by K. T. Tomb
Cash saw Grettir the Strong make a speech. She heard the words, but didn’t understand them. He spoke the Shetland Scots dialect with a much stronger accent than Inga had and the wind blew away half of what he said. At the end of his speech, he raised his ax and he received a roaring acclamation. He jumped down and took a torch from one of his guizers. He threw the torch onto the ship and then torches were thrown from everywhere around the ship. It looked like a rain of fire hailed down onto the ship’s deck from the dark.
The magnificent longship burst into flames and the men and women began singing another song. Cash could already see the bottles being handed around.
When the squads began to disperse and find their halls for the feast, she didn’t know what to do. She had gone there looking for something, but had not found it. She had seen the climax of the celebrations, but she didn’t find what she was in search of. Suddenly a soft male voice began to sing not far away. And she knew the song this time. She had heard it before.
Freya fled from Asgard's halls, flew to Vanaheim's land
Snares and traps by Loki set, slandering her name
Sighing she quit Sesrumnir, seeing naught but distress
For Vanaheim she fled, Frey's mother for to seek
Njord's former flame she found, friend and mother to herself
Hymir's draught to drink, brewed that day before she came
A soft place as a seat and, smouldering warmth of the hearth
A cloth to dry her cold knees, her calm mother gave her
Her heart for to heal, Hörn poured out her soul
The young woman youthful, yearned for her home
Hunting grounds of home, the home of the Vanir
Elf home and Elf house, she hoped of returning
Her demand her mother denied, demanding her return
To the ancient halls of Asgard, Aesir she was now
The war neither lost nor won, willing they agreed
And Frey, Freya and their Father, found themselves
But Loki soured all with lies, lamented the Golden
With tales of terrible lust, lasciviousness unseemly
Of deeds done with dwarves, despairing to the Gods
Who knew not how or why, the woman was so wild
Nor did Freya know, now or ever knew her soul
Whether it were tame or wild, Wife knew how to find
The true name of her nature, need for medicine
To seek her own soul, her spirit to find
The Falcon Cloak she found, feathers of white
Hung from the High One's Gallows, hers to find
And hers to keep to herself, the horse of Elves
And Freya herself found, flying on magic wings
Where ever she wished, through worlds all nine
Never through the known, needled world of men
Or Fields of Gods or Foes, free from flesh she soared
Of bonds and boundaries freed, Birka stood her course
'Till she eventually turned back, to her trembling body
Dropping her feathered dreams, down from the heavens
Donning her cloak of down, the dame learned at will
From the Vanir's fields she went, flying to the walled land
She shared then her secret, with the shaman of the Gods
Who kept her confidence, yet couldn’t keep the secret
No secret should one know, not if others should not
And Loki changed to learn, the lesson of the Falcon Guise
So it happened that Hörn, happened upon her Guise
Of flying Falcon feathers, found in the world beside
And Terrible One could travel, with time stood still
He learned from the life goddess, who learned from life itself
In the shadows of an alley, she saw torchlight glinting off an eye. And when someone passed the alley, she recognized the man. It was Harbard. Half his face was hidden by his long hair and his hat, but he blinked, nodded to her to follow him and turned away. He walked down the alley and Cash followed.
It was short and she came out the other end within seconds. She was at the outside of the town and she looked around for the man, not seeing him. Finally, she spotted him. He was walking down to the shore, and Cash followed him.
She couldn’t catch him, but she kept sight of him in the dark. His frame stood out in the moonlight and she saw him move through the shadows of the boulders. She followed him, not knowing what was happening, but she knew she had to catch up to him. Paddy was calm again, his head resting on her shoulder and his arms around her neck. He breathed softly, but she knew he was awake and looking for the same thing that she was.
After a while, the man headed up a slope. At the top, she saw him wait. He stood still for a moment, then struck his staff thrice on a rock she couldn’t see. She rushed to scramble up the hill too. By the time she made it to the top, the man was gone.
Below her, in a small hollow, there was a stone hut. She looked around. The place felt desolate and foreboding. There was something eerie about it, yet she felt like she should go down there. Carefully she picked her way down the small slope and walked up to the stone hut. She smelled the smoke of a wood fire that funneled out of a hole at the top of the structure, and saw the light of the fire through the open door.
She walked in and saw the man sitting at the far end of the fire, his head bent down, looking at the flames.
“Who are you?” she asked, stepping in through the low door.
“Harbard,” he answered.
“Is that really your name?” Cash asked.
There was a chuckle of laughter. “I have many names.”
“What's your real name then?” Cash asked.
“Does it matter?” Harbard motioned to a spot by the fire. “Sit down.”
Cash sat down and looked at him. She reached behind her, feeling the foot of her boy on her back.
“He's asleep,” the man said. “Your foal will be fine.”
The remark took Cash by surprise. Something about the word ‘foal’ struck her.
Harbard held up his closed hand. “You came here to find out about dreams and visions you've been having. Dreams and visions you've been having without knowing them. You see them and then you lose them.”
Cash nodded. It was true. She had put no words to it, even for herself, but she knew it was the reason she was there.
“And you are trying to find out how you can be home and run at the same time. You are trying to find out how wise you are and how you can continue to grow and give life to the world without taking it away at the same time.”
“How do you...” Cash began to ask.
Harbard shook his head and nodded to his closed hand. He opened it and Cash saw there were two things in his palm. There was a small arrowhead and there was a small amount of powder.
Cash took the arrowhead in her hand and then looked at how she could pick up the powder. But there was no way she could. There was only one thing she could do with it. She licked the powder off the man's hand and then, without even thinking about it, she stabbed her own palm with the arrowhead. She looked up at the man and saw he had looked up at her. She finally saw his face. It was a strong face with a long beard and framed by long hair. He had a long nose, thin lips and a high forehead. But the part of his face that drew her attention the most was the gaping hole where an eye had been. And she knew that face, even though she had never seen it before. She knew who Harbard really was.
The eagle grabbed the cat in its claws and flew up. The cat struggled, hissed and tried to break free, but it gave up the moment the eagle took it over the trees. The foal looked up from the ground and the cat felt a pang of sorrow and regret. It knew it would have to return there. And it would too.
The eagle soared high and took the cat up high. It took the cat above the clouds and then it swooped down again. It plummeted down to the ground with dazzling speed. The cat knew they had gone straight up and were heading straight back down, but when it looked down
, it didn’t see the same forest it had left. Below them was another world. There were halls there, green fields and trees. The cat saw a wall below them, ringing that world. It had a single gap where it had not been completed and the eagle swooped down and ran the gap.
They flew over an orchard with golden apples and past a golden hall, its roof made out of shields, its pillars made out of spears. Beside the golden hall there was a large brown space, open and clear. There was a tall towering building, stout and sturdy and surrounded by green and lush fields. There were forests and hills and mountains. There was a fortress that stood on the edge of this world and a rainbow stretched out beyond it. And in the middle of the world, a tree stood. The tree was tall and leafy and full of life. The cat recognized it as an ash. It looked down for the roots, but couldn’t see the buttressed wood that normally supported the great ash trees. It was only then it realized it didn’t just stand in that world, it ran through it. The roots were not in that soil, but far below it.
The eagle flew around the tree, banking and circling it. There was a rooster on a branch and it crowed in recognition. A squirrel ran up to it and then rushed down again, scampering along the branches and the trunk of the tree.
The cat thought they would land on the tree, but they didn’t. Instead they banked again and the eagle flew to the foot of the mountains. On one side of the mountain, high up was a throne. It was there and it was obvious. Nobody occupied the throne.
Below it there was a hall. It looked large and comfortable. It was very different to the great golden hall they had passed. It looked homely. There were shields all around the walls, giving it an impression of warriors, but it didn’t look warlike.
The golden hall was a masculine place, it was obviously so, but this place looked and felt feminine. It felt like this was a woman's home and a woman's realm. It was not the home of a king, but of a queen.
As they descended, the cat saw warriors and shieldmaidens walking around the ground. They were busy exercising and practicing, they prepared a meal and a column of warriors headed out over a well-traveled track toward the golden hall.
The eagle swooped down toward a window and flew through, carrying the cat with it. It dropped the cat on a table and then it flew back up and was gone.
On a seat before the cat sat the Golden Woman. She was busying herself with some sewing. The cat had not thought the woman would do something like that and it padded closer for a better look at what she was doing.
The Golden Woman looked at the cat and with a smile she showed it what she was doing. The white cloth had blue stitching in it. There were spots of red everywhere, small red dots where the woman had pricked her finger and the blood had seeped into the cloth. The patterns were intricate. They didn’t make sense to the cat, but it knew they were runes. Or rather, they were rune spells. The cat could sense the magic of the item and it was again impressed by the woman.
“So he's finally brought you to me, has he?” the Golden Woman sneered.
The cat didn’t understand the comment, but it pushed its head into the woman's hand and purred.
“It was about time,” the Golden Woman said, petting the cat. “The Norns have decided you would come here and finally find the last part of yourself. You are a wise one, but your wisdom is unharnessed. You need to find the way to fly rather than run. You need to learn to soar and see the world anew.”
“Is that what I'm here for?” the cat asked with Cash's voice.
The Golden Woman nodded. “That's what all women can learn, but which few do. Most stay put, tying themselves down or letting themselves be tied down. Many others run and keep running, but for you it was time to stop running. Most stop running and stay put in one place, but your destiny was never to be like that. Your destiny has always been to learn to soar. So you came here.”
“But how do I do that?” the cat asked. She sat up straight and stared at the Golden Woman's face.
“You find your wings.”
And the cat then knew what it was looking for. It was looking for the Falcon Cloak.
“If you can soar, you will be free. And the Norns will connect the line of your child to that of the Terrible One.”
“And then what?”
“And he will grow to be as free as you will be.”
The cat understood then why she had come. She had not just come for herself, she had come for the sake of her child. She would learn to soar so her child could be free and wise. There was but one question left to ask. Where would she find the Falcon Cloak?
The Golden Woman answered before she could ask. “Find the High Seat. From the Shelve of the High One, you can see all. You can see what you are looking for from there.”
“Am I allowed to be there?”
The Golden Woman laughed. “He brought you here. He'll not turn you away.”
The cat ran out. It ran like it had always run, but now it was not running away or running toward, it was running because it was running. It ran up the last feet of lush green grass, past the last of the flowers and then up the first gravelly and rocky feet of the mountain. Its paws slipped as the loose gravel gave an unsure footing. There was a tenseness as she ran up, slipping all the time on those low hills.
Soon the gravel gave way to bigger rocks and boulders and the cat stopped slipping. She jumped from one to another and went further up the mountain. She looked up and saw the Shelve coming closer. She looked down and saw the world below as clearly as she had ever done. There were hints of something beyond the wall now, but she couldn’t make out what was there.
She made slow progress, even though she kept running as fast as her legs would carry her. The rocks were tricky to navigate, but she had never expected it to be easy.
It took a long time, and the cat began to feel dizzy as she ascended. Exhausted, she jumped the last rocks and came out onto a plateau. In the middle of the plateau stood a throne. And on the throne sat a man. She looked up at the face and was shocked to recognize the long beard, the long nose, the high forehead and the single, shining eye.
“You're the High One?”
There was a grin on the face and Hair Beard patted his knee, inviting the cat to sit with him. The cat jumped up, forcing her tired legs to make that final jump. She looked up into that single eye and then looked down at her paws. She saw there was a bleeding wound in her left paw and she remembered she had stabbed herself there.
The High One smiled again. There was something in that smile that most people would probably find disconcerting, but the cat found it comforting. She knew that smile and she knew what lay behind it in the masked face. “Look,” he said.
And the cat looked out.
Below the shelve, there was not one world, but there were nine. She saw dark and desolate lands, fertile and bright lands, rocky outer lands, fiery lands and a land in the middle that she seemed to recognize. She saw cities there and forests and hills.
The cities were deserted, save for a few lonely animals. The forests were alive with all sorts of life. But the one thing she didn’t see was man. There were no people anywhere in that world.
“The Men of Midgaard live in their own world. Only they who can see through the veil can be seen from here, unless you look for them.”
The cat looked at the High One, puzzled.
“The world you see is the Other World, the Spirit World which you are a part of. Everyone has a spirit that lives here, but few ever find it. You have, and so has your son. You see your man here too, but he does not know himself. He does not live here. I doubt he ever will. But your other self needs him and will always need him. You have wanted to run away from everything, including him, but that is because you didn’t know this self. You can run here and if you look yourself out here, you can fly and soar, where your other self cannot. You will dream and find wisdom here. This is the world of the mind and the spirit, the world of the soul and the world where wisdom flows like a stream.” He prodded the cat. “Look again.”
The cat looked again and saw t
he Middle Earth change before her eyes. She saw the familiar forest change into a landscape she knew too. She saw the small island with the fairground and she saw the cities rise out of the earth and grass. She spotted the boar standing between two concrete walls and she saw him change. She saw the boar change into Tim and she felt a twitch at her heart, feeling the keen affection she held for him.
She looked north and found the island and the hut and the fire. There she saw her own body and she saw the foal, which turned into Paddy, her boy. She looked up and then stared down at the ridge below the Throne. Her gaze fell down from there and swung to the base of the tree. And she saw what she had been looking for. Down by the side of a well, there was the Falcon Cloak.
“Go and get it,” the High One said. “It's yours.”
And without running this time, the cat found herself by the side of the well. She reached for the Cloak and grabbed it. She tried to put it on, but she couldn’t manage it. She felt a pang of despair, but just as she was about to cry her frustration, she heard a voice.
“The water holds the wisdom you seek.”
She looked around and found the source of the voice. It was a head that sat by the edge of the well.
“You give to the well, you can drink from it. You drink, you'll learn the last bit you need. It will unlock the stream of wisdom for you.”
“What do I need to give?”
There was a vague look from the head. It looked as though it would have shrugged, had it still had shoulders.
But the cat knew already. She dipped her bleeding left paw into the water and saw the water turn, not pink but golden. She lapped up the mead and closed her eyes. She knew what to do then. The Falcon Cloak was around her shoulders and she was tall and strong. With a single move of her wings, she was in the sky. She soared and soared and whooped with joy. She circled and flew.
She circled above that world and then flew into the Middle Earth. She circled the island first and then raced over the big island and over the continent. She saw a sea without tidal waters and flew over another continent with lush woods and great deserts and plains. She soared over the sea and flew down to a land she knew well. She passed over the red sands and the bush and found the places she knew between the vineyards and the pastures. She went north from there and flew over Vinegar Hill. She blinked and saw there what she had seen in a vision long ago. She saw the lonely man tending to the wounded on the floor and the redcoats closing in on him.
