Chapter Seven: Juniperus Saxatilis
Loke carried the woman over his shoulder as she fussed more, drawing the attention of a few of the villagers. He walked past the end of the longhouse and spied a perfect patch of thick fluffy untouched snow to toss her in. The snow exploded into a small puff of white when she landed.
"Loki!" She huffed in anger quickly rolling onto her back and propping up on her elbows. Snow stuck to her cheeks and clung to her hair. The red in her face now from the sheer icy cold.
He did not like hearing his name in this tone, as she looked at him he placed a finger to his lips to remind her that he was not Loki, but Loke.
"Loke." She said in a little less angry manner, he was amused that she rolled her eyes at him.
His head tipped as if to ask: Yes? Then he felt cold wet snow hit him in the face. She'd balled up the frozen fluffy water and thrown it at him. What he saw when he opened his eyes was her form holding a hand over her mouth not doing anything to hide the wide grin underneath and trying to keep from laughing outright.
He crouched down. Her giggles subsided when he scooped a large amount of snow into both arms. His own mischievous grin across his face.
"Loke. Nei." He watched as she started to turn to flee, "Nei, nei, nei!" He dumped the snow on her before she could even get up. Her cry from the cold snow going down her back was followed by a burst of sweet laughter. Those walking by took notice, some whispered to each other but the villagers were busy with their own fun to be had.
She'd shot to a standing position and was trying to shake the snow from her furs and clothing. Satisfied by his petty revenge he held his hand out for her as a peace offering. The woman looked to it with caution, then to his face and back to his hand. Ever hesitant. She laid her fingertips into his palm as if she were offering something again. He wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her gently from the snowbank, helping her back onto the path that held trails made by the masses already. Once out she took her hand back, he did not try to keep it.
The woman pointed to the longhouse, looking at him with a questioning face, "Viltu ekki slást í för með þeim?"
He understood the intention. Loke shook his head No.
She made a thoughtful face, looking down then she used both of her hands to gesture to the longhouse. As if showing it to him then she said in a very slow way, "Langhús." Like one would try to teach a child the word.
He leaned towards her, "Longhouse." He spoke lowly yet flatly.
"Long-hús." She repeated.
He realized how similar those two words actually were. Hm. Loke slid his arm under hers and took her by the crook of the elbow then with his other hand he pointed to a different building.
"… Langhús." She spoke dully. Okay, well it was not like he could tell most of these primitive shelters apart, "Oh!" She seemed to have an epiphany. Pointing to the first longhouse, "Veislusalur Long-hús," then to the second building he'd pointed out, "Long-hús. Nágrannar mínir eru heima." This started a trend, one he intended, of them walking and her pointing to buildings saying what they were. Thankfully not all of them were longhouses. He could tell what some of them were used for. One held chickens, another seemed to be a root cellar, and when she opened the door of one building to show him the inside the aroma of curing game meat came unpleasantly. There was one thing he noticed that was not here last time he was and that was an outer wall, log palisades built up between them and the forest. He pointed to it as they got closer to the opening that allowed them passage between the barrier to go in and out of the village.
She gave him a side-eye. Moving her arm from his, her hands held up to her mouth making mock fangs with her pointer fingers. The woman let out the most adorable growl raising her lip a bit like showing off her mock fangs, "Fóðesk ulfr í skóge." Then she pointed to him.
Oops. The Wolf Lives in the Forest. He must have had an impact on their legends from that night. He gave her a cheeky and wide toothy smile. He had meant it to be more apologetic looking, though he was not truly sorry and his amusement showed.
She stood at the threshold of the wooden barrier, staring out towards a trail that detoured from the main path and vanished into the snow-blanketed woods. Was she scared of the tales being told about a wolf? The woman turned to him making that shooing gesture again, then she pointed to the largest longhouse that was still going strong with celebration, "Ég sný aftur heim áður en myrkur gleypir skóginn. Ættingjar þínir eru þar."
Loke shook his head No again.
"Shoo-shoo." She not only made the shooing gesture but the noise this time too.
He frowned; how dare she try to shoo him like a child. He would return to his brother, if at all, as he pleased and he was not wanting. Loki stepped toward her all but glaring down his nose – his mood had changed at the realization that she was treating him like another lowly Midgardian. She was holding her ground, even so, he could see the way her fingers balled into her skirts, he put his head next to hers in a manner that they could still see each other's eyes, "You think it is wise to tell Loki to shoo?"
"Fylgið mér ekki eins og bölvun." Her voice was low and while annoyed held solemn notes. He knew the word: bölvun as curse and: ekki as me. Nonetheless, it was easy enough to figure out she'd just insulted him as a curse. Her form swiftly turned and trekked down the trail into the woods.
Loki followed.
Although the trail was thin it was obviously traveled often. The woman knew her way around the trees that were heavily burdened with snow. Tall mountain alders and densely packed junipers cast shadows as dusk came settling to the valley, he was losing sight of her slowly but surely as her pace quickened. He heard a thump as one of the trees dumped snow – it was just around the next set of shrubs causing him to trudge through the fresh powder. She had vanished from the trail for what he could see beyond. His head turned left then right, eyes scanning over the darkening woods. Had she knocked that snow on purpose?
Loki wandered around the immediate area for only a few minutes before catching her tracks in the deep snow. Following them they lead him right to the doorstep of a small winter-tough moss-covered hut. A thin line of smoke coming from a crooked stone chimney. He would have pushed the door open and let himself in yet, upon the door was a rune. One that was etched very crudely causing the wood to splinter uglily and stained with what he suspected was animal's blood. The rune was protection from mischief. More specifically from the god of it. It was not as if it actually did anything against him… it was a childish and primitive notion.
However, it made his heart hammer painfully. His eyes were wider in disbelief. He felt paralyzed to the spot. His emotions were rapidly shifting between anger and hurt. She had called him a curse many times – maybe she truly thought that. Why would she laugh with him, act as though she did not care if she were around him? And he realized: she did care. She'd always been hesitant with him.
His mouth opened and then sealed shut into a scowl. Loki turned around having only gotten several feet away struggling mildly against the deep snow in his state of frustration before he heard the door creak open in the otherwise silence of the forest.
"… Loki," her voice called with that same hesitance, and when he turned his head over his shoulder to get it over with, to have her tell him never to come back, he saw that she was holding up a glass bottle with the bottom wrapped in wicker towards him, "Megi Jól ykkar verða ánægjuleg." Her smile was small and she averted her eyes to the door and then down after a long moment. She set the bottle outside her door and then slowly closed the marred wood.
"Brother!" Thor's chipper voice called out to Loki when Loki came treading into the longhouse.
People moved from his path and he took a seat near his fellow Asgardians. Kicking his feet up on the table and tossing a half-drank bottle with a wicker bottom at Thor, "Hello brother." His face was coated in shades of red. The bottle had been bitter with strange, sweet notes at the end but it was certainly many times stronger than typical grape wine or mead. He was in no state to even begin to regret drinking half of it so quickly.
"Another gift?" Thor held the bottle and sniffed it before taking a large gulp, he made the same face Loki did at first drink due to the bitterness, "… Well that's… Ahem. Strong." Thor held the bottle out to the woman who seemed to know most of their language in this village.
"Einivín. Systir mín bjó þetta til fyrir þremur árum…" Her eyes cast at Loki for a moment before going back to Thor and offering the wine back out without drinking herself, "Juniper vín. Drink. Gleðileg Jól."
It was from Sif that Loki learned the word: Jól, (or Yule). Celebrations of the Wild Hunt and Odin were held in Midgardian winters. From what translations they could gather the multicolored auras in the skyline were said to be his father on the hunt. It was not necessarily a gift-giving holiday and they found that as the night went on there were some stranger traditions involving twigs and blood that were observed. Reminding him once again of how simple – gullible – in their evolving religion these people could truly be.