Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

  “Is this the way Emergence usually works?” Cele asked as she lay down.

  “You’ve been harder hit than most, but it’s come on you late.” Thora said. “And you’ve Exhausted yourself twice as well. There’s nothing to worry about. It won’t be long until this will all be past.”

  Cele slept until late afternoon. She hadn’t been awake long when another visitor arrived. It was Eirik, the skald.

  Eirik was less impressive without his beribboned tunic. He was thin and his beard scraggly, but when he spoke, Cele hung on every word.

  “I’ve heard a little of your adventures, my lady. Indeed, who has not? As skald to Kon Neven, I’m charged with keeping the histories and telling our tales. I’ve come hoping you’ll tell me your story and allow me to keep it alive.” He bowed and stepped into the room. He seemed taller and broader than just a moment before.

  Going over it all again was the last think she wanted to do, but she found herself thinking this might be a good idea. Then she remembered Gudrun saying something about Eirik interpreting stones and knowing hidden things. It sounded like superstitious mumbo-jumbo, like Ouija Boards and tarot cards, but then again, a week and a half ago she would have thought Talents were impossible, too. “Actually, I’m more interested in another of your skills,” she said.

  Thora looked unhappy. “Do you feel you need an augury, my lady?”

  “I think I need all the help I can get.” She felt foolish asking to have her fortune told, but life here was becoming more and more complicated, and her feelings more and more tangled. Gudrun and Dahleven. Jorund and Neven. If she could find a way home, she wouldn’t need to sort through the mess. The Daughters of Freya had promised to throw the stones for her, but a second opinion couldn’t hurt, could it?

  “I’m gratified by your confidence in me, my lady, and honored to be of assistance. Tell me what knowledge you seek, and I shall read the gods’ reply.”

  “I want to go home,” Cele said.

  “Of course you do. But your desire for knowledge must be spoken indirectly. The gods are not pleased by demands. They prefer gentle requests. Then they may share that which pertains to our mortal concerns.”

  Eirik’s smiling explanation soothed away Cele’s last lingering embarrassment about consulting the soothsayer. “What should I ask then?”

  “The mind drives the cart, but the heart is the axle upon which the wheel turns, is it not? And the heart is a lady’s natural home.” Eirik smiled, and Cele felt truer words had never been spoken.

  The skald produced a soft leather bag and shook it three times. The contents clacked and rattled. “We welcome the gifting of knowledge. Lady Celia seeks the path to her heart’s home.” He opened the bag. “Draw out a handful of stones and slap them on the table, my lady.”

  Cele did as directed. There were five flat, irregular stones of various colors. Four lay face up, revealing angular runes.

  Eirik put down the bag. “The gods have favored you, my lady, with a clear answer.” He stood close behind her with a hand on her left shoulder, pointing at the runes with his right. “A new friend offers a gift that will lead to happiness and a breakthrough. Perhaps to Midgard.” His breath tickled as he murmured in her ear.

  “Really? When? Which friend?” Does he mean Jorund? Cele turned to look at Eirik. His face was very close, but she didn’t mind.

  “Alas, the gods say no more than that. But you’ll know him when you meet. You’ll recognize your opportunity. You’re a most perceptive woman.”

  “Indeed she is,” Thora said, coming forward.

  Eirik smiled at Thora. “And a lucky one, too, to have you caring for her.”

  Thora continued forward and touched Cele on the arm. “Would you like to send for some refreshment for the skald, my lady?”

  Suddenly Cele became uncomfortably aware of how close Eirik was. She stepped away from him to a comfortable distance. He looked faintly surprised. Cele was surprised too, that his nearness hadn’t bothered her before. “Yes, please, Thora.”

  “Thank you, my lady, but I can’t stay. Perhaps another time.” He gathered his runestones back into his bag. “Thank you for allowing me to serve you. Please consider my request. I would be honored to tell your tale.” He bowed and slipped out the door that Thora held for him.

  Cele blinked as the door closed behind Eirik. “He’s quite amazing, isn’t he?”

  Thora frowned and narrowed her eyes. “You could say that, my lady.”

  Eirik’s interpretation of the stones ran through Cele’s mind again. Their meaning had seemed obvious just moments before, and she’d felt lucky that they’d spoken so clearly. But now, as she turned his words over and examined them, doubt that the gods, or Eirik, had said anything useful crept in. Her feeling of foolishness at consulting little bits of rock about her future returned in full force. She was surprised she hadn’t questioned Eirik more closely, but at the time everything he’d said made sense.

  Thora touched her shoulder tentatively, piquing Cele’s curiosity. She’d never seen Thora hesitate. “My lady, I—”

  A knock at the door made her break off.

  It was Ragni. Thora dropped a shallow curtsey as she let him enter.

  “Was that Eirik I saw leaving? What did he want with you?” He paused, then added with a bit of chagrin, “If I may ask? I’m not usually so rude, Lady Celia.”

  Cele returned Ragni’s infectious smile, but she felt heat rising in her face. What would a priest think of her seeking answers from runes?

  Ragni’s grin faded a little around the edges, but his voice remained light. “A secret assignation, my lady?”

  “No! Don’t be absurd,” Cele exclaimed. “He came to get my story, and, well, I asked him to tell my future. I hoped he might shed some light on how to go home. It sounds stupid, now.”

  Ragni’s smile returned in full force, easing her embarrassment. “Not so stupid. Priests and Jarls have consulted Eirik. Did he say anything helpful?”

  “I thought so at the time, but now it just seems like the usual vague stuff carnival fortune-tellers spout. ‘A friend will help me break through to Midgard.’ Or something like that.”

  “That doesn’t sound vague at all. It’s much clearer than the stones usually speak,” Ragni said.

  “Do you think it’s true?” Cele asked.

  “That’s not what the stones said,” Thora interrupted.

  Ragni’s brows rose high. “No?”

  The older woman knelt in front of Ragni with folded hands. “Father Ragnar, I am a loyal servant of Kon Neven. You know this to be true.” She looked up into his face. Her expression was anxious and urgent.

  At the invocation of his priesthood, Ragni shed his surprise and assumed a formal posture and tone. “Yes, I know that.”

  “Thora—” Cele began.

  Ragni silenced her with a lifted hand. “Go on, daughter,” he encouraged Thora.

  “I have a gift for scrying, Father. Against tradition, I have learned to read the runes. I tell you truly, Eirik misread the stones.”

  Ragni ran a hand over his close-cropped beard. “This is a serious matter, in many ways. Who taught you to interpret the stones?”

  “A woman long dead, Father.”

  Ragni was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed. Cele wondered if he would ask about Thora’s friends. She had a feeling that if he asked, Thora’s loyalty to Neven would force her to reveal the Daughters of Freya.

  “What did the runes say?” Ragni finally asked.

  “The way the stones were grouped, there were two parts. One stone stood apart, and urged caution in a new association, a reminder that action carries responsibility. The other three stones promised partnership, and new beginnings. A gift of harmony and transformation.” Thora took her eyes off Ragni and looked at Cele. “I’m sorry, my lady. The stones said nothing about travel or departure.”

  “That doesn’t sound so different from Eirik’s interpretation,” Cele protested. “He talked about new friends
, and gifts and a breakthrough. That’s like a transformation.”

  Ragni answered. “A soothsayer’s skill lies in his, or her,” he cocked an eyebrow at Thora, “understanding of the nuances of prophesy. If Eirik accidentally, or deliberately, misinterpreted the stones, his skill and integrity are in doubt.” He looked again at Thora. “This is an extremely serious accusation.” He paused, considering. “Did he use his Talent of Persuasion?”

  “Yes, Father.” Thora nodded.

  “Is that why his prophesy was so convincing?” Cele asked sharply. She felt stupid and gullible. “He used some kind of mind control?”

  Ragni ignored her question. “How is it you resisted Eirik’s Talent, Thora?”

  To Cele’s surprise, Thora blushed a deep red. “I…I have an amulet, Father,” she stammered.

  Ragni sucked in a breath through his teeth. “You are in deep, aren’t you?” After an instant’s pause, he asked, “Is it fixed and sealed?”

  “No! Of course not. No one died in its making.”

  Cele opened her mouth and shut it again, too confused to ask an intelligent question. What has death got to do with an amulet? What has an amulet got to do with resisting Eirik’s Talent?

  Ragni blew out a deep breath. “Thank Baldur for that. I had not thought amulets so common that huscarls wear them casually.”

  “They aren’t, Father. I know of only two others.”

  Ragni was silent. Again, the right question could expose the Daughters of Freya if he demanded to know who had them.

  Then he asked, “Is your amulet specific to Persuasion?”

  “And Presence, Father.” Thora winced.

  She looked startled when Ragni chuckled. “My father will no doubt be happy to know it’s his personality and position alone that inspire your loyalty.” He sobered and stared down at Thora for what seemed like a long time before he spoke again. “By your own admission, Thora Kannesdattir, you have violated tradition and the strictures of the priesthood by reading the runes and practicing unsanctioned magic. Rise and receive your punishment.”

  The older woman moved stiffly after so long on her knees, and Ragni reached out to help her. Once standing, Thora stood calmly without fidgeting.

  Ragni closed one hand over the symbol of his office, the purple bag that hung from his neck by an embroidered ribbon. He held it away from his chest, toward Thora. “I declare as a priest of Baldur, that in penance for your transgressions, you must relinquish your amulet…to Lady Celia.”

  Thora’s surprised expression mirrored Cele’s emotion, and then the older woman’s lips curled in a sly smile. She turned her back to Ragni and untied something from underneath the loose leg of her pants.

  Cele shook her head, nonplused. “What’s going on?”

  “Take this, Lady Celia,” Thora said. She held out a small black bag tied with a long ribbon and sewn with silver runes. “It will prevent the Talents of Persuasion and Presence from affecting you, and allow you to hear the words of those who use them without being swayed any more than your own reason permits.”

  Cele remembered Neven’s overwhelming Presence at the Feast of Fanlon, but it didn’t seem likely that Ragni would be arming her against his own father. It must be Eirik’s Persuasion he wanted her safe from, but she couldn’t see the skald as much of a threat. Nevertheless, she took the amulet from Thora and started to tie it around her neck.

  “No, my lady,” Thora stopped her. “Someone will see the ribbon there. Tie it around your waist, under your clothes, or some other hidden place.”

  “It will serve you better if people don’t know you have it, Lady Celia,” Ragni said. “It will protect the clarity of your thoughts, and by their failed efforts, you will know who has attempted to influence you. If others suspect you have such an amulet, they may not reveal themselves.”

  Cele nodded. “Turn around then,” she said to Ragni.

  It made too large a lump at her waist. Cele tied the amulet around her thigh as Thora had, so it could dangle among the folds of her skirt. “What did you mean about someone dying in its making?”

  “No one died, my lady, as I said. The amulet isn’t fixed or sealed,” Thora protested.

  “It will become no more than a cold lump of crystal at the passing of the one who worked the ritual, Lady Celia. As you heard in Fanlon’s Tale, a death is required for permanence—to fix the magic and seal the crystal to its purpose,” Ragni said. “Baldur frowns on such things, except in dire need.”

  That reminded Cele of Wirmund’s admonitions about her ignorance of Baldur. Thor and Odin had only been names out of mythology to Cele before, and she’d never heard of Baldur at all. But Thora behaved like someone who took her religion very seriously. “Ragni,” she began when the amulet was secure, “or should I say Father Ragnar? Tell me about Baldur. I’m so ignorant, it’s a miracle I haven’t offended someone.”

  “You mean, besides Father Wirmund?” Ragni asked, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

  Cele felt herself reddening yet again. “Besides him. It’s just that he was so pompous with Sevond, I couldn’t help baiting him a little.”

  Ragni’s reply was more stern than Cele expected. “He has some right to be pompous. He has risen through many years of service to Baldur to become the Overprest. His authority extends over all the priests of Baldur, and he votes in the Althing as a Jarl.” Then his manner lightened. “And as it happens, you have Father Wirmund to thank for my visit today. He too, thinks you would do well to learn more of our ways.”

  Cele smiled, embarrassed yet again. “Great. Then let’s start with why nobody talks much about Thor and Odin. I’d never heard about Baldur and Freyr before I got here.”

  Ragni shook his head, eyes wide. “Father Wirmund told me that Midgard must have fallen into darkness, but it still astonishes me to hear you speak so. Our eyes were opened to the true order of things only after we were shown the way to Alfheim, but Baldur and Freyr were well known even before we crossed over.”

  “So what is the true order of things?” Cele asked.

  Ragni drew Cele over to sit on the window seat. “As you heard in Brynjolf’s tale, in the dark days in Midgard, many were seduced by the false priests of the White-Christ. Those who remembered the old ways worshiped Odin, the All Father, but many also gave equal honor to the Thor. Freyr was honored also, but even his worship became twisted, and some sacrificed their children to entice his favor and assure the fruitfulness of their fields.”

  Cele jerked, shocked. “Human sacrifice? I never thought the Norse did that!”

  “It wasn’t widely practiced, but when hunger threatens, men can fall prey to twisted beliefs if they’re desperate enough.”

  “So what happened?”

  “When Freyr led us to Alfheim, we understood our first duty was to him, and to Baldur whom he serves, though we still honor Odin and even Thor.”

  “You’re losing me. Where does Baldur come in?”

  “Baldur is Odin’s son. His radiance blessed all who saw him and inspired those in his presence to good will. We honor his spirit and await his return.”

  “His return? From where?”

  Ragni looked surprised. “From Niflheim.” He assumed a teaching voice. “Baldur’s twin, Hoder, was tremendously strong, but he was blind, and dark in spirit and body. Yet Hoder loved his brother, and that proved his redemption.

  “Baldur was skilled in healing and reading the runestones, and he learned that a terrible fate awaited him. This alarmed the gods, who all loved him. All except Loki. To allay their fears, his mother, Frigga, extracted a promise from all things in earth and heaven to never harm Baldur. But she overlooked the mistletoe, because of its lowly state, and Loki learned this secret.

  “Knowing Baldur was invulnerable, the gods paid tribute to him by casting spears and rocks at him. This saddened Hoder, because his blindness prevented him from honoring his brother as the others did. Loki saw this and laid his evil plans. He fashioned a dart of mistletoe and gave it to Hoder.
Jealous of Baldur, Loki offered to guide Hoder’s hand, and with Hoder’s strength behind it, the mistletoe pierced our bright god’s heart. A single ruby drop of Baldur’s blood fell from his death-wound. At the sight of it, the mistletoe’s red berries paled in shame, and they remain white to this day.”

  “Poor Hoder!” Cele exclaimed, even though it was just a story.

  “Indeed,” Ragni agreed. “At first the gods all blamed him, but they saw his grief and the trick was discovered. When they sought a reprieve from Niflheim for Baldur, Hel promised to release him if every living thing wept for him. Soon the world was awash in tears. All things in earth and heaven wept for Baldur except one old woman, who was Loki in disguise. And so Baldur remains in the land of the dead with his wife Nanna, who could not bear to be parted from him.”

  “So did Loki get what he deserved?”

  Ragni nodded. “Loki received his punishment, and Hel, knowing of her father’s trickery, promised Baldur’s release when the nine worlds pass away. After Ragnarok, Baldur will create a new order where all will live in harmony, just as he inspired good will in his first life. Until that time, Freyr acts in his stead.” Ragni spoke earnestly. “It was Baldur who led us to Alfheim, through Freyr.”

  Cele was silent, taking it all in. Ragni obviously believed everything he’d said about the mythological, comic book, characters. Her mother had taught her that Spirit could take many forms. Truth could be found in many traditions, like light reflected from a faceted gem.

  Ragni watched her intently. One thing he’d said still bothered her. “Do you still practice human sacrifice?”

  He recoiled. “No! Of course not! Only the misguided and desperate did that. We broke from that heresy long ago. Baldur’s innocent blood is enough.”

  Cele relaxed. She couldn’t imagine Ragni participating in something so gruesome, but what did she really know about these people? “Why is this place called Alfheim instead of Baldurland, or something like that?”

  Ragni’s expression said he thought the answer was obvious. “Because this is the home of the Alfar, the Elves.”