Chapter 32
Endless waves of white. Here I am again. It feels like just yesterday. How could I ever leave? Nothing else has ever been.
I open my eyes. No inkling as to where I am. It’s dark.
“I want to go back.”
Eyes seek rest. My head lulls to the side. I am allowed in.
White in all directions. Existence without question. Wrapped in eternal pulsations. This is where I was born. This is where we all yearn to return.
A green sliver rises in my vision. My mind is activated by its appearance. Kilda wakes up. Green is not supposed to be here. I slip. I fall.
Dark waters surround me. I think I could breathe if I wanted. But I don’t need to. I lift my head. Liquid pours down my sides.
“She arrives.”
A woman’s voice from all angles.
“She will arrive,” chirps a lighter voice.
I open my eyes. Gasping. No air. Three women stare. They sit on gnarly roots. Titanic, gnarly roots.
“She was always here,” says the oldest one, an old crone.
“Dearest Urd,” says the one in the middle. “So why does she appear before us?”
They are all wearing the same dress, tied together at the bottom of the skirt.
A long stick is held by the old crone and the teenage girl on the other side.
The woman in the middle wields a knife, carving into the stick held by the others.
She doesn’t look at her work. Her eyes are locked on my face.
I try to speak. A bubble rasps my throat. I can’t breathe.
“She will speak,” tweets the youngest one.
“She wasn’t the first,” says Urd, her wrinkles moving like waves across her face.
“Nor the last, but she is just right for the moment,” says the carving woman. “Welcome, girl.”
“Yes, Verthandi, she is welcome,” says the crooked old lady. “How long it has been. Fresh blood, old body.”
The teen flashes angry eyes at Urd.
“What more will you say to hurt?” she snarls at her elder. “Wodnaz will never return.”
“Dearest Skuld, he was here. I know,” replies Urd as she taps her temple, unmoved by Skuld’s aggressive tone.
“Forgive my sisters,” says the one they called Verthandi. “They forget to appreciate what is in front of them at present.”
“No worry,” I croak out, shocked that I can speak.
“She spoke!” shouts the crone.
“She will speak again,” says a smug-looking Skuld as she shakes her head at the ancient Urd.
“Where am I?” I blurt out.
“See?” says Skuld. “She will ask more questions.”
“They always ask the same thing,” laughs Urd.
Verthandi’s hands keep carving into the wood—perfect patterns of leaves, serpents, wolves, and runes. Not once has she looked down at her work. I am spellbound by her movements. My body is not my own. I cannot control my muscles.
“Look around you, dear Kilda,” says Verthandi. “You walk where your ancestors did, and where your—”
“Descendants will,” says Skuld eagerly, giving me the playful look of a teasing teenager. “I knew you would say that, Verthandi.”
“Focus on what the girl asked, Skuld,” says Urd, shaking her head. “How many times have you completed folk’s sentences?”
Urd raises her eyebrows, lifting the weight of innumerable folds of skin. I can see her eyes glitter at me from beneath her wrinkles. Who are these women? Skuld scoffs in response to Urd’s accusation.
“You never change, Urd.”
“And you are never the same.”
“Sisters, please,” says Verthandi. “Give a second for our guest to soak in the situation at hand. Where do you think you are, Kilda?”
I know the answer. I know because when I look up, the trunk of the tree the three are sitting on stretches endlessly into the heavens. It rolls off my tongue.
“Yggdrasil,” I whisper under my breath.
“Yggdrasil, she said,” wails the old crone.
“We will never escape our beautiful Wodnaz,” says the teenager with a grin.
Verthandi, her gaze unmoving, speaks firmly.
“The ash tree’s pain cannot be carried by men. Its true name is forgotten, because Odin the terrifying rides our horse—it’s the only thing humans speak of.”
“They will keep doing it forever,” says Skuld happily.
“They have been doing it forever,” concludes Urd.
“Because Odin offers his life only to Odin,” nods Verthandi.
“He might offer his life to me,” giggles Skuld. “Then he could ride me too.”
“Insolent child,” barks Urd. “You have already tried to charm him.”
“Dusty bitch!” shouts Skuld.
“Horny pup!” replies Urd.
“Sisters, enough now!” reprimands Verthandi. “Forgive us, Kilda, we don’t get many visitors.”
“We have been working so much,” says Urd.
“We have so much work to do,” says Skuld.
“They speak the truth,” says Verthandi. “We are so busy, so busy.”
“She will ask a question,” squeals Skuld with pleasure.
“I haven’t seen you so happy since Odin came to visit,” teases Urd.
“Wodnaz is still searching,” concludes Verthandi. “But now Kilda searches too. Ask, young one.”
My eyes shift between them. I have no choice. My lips move without my command. Without my will.
“You see who I have been, who I am, and who I will be,” I say.
The ladies answer in unison, perfect harmony.
“We do. It is decided.”
More words come bubbling from the depths. But I refuse. This is a dream. I have to wake up. I try to shake my head. I need control. I am no one’s slave. Not Sigurd’s, not Vidar’s, not Odin’s. I am not the slave of these three crazy women. Carving to no end.
Fire builds in my chest—waves crash against the cliff. I rip myself out of the chains. I am Kilda. I will stand.
“What’s…” I struggle to speak, fighting to formulate. Resisting the urge to swim with the flow of water, to carve with the grain.
“Never been done…” mutters Urd.
“She won’t do it…” mumbles Skuld.
This sensation has to be released. A deep growl escapes my throat as I force my own voice to shine through the murky waters. My blade cuts through. My fire burns the forest.
“What’s the fucking point then?” I scream at them.
My eyes are wide, my teeth are bared. They have always known. They will know. They know now. I’m like a fucking animal. I am Kilda. Kilda the Wild.
“What’s the fucking point?” I repeat, my voice hitting shrill high notes I didn’t know I could produce. “Tell me!”
Urd opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it.
“Not yesterday!” I howl.
Skuld breathes in to speak, but I beat her to it.
“Not tomorrow,” I shriek.
I turn to Verthandi. Her eyes are still on me. Not once has she looked away. She has never even blinked. She is constant. She never stops. Her hypnotizing gaze calms me down.
“Tell me now,” I whisper.
Verthandi slams her knife into the stick, leaving it standing. It destroys her planned pattern. She stands and raises her arms to her sides.
“She arrives!” she shouts. “She speaks! We witness your choices shaping your fate. You try to break the chain. You are not the first, nor are you the last.”
Anger boils in my chest. Flames of fury sear my tongue as I speak.
“What’s the fucking point!” I scream at her.
“Red blood flows!” screams Verthandi, so loud that I fall backward. She levitates in the air, like a raven riding a still, nonexistent wind.
“Red blood flows! Blue waves crash! Green mountains topple!”
She breathes deeply. Her eyes release chaotic sparks of an ancient magic no man has witnessed. Verthandi slings her hand forward and I rise into the air, unable to resist the forces unleashed on my body.
“Odin tries. Futility. You try the same. You fail. It is your choice. No one decides.”
She flips her hand. I am turned upside down, helplessly suspended in the air like some slaughtered deer hanging from a tree, waiting to be skinned. Urd and Skuld both grin at me. They know secrets I will never understand. Secrets only known by the dead and the unborn. I am of the living.
Verthandi clenches her fist. Pressure builds up within me. Pain rips through every inch of my being. My body might explode. My skin will tear. My bloodied innards will pour out over my face. Everything is red.
“You. Have. Chosen.” Verthandi’s voice darkens as it rings through my head. I’m not sure I have ears anymore. “You have chosen.”
The pressure subsides. My body is gone. I must be dead. A whisper cuts through my mind, or rather, my mind cuts through a whisper.
“The giants walk again.”
All black.