Asatru

by Ariana Kenny

  ***

  She stroked my collarbone, neck and jaw as I stroked her hair. We sat in silence together, and I felt contentment.

  “I'm glad you decided to stay.” Was all I could muster to say. I was sated, relaxed, just pleased to have her there.

  “Me too. It's a shame to sell this place. I just can't stay here.” Natasha commented.

  “Don't worry, I feel the same, but maybe it's a way for us to start fresh.” She rose her head to give me a curious glance as I spoke.

  “I was just thinking that. Leave all of this behind us. We could go anywhere.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Anything you need, for Amber’s funeral. If you want me to do it, organize things.”

  “No. I need to do it, I'm her only family.”

  “We are her only family.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You keep looking at your phone. Are you expecting a call?”

  “I just am curious to see how things went at the therapist.”

  “What therapist?”

  “For Rachael. She was seeing some hypnotist.”

  “Don't go. Stay.”

  “I thought we were both going. To get away.”

  “We are.”

  “Then don't see her again. I want to leave this behind, not carry it with us. We have been given a second chance. We could have died in there.”

  “But we didn't because of her. I can't just cut her loose.”

  “You hardly cut her loose. You set her up with a place to live, cash - I saw our bank account and your rather generous withdrawal. I get it. You can be grateful, and leave her to sort herself out. You've done enough.”

  “But there is something else. I can't put my finger on it. Soemthing about the way she moved, the way she took those men on. I need to know what happened, where she came from...”

  “Please let this go.”

  “I will... I will...” I hated the ‘but’ in my voice. If I was aware, I knew she would be.

  “Promise me you wont see her again. There’s something not right about her.”

  “You’re just saying that because what you saw frightened you.”

  “No I’m not, but I don’t want you to obsess about her, there’s so much more we need to do. So much you need to get your head around. Planning the next few days, taking care of yourself, seeing someone – a counsellor, getting back to work.”

  “I keep thinking about her.” I said. “I can’t just stop thinking about her.”

  There was a stunned silence when I realised how that sounded. I turned around to see Natasha’s gaunt face. “I didn’t mean it like that….”

  My phone rang. It was Rachael.

  “I have to take this.”

  “Is it her?”

  “Natasha I won't see her, just speak to her, find out and that's it.”

  The phone rang again.

  “Natasha.” I hesitated, but not for long. She walked off. I took the call.

  “Hey. How are you? I can’t speak for long.....”

  “It didn’t work out.”

  “What do you mean.”

  “The therapist, hypnotist, whatever. It didn’t work out. He couldn’t get me to relax enough, then he tried to give me something, and I freaked out. Anyway, it wasn’t successful, Sam dropped me back at the house. I have a whole bunch of relaxation exercises and not much else to show for it.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “No more than I am, but at least I gave it a shot. I can go back next week.”

  “Will you be alright.”

  “Yeah. I'll be just fine. Things go well with Natasha?”

  “Much better than I thought. I'll call tomorrow. See how you are and let you know where we are staying. Ok?”

  “Great. Goodnight.”

  “I wondered out intending to promise Natasha the world. One more catch up with Rachael to finalise things and we could go wherever she wanted, but when I heard her car in the driveway as I wondered in to the living room in my pyjama pants.”

  Natasha was gone, along with her bag at the front door. A note was left on the bench. Don’t call me.

  I could have chased her car down the driveway. I could have called her name into the night but I didn't. I didn't even disobey the note. Instead I went back to bed and slept better than I had in what felt like forever. I loved Natasha but if she couldn't accept that I needed to see this through, finalise what had happened to us, I had to give her her space until I could give her that.

  When I first woke up I thought it must have been later than it was. The autumn sun streamed in the cracks around the curtain and I felt as though I had slept for a week. I propped myself up on my elbows and gazed around searching for the remote control. I might be awake, but I wasn't yet ready to make the great trek out of the covers. Not even for juice. I smacked the bedcovers trying to force the obstinate remote to reveal itself to me. I finally found it and turned on the TV embedded in the wall. Natasha had hated the thing. I turned it up louder. I would likely be making up to her for a long time with things like abandoning early morning TV. I was going to enjoy it while I could.

  It was only five in the morning. I suddenly felt tired again. The news was on. Death, politics, earthquake, more death. I groaned and collapsed back in the bed fumbling blindly through the channels waiting until some thing not too serious tweaked my interest.

  Some early twenties adventurist exploring early written languages across the globe came on. The enthusiasm in his voice was very nearly the most offensive thing I had experienced, but the topic was neutral so I tossed the remote on the floor. Who knew someone less than a hundred years old could get so excited over cuneiform.

  I rested my arm over my eyes for awhile before admitting defeat and venturing out of bed for the day. I showered, pretended to be bothered to dress, and switched off the TV just as the enthusiastic anti-me donned a beanie and cargo pants instead of a cap and cargo shorts.

  I wandered in to the kitchen, poured my routine breakfast juice, whisked some eggs, and pressed the plunger on the toast. Turning on the TV so I could watch while cooked. The bright eyed, keen nature of the adventuristic literature fanatic met me again, pretending to climb a mountain somewhere in middle Europe.

  You again. I commented judgingly on the young man. I glared at him as if it would actually mean something. Serves him right for trying to educate people at six in the morning. Jeez. I was losing my mind. As I scrambled my eggs, I saw it, one of the rune symbols I had seen in the police photos. Rachael had been hiding behind two symbols that didn't seem to have particular meaning to the event. "It appears to be nothing more than latent or cultural superstition" I had heard the older of the detectives mention on a call.

  I turned the sound up and forgot my eggs.

  An ancient language with mystical and spiritual roots, used in pre Christian society, and still implemented by pagan followers today. They have even become a staple for new age practitioners and Wiccans. This form of communicating in the basic principals of adapted pictographs is far from dead and buried. In fact, some cults and organisations are still deeply entrenched in the origins teachings of the contextual cultural practice, including the famed Asatru, purists in their area of worship and daily rituals or life principals of conduct. Asatru....

  I was called away by the smell of my burning eggs.

  There was a brief image on the TV of the man changing garbs again into a toga, and off to research something else. In between trying to save what was left of my eggs, and attend to the television, the phone rang.