Author's Notes:
My aim for Thora/her point of view is a mix of old and new with extra flavour.
If everything is underlined/bold, I'm having issues with the doc manager on the app, and it keeps doing it even after I fix it. If not, then woo-hoo!
I've added a little glossary of non-English words in this chapter. If this helps, let me know, and I'll add a glossary to all the chapters. Again, I am not multilingual, so don't expect linguistic perfection.
GLOSSARY
Old Norse
(Þ - th) (ð - th) (æ - ah) (ø - oo)
Noregr: Norway
Svíþjóð: the Svear people Svealand Sweeden
Snæland: Snær(snow) Snowland Iceland
Raumelfr: Raum(loud noise or thunder) Elfr(River) Glomma River in Norway
Skeggøx: Skegg(beard) Øx(axe) = bearded axe.
Hangaroc: a wool apron-like outter dress
Serk: underdress
Álf: elf
Túnsberg: older form of Tønsberg, the oldest town in Norway
Skagerrak: the strait connecting to the North Sea
Garðshólmi: old name of Húsavík, a town in Iceland.
Reykjar-vík: Reykr(Smoke) Vik(bay), Reykjavík, capital of Iceland.
Minn: my
Silfr: silver
Jól: Yule = Christmas
Horses:
Svaðilfari Stallion owned by the Jötunn that built to walls around Asgard. Sire of Sleipnir.
Sleipnir Odin's multi-legged horse and offspring of Svaðilfari.
Thrumstígandr Thrum(thunder) - stígandr(swift/wanderer)
Kolfax Kol(black)-fax(from faxi, meaning mane)
Vardøger something like a spirit dopplegänger and spirit gaurdian.
Skugga shadow
German
Mädel: girl
Bevor du erfrierst: before you freeze
French
Au clair de la lune: By the Light of the Moon. A French folk song from the 18th century.
Chapter 5: Winter Dreaming
Faster! I needed to run faster!
I held my red-dyed calf-skin boots, stuffed with my stockings, in one hand so they could no longer hinder my speed across the frozen forest floor, the cold never bothering me overmuch for the most part. My heart thundered within my breast like the wild beat of a drum I could feel down to my toes. In my other hand, I fisted the hem of the skirt of my woollen dress of pale woad above my knees so I could move freely with longer strides.
I'd been travelling homeward toward the southwestern shores of Noregr from Svíþjóð, where I'd book a passage to Snæland. I'd stopped, intending to make camp for the night, when my hunter came upon me once again. Separating me from Kolfax, my horse, who had all my things. Like my steed, I bolted. I'd only pray we'd find each other again erelong.
He is good, smart, and loyal. He'll find me eventually, I had faith.
The crunch of hard snow not far behind me had my heart stumbling in its thunderous rhythm, but I wasn't afraid exactly, though there was a hint of it. No, I was excited, exhilarated. This was a familiar game we'd been playing for weeks. Prey and predator.
He first found me not far outside of Signhildsberg in Svíþjóð, during my travels. Normally, the distance between Signhildsberg and my destination would only be a sennight, but I've had to double back more than once in an attempt to shake him off my tail.
Ducking, weaving, keeping my arm raised to avoid too many boughs and branches to the face, and leaping over more than one large rock and fallen tree, my chest heaved with each foggy breath as I heard in the distance where I might lose my pursuer. While playing cat and mouse was fun, I knew I could never allow myself to be caught.
My escape route came in the form of the Raumelfr, fast-flowing and thunderous. I could hear the rushing waters first. It wasn't until I drew closer to the thinning line of trees did I see it, glinting and glittering under the moonlight.
I pushed onward, between the last of the trunks of spruce and pine, until my foot slid on the thick ice that lined each rocky shore. Only the center flowed openly, and where I intended to cross. The river was wide, the gap betwixt the ice sheets far too large to jump across. Not in this body, anyway, and with my luck, I'd slip and fall in face first if I tried, breaking my ankle, or my head. Possibly both.
I went feet first.
I expected to feel the burning bite and prickling of frozen needles when I plunged into the frigid depths, but all I got was a vague sense of what I should be feeling but wasn't. Unable to give it much thought, I pushed off the stony bottom, breached the surface a moment later with a sharp gasp, and swam, struggling against my clothes and the current, floating downstream until I reached the ice on the other side. With difficulty, I used my forearms to crawl my way up and onto the frozen overflow until I could get to my feet.
While catching a much needed breath, I swivelled to take a moment and to get a glimpse of my pursuer as he stood on the other side of the Raumelfr. Even in the gloom, the light of the moon reflected off the snow all around us, bright enough to see him standing on the frozen bank, a dark figure against a white backdrop of snow as thick puffs of breath mingled in the cold night air. He had run hard and yet still failed to catch his quarry.
No weapons were drawn as he stood rigid on the other bank. His sword stayed sheathed at his waist, as did the skeggøx tied to his belt. Never once did he attempt to use the bow resting on his back in the times he had chased me. It was clear to me that he desired me to be whole and hale. For why, I had an inkling...
My mama often warned me of men and the things they wanted, the things they expected of women. She told me many a cautionary tale about it, and I've long since learned how right she was. I wouldn't allow myself to be caught by any man, I couldn't.
An agitated snort and stomp of a large hoof had me jerking my head towards the forest that lay before me to see the wet, shiny black pelt of my steed emerging from the tree line.
My smart and clever boy must have crossed the river before I even knew I would. He certainly earned himself a cup of ale the next time we found a town.
Gripping my skirt again, I trudged and slid my way across the slick ice to meet Kolfax at the bank. Tying the leather straps of my boots to the saddle and murmuring praises to him, I ran a palm along his side in comfort for the both of us. He was safe, and so was I.
I glanced over my shoulder back towards the álf, who was still observing me from across the rushing waters, fiercely and ardently. Never looking away.
Emboldened by the distance and the flowing river between us, I untied my belt to lay it across my saddle before opening the clasp and shrugging out of my soaked woollen overcoat. I was confident he wouldn't attempt to cross without risking me bolting again, or interrupting my disrobing in front of him. In no hurry, I removed the silver brooches pinning the straps of my hangaroc and place them in the leather sack mounted to my saddle. I let my overdress drop in a sodden heap at my feet before I stepped out to gather each garment up and wrung them out before throwing them behind the saddle.
Aware of how my wet plain white serk clung to my body, I shifted to the side so I could keep an eye on the álf who was now crouched, elbows on his knees and resting on the balls of his feet as he observed me. I leaned forward to swing my long silvery-white braid over my shoulder, squeezing rivulets of water from it before moving onto my serk. Peeling it from my damp pale skin, I pulled the skirt up and over my head with a little trouble until I stood naked as the day I was born.
The álf bit out sharp words I couldn't hear as they were drowned by the sound of the river. Standing once again, though I couldn't see the details of his face, I could tell he snarled as he stepped onto the overflow.
While feeling empowered by his desire, his need, trepidation still crept up every vertebrae of my spine with each step he took until he stopped near the edge of the ice. Less bold now, I hurriedly threw the underdress with my other wet articles over Kolfax's rump before I drew out my dry spare serk, slipping it over my arms and head, to pull it snugly over my ample frame. I slid my bare foot into the stirrup to hoist myself bestride the saddle. The wooden frame and leather creaked and flexed beneath as I adjusted myself. Kolfax tossed his head, pulling at his bridle with an impatient snort, more than ready to leave.
One last look at the álf, I tug the reins lightly toward the woods.
Something whizzed past us a few moments later and struck the first tree ahead of us with a thunk, startling both Kolfax and myself. An arrow sunk deeply in the bark of the coniferous trunk, something tied firmly to the shaft.
My hand flew to my own horse-bow as I swivelled in the wood and leather of my saddle to narrow my gaze on the stranger, who had slung his pony-limbed bow once more. I suppose it was never meant to harm me.
Drawing my horse so I could reach, I wrenched the arrow from the wood to reveal the strip of leather that bound the item to it. A beautifully carved and fine-toothed comb, wrought of ivory, with the handle inlaid with delicate silver knot work. A fine gift that would make happy any lady.
I then inspected the arrow itself, superior to anything I've seen thus far. Another gift? Unlikely, but I'd keep it all the same. It was nice, and I liked it.
Twisting in my seat, I smiled slyly at my hunter, whose pale hair was no longer tied back, lay about his shoulders. Making a show of my acceptance of the comb, I kissed the grooming tool before I slipped it into the bag that held my things. I then stuffed the rather fine arrow in my quiver attached to my saddle alongside my bow. I tied the leather thong with the other hair-ties at the end of my braid as well.
If he thought I'd return anything, such as the tie and arrow, then he was a fool.
For a moment though, I wondered if I should leave a token for him. A bead or bobble of mine. While I liked the idea of flirting from afar, I didn't truly wish to encourage the pursuit of a dangerous man, no matter how intriguing. Deciding it'd be best if I left nothing, I faced forward once more and clicked my tongue for Kolfax to walk on. Yet, I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder one last time to make certain he was still there.
He was smiling, I was sure. Nothing sweet or kind. But full of dark promises if he caught me.
Night turned to day, trees turned to candy-striped palms, and I sat in a giant teacup, floating down a flooded road near my old apartment on la Place Dauphine, in Paris. Beside me sat Kolfax as we ate cake by the fistful - yes, he had hands too - and sang Au clair de la lune when a dark cockerel with blonde plumage atop his head started to crow my name, loudly, and annoyingly.
"Thora!"
I jolted at the sound, my eyes flying open as I sat up. Blinking my puffy lids, I squinted, taking in my surroundings, trying to make sense of what I was seeing as the dreams and mind fog cleared slowly.
A thin blanket of snow covered everything in my yard, including the throw I was under, and by the lump at my feet, Arashi as well. The sky was still dark, but dawn wasn't far away, and the fire had burned to embers, which were still radiating warmth. Between that and my natural resilience to frigid temperatures, I wasn't terribly cold, if a little chilled.
"About time, Mädel."
Jerking my sleep-addled head, I found Zee's cool eyes peeking over the six-foot-high shadowbox style fencing between our backyards. Only the top half of his face was visible like the neighbour character from a sitcom in the 1990s.
"I've been trying to wake you for a few minutes. Get inside, bevor du erfrierst, Ketta. It's dangerous sleeping in the open."
"I'm fine." I yawned with a shiver, not helping my case. I've always had an easier time sleeping during the winter season. Crashing in my yard during a snowfall in combination with the fire and the mead... I wasn't surprised. One might imagine just how well I sleep back home in Iceland. Like a milk-drunk baby.
Or mead drunk baby, in my case. I hadn't had enough to be truly inebriated, but I certainly had a warm buzz only a few short hours ago.
Croaking, I asked for the time. "Half past seven," he answered.
"Gross," I mumble, disgusted at the hour. "Why are you up so early?" I ask, sliding out from under the blanket, shifting to the side to push myself to stand, my back and hips crackling and popping as I go.
Gods, I was getting old. While I found the snow nap refreshing, my joints did not.
"I'm opening the shop for Mercy all week."
"Ah." I yawned again, stretching, wondering if that meant more mischief on her end. "Well, doesn't that just sound awful." The idea of getting up before the sun wasn't something I liked to do. And no one could accuse me of being anything but candid and forthright. "I'd offer to help. Many hands make light work and such, but as you said, I should get inside before I freeze." And my warm bed was calling, but I wouldn't tease him by saying that, knowing he was awake fairly late last night as well, if his light was any indication.
He hummed as I took a step away from the chaise to gather my things, including the tome that somehow ended up on the ground - thank the gods it's charmed - and promptly fell as my foot caught in the blanket which was anchored to the lounger by a hefty Arashi who was far heavier than he appeared.
With a "woo!", I tumbled to my forearms and knee, singular, as my other leg remained tangled behind me.
"Graceful." Zee murmured flatly, but I was getting to know him well enough to pick up on his amused tones.
"Hush your schnitzel-hole," I grumble, deciding to spread my limbs out and lay belly-down in the snow. My face turned to the side as I soaked in the frozen earth beneath me, relaxing my body and mind, ignoring the snickering I was hearing above me.
"What an interesting book you have," he remarked.
"Yup." I sighed, stirring a dusting of frozen flakes away from my face before pushing to roll onto my back, blinking my tired eyes at Zee's grey ones. Was he standing on something? I could see, but just barely, all the while Au clair de la lune was still playing in my head. "What about it?" I asked.
He watched me for a long moment, possibly considering what he'd say to me, as I was doing much the same. "Nichts. I was just wondering what is said about me."
"Dropped some eaves last night, eh Squidward?" I knew it was a strong possibility he was listening in on Tad and my conversation. This only confirmed that.
"It is difficult not to with such a noisy ketta next door." He said coolly.
Crossing my arms, I frowned up at him. If he'd been privy to my conversation with Tad, then he'd know I defended him. The jerk.
"The next time Tad is needing a confidant because you've done something to upset him, I'll be sure to turn him away because of your sensitive ears." I sniped and watched as his brows drew down, no doubt in a scowl. I held up a hand before he said something to that. "I'd never turn away Teddy just to avoid incurring your rath." I amended. I had a habit of saying things to be biting when I was upset, even if I didn't mean them, and often corrected my words directly after.
His brows smoothed out again, seemingly pleased by that. His son was his world, and it showed. "Gut. Get inside, Ketta. I need to get ready for work. "
And I did, eventually. I waved him off with an 'okie-dokie' and then promptly crashed again right there in the snow. I was woken up not long later by Zee for the second time, who looked half amused, half annoyed. I did manage to get my things and amble indoors with a grumpy Arashi at my heels.
In my bed, I dreamed again, though I'd only remember the last little bit by the time I awoke.
I was back in Túnsberg, when it was still a semi-frozen town, with dirt paths between buildings of spruce, pine, peat, and stone. Steeply gabled rooves dotted the horizon until the land met the busy waters of the Skagerrak.
"Come, Thora." I heard my mother call as I took in the sights. Various peoples milled about, garbed in layers of colourfully dyed wool, linen and leather clothing, going about their lives; tending livestock in woven pens, hauling in fish and seaweed from the wooden boats onto the docks, haggling, trading, arguing, etc.
I turned, the hem of my green overcoat and red gown swirled at my ankles as I trod down the road to catch up with my mother and sister, holding my fox fur-lined hood to keep it from falling back as we walked into the cool spring breeze.
"You both must stay close at all times. It is not safe. We mustn't separate, my girls," chided Mother softly as she guided us through the town.
"Yes, Mama," murmured Thyra, a gloved hand clutching at the fabric of our mother's cloak. She was always the one to shy from strangers and clung to mother like a lifeline while I was always running off.
Mother pressed on, her long wheaten tresses spilt over the fox fur and of her red woollen cloak, swaying and flowing with every long stride. Her flaxen skirt of indigo kicking up a little with each purposeful step as she led us on. She wasn't a tall woman, but she held the bearing of a warrior queen, just like her mother, and her mother's mother before.
As we passed through the main thoroughfare, leaving the docks, making our way up the sloping streets, I took in all the sights and sounds of the market. I'd never seen so many people and things in all my life. Even Garðshólmi and Reykjar-vík couldn't compare. Both had been settled a few decades now, bringing new people in by boat and the settled families growing each year. Still, they remained mostly farming and fishing in a small community. Neither were as large or boisterous as Túnsberg.
While this town was still mostly farming and fishing, it was also a large trading hub, with multiple clothiers displaying fine fabrics and textiles. Jewelers with stalls glittering with bronze and gold bands, bracelets, beads, brooches, and beautiful combs of wood and ivory, along with various bobbles. There were smoked meats, baked goods, a smithy, and carpentry.
And of course, there were menfolk.
Old, young, short, tall. Some homely, some comely, mostly agreeable and pleasing to my eyes. But none had the beauty of my father. Many of them were watching us, avidly and unabashed. Though it happened often when we'd go into town back home, there weren't quite so many people, and mostly, it was the newcomers who couldn't help themselves. The townsfolk there knew us and remained respectful. Here, we were the newcomers.
There was one young man in particular, I recall now, tall, broad-shouldered, robust, and well-formed. He stood in the open-faced workshop of the smithy. A thick apron covered his trousers and the oddly fine-looking green tunic he wore. It was not something I imagined would be practical for work. The sleeves were tucked into a pair of leather gloves, protecting him from the hot shards of metal that flew with every hammer fall as he worked the alloy against the anvil. His pale hair, though tied back, was left unprotected, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Not far from him was another man, looking more like what could be best described as disgruntled, which appeared to me to be the real blacksmith and owner of the shop. The younger, handsomely dressed man seemed to be an interloper, possibly dissatisfied with the quality of work, and decided to do it himself?
I watched as we passed the workshop with interest. An interest that was returned when the younger man looked up from his work and froze mid-swing as his eyes roamed from my mother and sister, and stuck on me, pinning me in place with his cool blue-grey orbs. He didn't smile, but there was something inviting about him that had me stepping away from my family until a quick grip on my sleeve kept me from wandering.
"We may look later, my Silfr," said Mother as my feet moved on, but my head swiveled to glance back at the stranger while he straightened, his gaze never straying from mine until I faced forward once more as my mother continued. "Come now, and cease your dawdling. We're expected by Haakon." A cousin, however distant.
"My Silver", she used to call me. And "my Gold" was my sister, in reference to our very subtle colour tone differences and the only way, at the time, anyone could tell us apart. Where I was cool, she was warm.
My mother's "minn silfr" echoed through my head and my heart when I awoke, blinking back bittersweet tears. I missed her, and remembering her pet name for myself and my sister made my chest ache. She'd been gone a long time now. Often, my sister and I spoke of her with smiles on our faces, laughing about our antics and how we drove our mother to distraction. I hadn't cried for her in years. But her voice and appearance, even in my dream state, were so fresh and vivid in my mind that I gave in and wept like a baby.
I rolled out of bed near one and called my sister as I gathered my sketchbook and drawing pencils to put to paper my mother's face before the memory faded entirely. With the time difference of seven hours, it was getting onto dinner time for her.
"Hey," I greeted when her face appeared on my phone screen. A face that would have looked exactly like my own, if it weren't for the vertical scar bisecting her lips, slitting the left side of her mouth and tapering up her cheek to end just short of her eye. The long tear was rooted in the tangled mass of white, jagged cicatrix marring her pale shoulder and throat. The scarring ran deep, and into her larynx. She could no longer vocalise beyond rasps, and still, it wasn't enough to speak.
'Hi, ' she signed, bits of hay stuck in her knit shirt and white hair. Pixie style, a striking difference from my long shag. I did go through a short hair phase for a couple of decades. I suppose it was my sister's turn now.
"Just finished with the night rounds?" I asked, spotting more evidence of having been recently to the barns.
Thyra looked down at herself, picking at the dried bits of grass before chuckling. 'You try and try, but somehow, one always ends up bringing hay, straw, or shavings into the house. '
I laughed. "Very true. Even if you wore a hazmat suit, you'd still track it in. I found some in my underwear once, and I hadn't even done first rounds yet." The sheep, goats, chickens, and especially the horses at Father's estate were, in a way, a part of his hoard. A herd that descended from my grandmother's and mother's steed, Thrumstígandr, the sire of my black-coated Kolfax. If my mother is to be believed, they all descended from Svaðilfari, the legendary sire of Sleipnir. Though we cannot deny that they are all certainly something myths are made of. Skugga, the shortest of the current herd of the bloodline, is no less than nineteen hands. Far larger than any horse living on the island, outside of the herd. They are also powerful, fast, and tend to live nearly a century. I had Kolfax for ninety-odd years. The latest of his direct line is a three-year-old doppelgänger of Kolfax himself, so I named him Vardøger, his ghostly double.
"How is my boy, by the way?" I ask.
'Healthy and happily causing trouble. Nothing too serious, mind. But he likes to break things. His automatic waterer is enemy number one. His stall door is number two. He still hates being penned in at night while on the winter schedule.'
At the tail end of adolescence, Vardøger is a bit of a pip. "Hopefully, he'll mellow out some in the coming year." I pause, debating whether I should bring up my dream or not. "And how is father?"
'Sleeping peacefully. He hasn't woken yet, but he's beginning to shift. It won't be long now. If we are lucky, he will be awake by Jól.' Her fingers danced with the fluid grace as she signed with a soft smile. A smile I returned, this was good news.
"Speaking of Jòl, could you please send..." I pause, calculating a tally in my head. "About four or five thousand yards of yarn. I'm going to be making a couple jumpers." Always have extra what you need before beginning projects, just in case.
'Sure. I have some dyed from a couple years ago, though the majority are still raw and uncoloured. The wool and fleece from last season is clean but sitting in bags in the barn. I haven't gotten around to finish processing them yet. So, text me the colours and whatnot later, I'll see what I can do.' She said, hands flying with practised ease.
While father sleeps for decades at a time, my siblings and I take care of him and the estate in years-long shifts. Thyra, my sweet sister, preferred to take the bulk of the shifts, only venturing away from the island every now and then. She worked harder than any of us, managing the house, the land, and the animals, all while protecting Papa as he slumbered. "Is this for Tad?" she asked curiously.
"And his father."
She made an oh-face, intrigued.'The grumpy old guy you've only recently gotten on with? How interesting, ' she teased. 'What changed?' She sat down and set the phone beside her on a bench in what I recognised to be the mudroom, to continue removing debris from the stable before entering the hall. A somewhat newer addition to the main house. An improved version of the smaller boot room it used to be with a modern update.
"Changed? Not really, other than we're getting to know each other better. He's far less a crusty old codger now. He seems to like me well enough, and I him."
'High praises from you.' And she meant it, then angled the camera so I could see her face better as she smiled innocently. 'Should I be expecting a plus one for Jól? No, wait. Make it two. Can't forget Tad.'
"No. I doubt he'd be interested, and I doubt Papa would want him there."
'Why not? You very rarely bring anyone home, especially not a suitor.'
"Suitor? He's nothing of the sort. Don't hurt yourself jumping to conclusions, sister of mine. And papa would know who he is the instant he steps foot on the property, beyond the barrier." Of that, I had little doubt. Papa is older and more powerful than even Zee. Papa would know him for certain; I was sure of it.
'Gentleman caller, then.'
"That's the same thing! Which he is not!" I hissed with exaggerated exasperation. Not that I found the concept unappealing, and likely that was why I was feeling particularly flustered about my sister's harmless teasing.
Thyra pursed her lips, giving me an 'I don't believe you' look but moved on anyway. 'Who is he? You mentioned a while back that he was fae. He must be someone of note of Papa would know him.'
I hesitated, tipping my head. "Yes. But I can't tell you who. I don't have his permission. It is not my secret to tell." He did eavesdrop, but how much did he actually hear, I wonder...
'That's fair,' she said, moving from the mudroom, through the main hall to the kitchen, setting the phone down on the counter as she washed her hands.
"I can tell you, he's big." And by the raspy gasp, I hurriedly corrected my wording, flustered. "Not that way, you pervert. I mean, he could be, but I don't know. I haven't... we haven't... I meant he was a prominent figure... fuck."
She wheezed as her shoulders shook because she was laughing at me. Rude. After a few minutes, when we were both sitting comfortably with a drink, I went on. "I had a dream about Mama," I began as we sat quietly for another minute or two. From there, I told her what I recalled from my fading and fuzzy dream as I drew a portrait of a woman I hadn't seen in centuries.