The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude
Chapter Seven: In Limbo
Day 1
The world outside the window was white. Howling wind rattled the glass payne and somewhere cold blizzard air was creating a low whistle as it snuck in through a crack. Still, the stone house stood sturdy, not even shuddering with the heaviest gust. The smooth floor was freezing under my feet, and I thought about getting back into the pillowy bed. Someone had already been in my room, as I slept, to stoke the fireplace; I had no idea what time it was.
I fingered the smooth gold ring Frey had given me. The events of the night before were dream-like. It felt like a nightmare, a real nightmare. I had fought without thinking. And I and killed two men. I had killed again. And this time I had been thanked for it. Praised. Given a gold ring. To be fair, they were intruders with bad intentions. But still. I was a killer again.
It was strange. It didn't really make sense to me. How had I actually smashed the first man's head in by just opening the door? True, the door was very heavy wood, but - come on. I would have had to be incredibly strong to actually cave someone's skull in by opening a door.
I shuddered, stepping away from the window and closer to the fireplace. There was no way to tell how late in the day it was except the pounding headache I usually got when I slept too long.
All I had to wear was the second borrowed nightgown given to me by Frey's wife after she helped me clean the red off my hands. The first nightgown, pale blue, had been ruined when I crushed the second man's skull with the wolf statue.
I had to think of something else. I explored the room, opening the wardrobe and was rewarded when I found something that made my heart leap: my clothes! They had been missing since I handed them over to Frey after the ice broke on the lake. Everything was washed and dried and hanging. I changed into the comfort of my own clothing and breathed a sigh of relief.
The smell of herbs and metal filled my nose, a smell that brought a ghost of a memory to mind for just a moment. Before I could grasp the thought, it was gone.
I was probably a mess. There was no mirror to be found, just more art – paintings hanging on every wall, landscapes of places I didn't recognize and realistic portraits of all sorts of emotions, and abstract, swirling galaxies.
I found a comb on a low table next to a homemade bar of soap on a low table in the bathroom. I worked through the snarls of my short hair. I had cut it a few weeks ago and hadn't missed the long hair yet. It had been a nuisance and a weight I was happy to get rid of, and it felt like a fresh start at the time.
I splashed my face with water from the sink and gasped as pain racked my face. My fingernails dug into my palms until I could think again. I gingerly felt at my face. A massive lump above my right eye throbbed madly, making my mild headache much worse. I ran a finger gingerly over the lump. My eyes watered again and I stopped to breathe again.
A small voice interrupted me. Frey's daughter, the older one, stood at the threshold of the bathroom door looking at me with wide curious amber eyes. Her bright orange hair hung in a braid over her shoulder and she wore a plain cream dress with blue accent stitching.
"Oh! Hi." I said breathless, smiling and blinking away tears, doing my best to cover my pain. She said something in her language, her sweet small voice. She looked at me, regarding my jeans, sweater, and shoes with a polite curiosity. She had to be maybe ten or eleven. If she were a human, she could have been around ten or eleven. Who knew how fast children develop here? She could be twenty and I'd never know it.
"Sorry," I said, and shrugged forward. "I don't know what you're saying...and you have no idea what I'm saying either."
"Sirieisn," she said holding out a hand, gesturing to me, and then placing it on her chest. "Aké."
"Aké," I nodded, bowing awkwardly.
She gave me an embarrassed smiled and stepped in to reach for my hand. She paused when she saw the gold ring on my thumb. Her long fingers were stained with ink and were strong. She realized I was watching her look at her father's ring on my thumb and smiled again.
She led me into the kitchen. Frey's wife looked up from kneading dough on a flour table top. She greeted me with a familiar word, a word Frey had used for the last couple of days in the morning with we woke up. I assumed it meant good morning or hello or something similar. I returned the greeting and Aké's eyebrows shot up, proud and excited. She pulled out a chair across from her mother, motioned for me to sit, and then ladled what looked like brothy soup into bowls from a pot she could barely reach. Aké served me and sat down without getting a bowl for herself. I felt embarrassed, but I wasn't sure why.
"Thank you," I nearly whispered, feeling my face heat unexpectedly. Aké watched me like I was her new pet. I picked up my spoon uneasily. There were a few minutes of me trying not to slurp thick noodles or spill on myself. Aké stared at me, and the only sound was the small sounds of the dough squishing over and over under the capable hands of the mother.
I tried desperately to think of something to say or do that would break the tension.
"Aké," I said, and she grinned at me. I glanced at her mother. They really looked nothing alike. The girl's orange hair was a stark contrast to her mother's shiny black hair.
"Siri," I continued, copying the Aké's hand-to-chest gesture. I held out a hand to the woman.
"Isond," she said.
"Isond," I repeated.
That made Aké proud enough to clap. She launched into a long excited speech which I tactfully half-pretended to understand, nodding and smiling vaguely.
After a while, I realized Aké was actually trying to communicate. She was pointing at the table and saying the same word over and over. I repeated it a couple of times and she squealed with delight. I bit my lip to keep from laughing at her response. She tried to teach me the word for either bowl or soup, but I couldn't get the th sound to come out right. Isond finally put an end to my suffering.
I smiled, "Thank you, Aké."
She beamed, and then paused before telling me a new word. I assumed it was thank you. When I had satisfied her with the pronunciation she said her goodbyes and left Ison and me alone.
I scooped up another noodle and watched as she finished kneading the dough, placing the glob in a large bowl. She covered it with a cloth and turned to wash her hands in the kitchen sink.
It was madness. Indoor plumbing, but no electricity? And why was she doing the baking? I distinctly remembered there were servants or whatever they were here last night, cooking and cleaning when we arrived.
She wordlessly pulled an iron kettle off its perch in the massive brick fireplace and set it down on a hot pad on the thick wooden table. She collected a few jars of what looked like herbs and a mug. She pinched twigs and leaves out of the jars and placed them in the mug before pouring steaming water over them and setting it close to my nearly-empty bowl.
After replacing the herb jars and the kettle, she pulled another, smaller jar off the shelf, and sat down next to me. She gestured to lump above my eye, uncorking the small jar and showing me a creamy paste. I nodded hesitantly and she dipped a finger in the salve and with the lightest touch spread it not just on the lump, but around my temple and even under my eye, which made me wonder again what my face looked like.
Despite her care, it hurt enough to make my eyes water. While she returned the slave to its place, I pulled the mug closer and sniffed at the steam. It smelled like maybe chamomile and something else, something bitter.
She said something. I watched her repeat what she said while holding a hand to her low belly. The universal sign for pregnant. It really was universal, I mused. She pointed to the drink again and nodded her encouragement, so I sipped it.
It wasn't great tasting, it had a biting aftertaste, but a hot drink was comforting on its own. I had given up coffee and missed the hot morning cuppa. A few sips in I felt the tension leave my neck and shoulders, and by the time I was halfway finished my headache was gone.
"Thank you," I said, as Isond took my bowl to the sink. After a moment of searching my brain, I said the word Aké taught me for thank you. Or I hoped I said that. Isond's eyebrows lifted in surprise. She realized what I was trying to say and corrected me.
Of course. It was just like me to say the word for table instead of thank you.
She offered me a dried piece of fruit I'd never seen before, something like a cross between a fig and an apple, and then led us out of the kitchen. The house was quiet except the occasional blast of wind from the blizzard outside. The hallways were cold and drafty. There was no sign of any servants or maids or whatever they were. Maybe they only came at a certain time of day? Or on certain days?
The house was centered around a large domed room that was lit mysteriously from above. No lights were visible. It was as if the stone itself glowed with a steady warm light. The great room had its own arched fireplace with a happily crackling fire, a large table with elaborately carved legs, a loom with a colorful half-finished project, a set of couches that looked like a cross between giant beanbags and structured love-seats.
Aké and her older brother sat at the large table with a pile of books between them. She pretended to read quietly while stealing glances at me over her book while he was using a marker of sorts to write something down on what appeared to be a pane of glass. I briefly wondered where the youngest, the baby girl was.
Aké nudged her brother with her elbow and he looked up before standing and bowing his head to me. I performed a shallow, but ballet-worthy curtsy. Again the embarrassment crept up without warning.
Isond introduced her son as Gosta. He looked to be a young teen, with dark hair like his mother. His face, though, held an unmistakable shadow of his father. He regarded me with solemn grey eyes, bowing again and then glancing at his mother who nodded. He returned to his studies.
Isond led me to one the couches and pulled a bowl of what looked to be nuts closer to me on the foot table. I smiled my thanks, not wanting to say the wrong word again, and leaned back into the soft cushions with my tea.
Aké grinned at me before turning back to her book. Isond spoke softly to Gosta for a while and then sat down at the loom in front of a large window. The flat white light of the outside storm silhouetted her and the loom.
And that was it.
We sat. I watched each one in turn, in a culture-shocked stupor. Aké sighed often as she read, but she turned pages quickly. Her legs swung constantly and she fiddled with her braid. Gosta wrote meticulously, hunched over the glass pane, his knuckles white and his head bowed. I wondered what he was writing on. He never wiped the glass clean but seemed to be writing on top of his words line by line. The pen he was holding began to look strange to me. It had no tip. No place for ink to come out, more of a stylus than a pen.
The sound of Isond patting down line after line of yarn and the heat of the fire eventually put me to sleep. I dreamt of Steve again, of his beautiful, strong, good face. His warm hands held the sides of my neck as he kissed me slowly, gently. His eyes were Colorado-sky blue and they were happy. Happier than I'd ever known him to be. I woke to the sound of a baby crying.
Isond carried her second daughter into the great room, the orange halo of hair framing a blotchy red face. She looked like she'd been napping and now felt as disoriented as I did. I felt like crying too. The pang of losing Steve, even dream Steve, felt like a punch to the gut. Isond sat down next to me, shushing the little girl who laid her head down on her mother's chest and sniffed. She stared at me with wide blue eyes, eyelashes dripping onto perfect rosy cheeks. After a few minutes and after rubbing a line snot down Isond's shoulder, she pushed herself upright and held a hand out to me. I held out a hand, smiling despite myself.
I busied myself looking after the baby, following her around the floor, playing quiet, repetitive games with her and small carved wooden toys.
Aké and Gosta eventually put books away and worked on new projects. Aké set herself up to paint and Gosta pulled a guitar-like instrument off the wall and practiced the same song over and over. Isond came and left the room, and the house began to smell like dinner.
I was in awe of her abilities as a mom. She did everything. Cooking dinner, loom-weaving, child-rearing, homeschooling, bread-baking. Stranger-babysitting. At one point she even bundled up in a fur mantle and boots and headed into the storm, returning with a few loads of chopped wood for the fire. All the while looking like a million bucks with not a hair out of place.
Meanwhile, I sat with the baby. I began to feel very lazy and inadequate. I couldn't bake bread or weave. I usually ordered food in for dinner. Heck, I couldn't even speak the language here. I was basically useless. And I'd never even been around children. The closest I got was when I taught ballet to younger girls. But they weren't younger than 12.
By the time Frey arrived home, it was dark and I was starving. I had eaten half the bowl of nuts on the end table by the couch, and the large dried fruit Isond had given me. The house smelled like a roast, garlic, and freshly baked bread. His homecoming was as much of a celebration as when we had arrived the night before, and he welcomed me as warmly as the rest of his family.
That was quite the change. He had treated me like an annoying, crazy child on our journey here. They all had, really, until last night. Now it was if I was an honored guest or long-lost cousin. My mind wandering during dinner as they spoke to each other, basically ignoring my presence, and I excused myself for bed as soon as I had finished eating.
Day 2
Time seemed to slow to an unbearable crawl. The blizzard raged on all the next day, the snow piling halfway up the windows. After a breakfast of the same brothy soup, Frey left for work, or wherever he went during the day, and then they all settled down again in the great room to do it all over again.
It was so quiet, too, unless the baby was crying or babbling, or someone was playing a musical instrument. They spoke to each other in hushed tones as if worried I'd overhear them.
I literally had nothing to do, and it was unsettling. I couldn't talk to anyone, obviously. Even the few words I learned were hard to remember. I couldn't pass the time reading, because none of the books were in English.
I didn't even have my mobile – I had handed it over to Dr. Selvig before I stepped into the portal because I didn't think it would work on Asgard, nor did I think would be outlets to recharge the battery. But now I wished I had brought it with me, even if I could have used it for a day or two. (Although it probably wouldn't have survived the plunge into the lake.) There were pictures of Steve and me and Pogo. Even old photos of happier times in Aspen. There were dance videos. I could have listened to music or an audiobook. I could have used the voice recorder to help me learn the language.
Frustration mounted and I excused myself to my room to cry halfway through the day. I had to get home. Somehow, someway. Or I had to get to Asgard. Either way, I couldn't stay here forever. I hated my decision to leave Steve and Anouk and Pogo. It was a horrible mistake.
I just wanted to watch something on TV or read a book, anything to escape reality for just a while. I had taken those things for granted. And I wanted spaghetti more than anything I had ever wanted to eat. It was so petty and yet so horribly profound at the same time.
I was trapped here, in between Earth and Asgard. Hopelessly alone. Why wouldn't my family come for me? Thor promised. He had promised that I only had to ask. Did they really want me back? Or had they seen how messed up I was and decided I was too far gone? Too human.
Eventually, I emerged from my room and found them all in their places, content to be at home inside, making more art and more bread. It was almost too much to bear. How could they stand this slow life?
Isond saw I had been crying and assumed I was in pain. She made me more herbal tea and slathered my eye in salve. Aké was practicing on a violin with the baby, whose name I hadn't caught yet, bouncing on her knees in front of her big sister. Gosta took in my face with a long grave look and then waved me over to his place at the table. He was drawing on some paper. It looked like a mountain scene done in black pencil. He pulled out more paper shyly offered it to me. I sat down next to him and put pencil to paper.