Chapter 17
It’s dark out, or rather, it’s darker. The night is whiter here than it is farther south where my people spend most of their time. My people… no more. A dusky white light highlights shadows on every surface, giving the world a blue tint. Everything is visible, yet coated in a layer of mystery.
Knowing my dagger is safely tucked in my pouch, I walk briskly toward our meeting place. The stabbur is large, lifted off the ground by crisscrossed logs, to keep out both dampness and animals. Steps of stone lead to its door.
A shadowy figure appears from behind it, waving me toward him.
I can’t see his face in the dim light. Even if I know it’s Ari, a sliver of ice forms in my belly.
It’s not appropriate for young women to meet men in the middle of the night.
Would I be punished if we were discovered?
I simply don’t know. Perhaps my master would tolerate it.
Vidar would without a doubt be disappointed and lose interest.
As I come close, Ari grabs my wrist and pulls me gently away from the farm. No words. Just mystery. A snort escapes me.
“Stop, where are we—”
He holds a finger to his lips, then smiles through his beard.
Ari is a good-looking man, more handsome than Vidar or Narve—the white light of night somehow enhances this.
He could be Loki, the charming trickster.
His hair is unbound, hanging loosely on the sides of his face.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of entertaining me, I stifle a smile.
My nervousness blends with excitement. Where is the bastard taking me?
We enter the tree line. Darkness swallows us as we hastily sneak our way into the forest. I can hear his breathing, my own, our footsteps.
An owl hoots somewhere deeper in the trees, repeating its pattern again and again.
Ari turns to me suddenly, making me place my hand on my pouch, ready to grab my knife.
He could just attack me—he wouldn’t be the first man to assault a woman in the night.
But people would hear my scream. I remember the jarl’s words yesterday.
No one is to harm a hair on my head. Ari’s a mangy bastard, but he’s not stupid.
“Don’t you feel alive?” he whispers before grabbing my wrist again and pulling me farther.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Almost there.”
We keep going. I feel like laughing. Why does this feel like home?
Unseen, unheard, unknown. During the day, we wear our faces.
We are weighed, measured, judged. Alone in the night, I am the mist, a shadow, free.
One day I will be out in the open, free in the day as I am in the night.
I will not hide my face, proudly displaying who I am without lies, without remorse.
I do feel alive. Like Ari said. But I want to live. I want to be alive, always.
“Here we are.” He pulls me in front of him, like one would a petulant child.
Before I can complain about my treatment, he grabs my shoulders and leads me forward.
Trees disappear. It’s a large clearing, with several rocks scattered about.
A gigantic boulder stands in the middle of the space.
Breathtaking—shadows battle the bluish light that trickles down on us from a clear sky.
“Very nice, Ari. But why not show me during the day?”
“You would never say yes.”
“True.” I laugh. “What do you want with this?”
“I saw you with Thyra today,” he whispers. “Heard the exchange.”
“Oh great.” I turn to him, my hands on my hips. “And now you wrote a poem about it, no doubt.”
“Not yet, but I have some ideas dancing in my mind.” He laughs. “But no, that’s not it. Look on the ground.”
I look around. It’s dark enough that all I see are some bushes—I can’t even recognize what type they are.
“I don’t get what—”
“Come.”
He sits at my feet. His hand wraps around mine, tugging me down. What a strange man. A part of me tells me to resist, to fight his bizarre plan. He probably wants to charm me like one of his previous girls. Fuck the thrall and make her pregnant—a fun poem. They would all clap.
But I don’t feel fear. Ari has some serene energy about him, like he belongs out here. Without a mask. Like me. It’s like he also plays his role during the day, forced to go through the motions of life’s common activities. Here, in the dark, with Ari, I do feel alive. I want to live.
I sit next to him. He grabs my hand and turns it.
“Here,” he whispers, “taste.”
He places a few berries in my palm. His fingers stroke against my skin, sending a shiver up my arm. Goosebumps spread like wildfire up toward my neck.
“What is—”
“Eat, Kilda.”
I obey. Not as a slave, not as a thrall. As Kilda. I place the berries on my tongue. Strawberries. Gorgeous wild strawberries. An explosion of flavor.
“So good.”
“My favorite,” he says as he pops a handful in his mouth. “I heard you liked berries.”
“Oh, you heard that, did you?”
“I did.”
His teeth light up in the dark. I shake my head.
“I was just eating a couple with the girls.”
“I know.”
He picks strawberries from around him before holding them in front of me.
“For me?” I ask, unable to hide the playful tone in my voice.
“For you.”
“You don’t say a lot, for a renowned skald,” I say.
“I only speak when it’s necessary.”
“Like when I was in front of Asbjorn? Begging on my knees?”
“And his wife,” he corrects me. “I couldn’t help myself—inspiration was offered by Odin and Freya.”
“Don’t drag the gods into your degeneracy, skald.”
I pop the strawberries in my mouth. He laughs.
“Degeneracy, I like how you describe my work.”
“More than I like your work,” I reply while chewing. “Wow, these really are divine. A bit sour though, no?”
“They are best like that—some sourness to pair with the sweetness.” He turns to me, moonlight shining in his eyes. “Like people.”
“You like sour people?”
“I like folk with layers. A person may have many unlikable aspects we have to dig our way through before we get to the sweet treat at the center. Like your skirts.”
I smack his shoulder. Such a rude bastard. Yet my heart flutters at his raunchy flirting. He’s so direct, the opposite of Narve’s quiet longing.
“There will be no digging here, you horny skald.”
I stroke the bushes around me—strawberries all over.
I grab more and place them on my tongue, crushing them against my palate.
As a girl, mushing berries without chewing had been my way to eat them, a textured memory that lingers after all these years.
We sit in silence, enjoying the simple pleasure offered by the berries.
“Come.” He stands and reaches out his hand.
“No more eating?”
“You can eat all you want after I show you something.”
He leads me to the stone in the center and begins climbing.
“Just use the same route as me,” he says.
“I’m surprised you didn’t want to go behind me,” I say, making him turn to me confused. “You know, to look up my skirts.”
He laughs as he climbs onwards.
“All in good time,” he says.
“All in your dreams, rather,” I mutter. “I wish I had my pants.”
“Pants?” he stops.
“Yes, pants. Keep going!” I laugh. “Or I might fall!”
He arrives at the top, reaching out his hand and pulling me up the last stretch. I gasp. It’s unbelievable.
“What a sight,” I whisper.
“I thought you’d like it.”
The rock’s height allows me to see over the treetops, a carpet of green that continues down the mountain slope.
Beyond is the river, snaking its way down the valley and carving the soft, rounded mountains in two.
Large farms lie about on the other side.
To the left, the wide valley continues onward, eventually swallowed by a distant mist that invites the mind to delve into ancient mysteries.
“It’s like the veil,” I say.
“You believe in that?”
“You don’t? It’s known.”
“Old tales.”
“Aren’t you a skald?”
“I can see as much beauty in the reality of fog as in the myth of the veil.”
“You don’t believe in Odin, Freya, the Jotnar, and the rest?”
“I do. I just believe they are among us already.”
I smile. It’s a bit unorthodox, but beautiful, in its own way. Groa would probably laugh in his face. Who doesn’t know about the northern veil? Laid down by the gods to protect humans from their own curiosity and greed. How can a skald be so uneducated in the ways of the gods?
“So, are you looking forward to learning from the Volva?” I ask to break the silence. I instantly regret my question—the lack of words had been comfortable. A rare occurrence between people who don’t know each other yet. Narve always had to speak if it got quiet, to my irritation.
“You will learn from the Volva. I will learn from her husband,” he corrects.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t want to talk about it now. Try to enjoy the view.”
This man, such a riot of fun. I should have bitten my tongue. It was a nice moment before I interrupted it. I enjoy the view, as ordered, as well as the comfortable lack of words that stretches between us. Minutes pass.
“It’s chilly up here,” I say, stroking my arms.
He opens his cloak and wraps it around me, pulling my body closer to his.
“Hey, I—”
“It’s to warm you,” he says.
“No funny business then.” I hold a finger to his face.
“Never.” He smiles.
We stand for a moment, enjoying the view in silence.
Who would have thought I would be sharing heat with the mangy crow?
He’s not that bad. I find myself leaning my head on his chest. A powerful arm wraps around my shoulders.
His smell is masculine, strong. Narve smells of boy, soft, like milk, even when he’s sweaty.
Ari is a man. I’m feeling slightly lightheaded, not used to the intimacy of sharing body heat with strangers.
“So many strawberries,” I say. “Why don’t folk know about this and pick them?”
“They know about it,” replies Ari. “This is where most strawberries on your porridge come from.”
I pull away.
“You’re not serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You brought me to the farm’s strawberry patch? To eat its fruit?”
“I thought you were a thief?” he says with laughter in his voice.
“It’s not funny. Thyra humiliated me today, for eating berries.”
“So now we eat them in peace.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ari. Who do you think she will blame tomorrow?”
“Why would she blame you?”
Gods… he can’t be this blind. He was there when the woman slapped me. It has to be some form of sabotage.
“Are you slow? She hates me.”
“How will she prove it?”
“She doesn’t need to.” My body tenses, images of punishment flooding my mind. “By all curses, I can’t believe you did this to me.”
“I wanted to—”
“Just get me down.”
Thus ended this beautiful night. It began with a sense of freedom. A shared cloak of darkness. But tomorrow, in the light of dawn, I will be alone, and Thyra’s fury will burn my face. For I am a slave.
That mangy crow. Ari the Skald. Such a fucking bastard.