thought to have it, is actually very rare. Most women in the village do not have seidr – Iza seldom has any luck outside of rituals, for example.
But Alise is different. Some elders have whispered that Alise must have been blessed by Frigg personally at birth, because Alise knows things, often before they happen. Alise, just like Frigg, seems to see the threads of the world in the weaving of her loom. Iza has personally never been able to keep a secret from Alise, which is why she has made the decision to come to Alise with the problem the Gods have presented her.
And why she does not startle when Alise, without so much as blinking her sea-grey eyes, says, "You have a secret."
Iza grips the basket tightly. "I wonder if you might help me," Iza says, hushed. She looks pointedly at the clothes most visible in her basket. "I seem to need a helping hand."
Alise finishes the thread, carefully looping off her stopping place, and smiles at Iza. "Have you brought soap? I find I am in need of a new bar."
Iza's eyes dance. "Perhaps we can trade. My soap for your help," she offers. She cannot help but remember a time, not too many summers ago, when she had made a similar offer. Being somewhat talented at making fragrant soaps more gentle than the burning soaps preferred by the raiders, Iza had once offered to make soaps especially for Alise if Alise would help Iza keep up with mending. Alise agreed and the two have been fast friends ever since.
Iza trusts Alise. And Alise trusts Iza – maybe because Iza does not care a whit if Alise has more seidr than she should.
"Well, it is bathing day," Alise concedes. "The spring?"
Iza's shoulders droop in relief. Alise has suggested the spring – their spring, a secluded mountain-fed source that they had found last spring and that has been theirs ever since. It is the perfect place to talk about certain secrets. Iza is gratified that Alise understands, even if they have been talking through veils.
"A moment, then. I should gather the family washing," Alise says as she rises.
Iza nods. "I'll wait here."
Alise disappears into the longhouse and Iza moves to wait not too far away from the loom. She looks out over the fjords, tracking the fishing boats bobbing along the vibrant blue water. Her eyes track the horizon line, searching for far-away storm clouds, and her mind wanders.
Where do the dragons come from? None of them are sure, but many villagers figure that the dragons come from far away and must surely attack other villagers like vagrants. Iza is not so certain. Sometimes, she thinks she has seen the same dragons at every battle, though it is difficult to know absolutely. But she knows that Forks is surrounded by water on three sides, with the mountains behind them leading to broader, more unforgiving lands. What lies beyond the mountains?
Dragons, right? What else but those hardy, scaled, flying beasts can survive in mountains?
She has never voiced this thought. It would be too shocking. It would cause too much fear if villagers thought dragons lived just over their shoulders. Better to believe that the dragons are from far-flung places, further than even the Vikings have ventured.
Her thoughts are interrupted by an amused whoop, and she looks down the path leading to the farm to see Emebor Branson, Bran's eldest son and Alise's brother, lugging the carcass of a boar over his broad shoulders. Beside him is Edvard, who carries several pheasants. It is a lot of meat for one family, but then, it is a large family – and Emebor and Edvard are some of the best hunters in the village. She did not expect to see them return home so early, but it explains the wide grin spread across Emebor's face.
As he nears, he says, "Is this Loki's trickery, or is Izabela Chalisdottir in our midst."
"I'm waiting for Alise," Iza says plainly. She tries to ignore the urge to twitch or hide her basket behind her back, trying not to give the men any reason to suspect her of any strangeness. She meets Edvard's steady gaze for half a heartbeat, her cheeks blazing, before she looks back to Emebor, who while a bear of a man is still somehow less intimidating than his fostered brother. "It is bathing day."
Emebor smirks at Edvard. "Do you hear that? Our clothes will smell of flowers, like a woman."
"Better than your natural order," Edvard says flatly. He nods at Iza once, then walks off toward the animal pens.
Emebor scowls at his back, grunts at Iza, and follows along with some disgruntlement.
As they pass, Iza lets out a shaky breath. She has a dragon egg in her basket – and she has just talked to two dragon killing warriors. What might they have done if they discovered the egg? What might they do to her? She does not want to find out.
"I am ready."
Iza startles at Alise's voice, nearly dropping her basket in fright.
Alise nudges her elbow, adjusting her grip on her own basket. "Relax. You did well. They suspect nothing."
Iza bites her lip and glances back to the animal pens, where Edvard and Emebor have already begun skinning their kills with alarming dexterity. She shivers, forcing herself to face forward. "If you say so."
"I do," Alise says simply. She leads the way to the spring, which is a bit of a walk through a dense copse of stunted trees. Soon enough, the trickling sound of water enters Iza's ears and a sharp mineral scent enters her nose.
Together, Alise and Iza set their baskets a safe distance from the water and, while Alise sets to casting a simple seidr to pleasantly warm the water, Iza piles the dirty clothing to one side and digs out her flower-pressed soaps. As she does, she reveals the dragon egg, which is more or less the same color it had been when she left home. Still warm enough then.
She's so preoccupied by critically studying the egg that she doesn't notice Alise over her shoulder until she makes a soft noise of surprise. Iza whirls around, worry writ plain on her face, and watches as Alise's eyes lose focus for several moments.
"Oh. Oh my," Alise says.
"I know," Iza despairs quietly.
"Well. That is a secret, is it not?"
"A huge secret," Iza agrees. She explains finding the mother and the egg and what had happened the day before, paying close attention to Alise's face – not sure if she is happy to see Alise so serious for so long.
"And you think you need my help."
"Yes."
Alise nods thoughtfully, then peers down at the egg again, tilting her head to the side. "It is quite pretty. I never would have thought their eggs would be so pleasant to look at. Do you know when it will hatch?"
Iza shrugs helplessly. "I know nothing, only that the Norns have not given me any grace."
Alise hums, a tiny smile playing at the corner of her mouth. She reaches for Iza's soaps and kicks the clothing into the steaming water, wiggling out of her belted dress as she does. "Let me think about this while we bathe."
Iza nods, glad for direction. She unfastens the stays of her dress, stripping down to her skin without a pause, then sets to unwinding her long hair from its braid before carefully toeing into the dipping slope of the spring. Using the rocky side and a lard soap, she scrubs at the clothing in the pile, mindlessly rinsing and wringing and moving onto the next article as Alise moves around outside of the water, draping the wet clothes over boulders and branches to dry. With the clothing cleaned, both girls sink deeper into the water, helping each other wash their backs. It isn't until Iza is soaping the midnight length of Alise's hair with rosemary and cranberry soap that Alise finally speaks up.
"Your chest…Iza, are you okay?"
In all her worry about the egg, Iza had almost forgotten about Thor's mark marring her body. She looks down at the bear breast, discomfited by the pale pink lightning rooting over her milky skin. It looks no better in the daylight than it did the night she was struck. "I am fine," Iza says softly. "It happened the night of the battle. I was shameful, hiding from the battle, and Thor sought to reprimand me. I am lucky to be alive. The egg's mother was not so fortunate."
"You were both struck?"
"Yes."
Alise nods to herself, then ducks into the water to rinse the soap from her hair. Clean, she bids Iza to turn around so she can return the favor. As Alise's fingers sluice the dirt from her scalp, she asks, "And how is Chalisław since the battle?"
"The Chieftain is fine." Iza pauses, casting a guilty glance at the basket beneath the tree. "He does not know."
"I can see why. It is more than a secret, is it not?"
"Betrayal, you mean."
"In a way. But also not. Should you betray your own heart to honor your father? Or is it betrayal to ignore the challenges the Norns give you?"
Iza says nothing. She looks at the basket again, unable to stop her mind from thinking about the egg again – about the difference in what she should do and what she wants to do.
"I think you have been chosen," Alise says once Iza has rinsed her hair. She waits until Iza has stopped sputtering clumsy denials before adding, "I think you have been twice-blessed, first by Thor's unorthodox guidance and again by Frigg connecting you to the innocent life within that egg."
Iza sinks into the water down to her nose, frowning deeply at Alise's reasoning.
"The Norns must have grand plans for you," Alise muses. She smiles serenely at Iza. "But then, I always knew that your destiny would be special. So we must do our best to make sure your reach that destiny in as much peace as possible."
Iza's eyes widen and she forgets herself, standing straight in the water. "Truly?"
Alise's smile grows. "I think I have seen a solution."
"Anything."
Alise raises her brows. "When was the last time you visited the caverns?"
A/N: Did you know Vikings were considered "clean-freaks" among other Europeans who lived in the same era? Apparently bathing once a week was really unique - actually, that's horrifying. My God, how did humanity survive? Also, the soap used by Vikings was really harsh and basically bleached their hair, so I'm sure it was a bit painful on the skin, too. Iza's soap is milder!
Norse figures in this chapter included Loki, God of mischief and lies and all-around source of chaotic neutral in Norse myths. Seriously, he might have started Ragnarok but he also dressed Thor up as a woman, so. Pretty cool guy, that Loki.
Round of applause to borntocontest for lending a hand in some Polish and Slavic names in this chapter - totally responsible for Emebor and Chalisław, who are Emmett and Charlie if you couldn't guess.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~ Rae