by Joyce Holt
"Why you be so nice to me?" Jorunn said, echoing Valka's own pattern of speech. "Don't like talk, you say."
The goatherd made a choking sound. Another laugh. "Work side-to-side with mama goats, that make us sisters, nei?"
Knobby-Knees gave a startled bleat, and Valka bent to help with the birthing. "Two babies. Good Knobby-Knees! Good work, good work, you dear little lump," she cooed – if a raspy gurgle could be called a coo – and caressed the doe's shaggy head.
"I must leave," Jorunn said. "I must go back to Morgedal. To fetch my sister out of the grasp of brutes. But I have no haven to take her to. I cannot keep serving fine folk like Gyda. I don't have the knack needed. I thought perhaps I could tend goats. Perhaps you could teach me."
Valka rose and moved among her charges with pats and strokes. "Knack. Hah. Simple! Must be soft and hard. Soft with warm cuddles. Coddle with good feed, clover, pea-vine. Hard with voice and switch when they do fool stuff. You, Twinkle-Toes. Down!" she ordered another doe that, in spite of her ponderous belly, had bounded to the top of a barrel.
"Give goats names," the hulder-maid went on. "Use names. Names strong, full of power. But speak with warm in voice."
Jorunn's own name rang out. Drifa's voice, from the hall. Jorunn stood and brushed straw from her skirts. "Good luck, Wall-Eye," she told the doe she'd been watching. "May your kid drop swiftly into this world, and give you no more grief than you did your own dam."
Valka cackled.
"Jorunn!" bellowed a rough voice out in the houseyard.
She grimaced, cracked the door open and peered out. "There's my herder, seeing I don't stray from Kvien's flock," she grumbled. "Farewell for now, sister." She went out to meet the steward's frosty glare.
37 – Fangs in the Starlight
Two nights later, when Valka returned to Jorunn a porridge bowl licked clean, the goatherd crooked a gnarly finger. "Come see," the hulder-maid hissed, and scurried from the houseyard.
Jorunn glanced back. No sign of the steward or any other watchful guardian in the shadowy houseyard. She followed Valka along the well-tromped pathway running uphill, alongside fields and into the gloomy woods above.
"Look here," Valka ordered, pointing toward a patch of prints in the snow.
Jorunn peered in the starlight.
"They come sniffing again last night," Valka said. "I smell them. They sneaky this time. No mankinds notice. No bells, no big fires."
"Your kin?"
"Ja. See, here tracks of my olde-olde-mama."
Jorunn gasped at the size of the footprint, large as a deer's covert.
"And here be good old Klump, my betrothed." She spat aside. "He got toenail curling in, all crooked, bloody, see? See toe prints, big gap between nail marks?"
"Ja," Jorunn muttered.
Valka leaned over and snuffled. "Uff da! It getting worse. Leaking green pus. Look, drip holes in snow."
Jorunn backed off. "If you say so." She glanced over both shoulders, turned where she stood.
"No fears!" Valka said with a grating chuckle. "They not here yet. No deep grotto smell."
"I can see why you might not want to wed him," Jorunn said, stepping further away.
"He try to break my flute, that's why. He not like music. He tell me, I gotta hate music like him. Love it, always! I think I part fossegrim."
Jorunn blinked. "Truly?"
Valka cackled and punched Jorunn in the shoulder so hard she staggered. "I say so to Klump, make him mad. He hate fossegrim-folk and their music. He want to change me. Olde-Olde-Mama want to change me, too. I like me. Not gonna change me your way, I tells them."
Jorunn chafed over her own torn state. I'm not a thrall, she kept telling Gyda, who tried to plot the course of her life. Not gonna change me your way. A good motto to take.
"It take them three Midgard-years to find me here," the hulder-maid gloated. "Stupid Klump! I go to different dale, perhaps, sneak away, they lose me again." She fell silent, and under her shrouding shawl, her shoulders slumped. "Would miss old Knobby-Knees, and Twinkle-Toes always hopping up, laugh down at me. Dear sweet little old lumps."
"You truly love your goats," Jorunn said as they headed back toward the circle of buildings.
"That be biggest secret," Valka said and waggled a finger under Jorunn's nose. "You warm-heart them, they know it, come when you call names with honey-voice. Not much sweetness in Svartalfheim. I like it here. Sweetness and butter. Don't wanna go back."
"Is there any way to stop your kin from crossing between worlds? If their way was blocked, then you could stay with Knobby-Knees and Wall-Eye and Twinkle-Toes and the rest, without any worry." And peace would return to Kvien's fields.
"Perhaps. Pull down rock-tumble over cave entrance at Midsummer day, then plant rowan trees on heap. But then I can't go back."
"I thought you didn't want to go back."
"Will need to, some day. Will grow too big to stay hiding. You mankinds stay always size of half-grown child!"
Jorunn blinked. "So you're only a half-grown child? And they want to wed you to Klump?" Her thoughts wandered back to the size of those pus-dripping footprints – and then darted with unease to Svana, quivering under the gaze of Utlagi the Sour. "Cruelty!"
Valka shrugged. "I get big here. Quick quick. Klump grow slow as glacier-crawl while lolling in Svartalfheim. Time goes funny, you know? Slow in there, fast out here. When finally I go back, can fight him off. Easy."
"Before you go," Jorunn muttered, "perhaps you could drop in at Morgedal and thump a couple of oafs for me."
Valka grinned and let her glamour slip. Fangs glinted in the starlight.
* * *
The next day the smith's wife came to stand before Gunnarr. "A matter to set before you, Lord, and before all the steading-folk. Hear now. I cast off my husband," she declared, throwing the lout a frosty glare with her one good eye. The other was swollen shut, the whole side of her face bruised and blue. She beckoned forward Ketill and another stableman. "These two saw the blow Fleinn gave me. The third one in public, and I can't count the number of those not witnessed. I demand back from him my dowry." She crossed her arms and fixed her gaze on the master of Kvien.
Murmurs ran around the hall. Nods and veiled glances showed that no one doubted her word.
"You have a valid claim," Gunnarr said. "Fleinn, you are divorced." He turned to his steward. "Carry out the rest of the formalities, and see she has safe conduct back to her kin."
The smith followed the steward from the hall, shoving the witnesses as he passed. Ketill staggered, nearly falling into the cookfire.
Drifa frowned after Fleinn. "He'll be in a foul mood for a month. Be wary."
"Is there any chance Gunnarr will banish him like he did Sverri?" Jorunn asked.
"Not the slightest. A master smith, working trylleri at the forge. His skill has brought prosperity to Kvien."
Jorunn watched Fleinn storm out the door. The handsome lout looked nothing like ugly Utlagi the Sour, but they had the same swagger. She rubbed a chill from her arms and turned her gaze to the high table.
Gunnarr was laughing over some matter with Lingormr. Dagmær looked offended, but Aslaug – a faint smile tweaked at her lips. A father and his three grown children, bantering with equal respect. The world wasn't truly so rife with bullying men as sometimes it seemed.
As if from another world came the memory of Prince Dond's quavering voice, greeting his great-granddaughter at Dondstad. "Brynja! My jewel of the north!"
How Jorunn envied Brynja and Gyda at that moment. To shelter under the strong yet tender arms of menfolk among their kin, what a wonder and a joy. Soft and hard, as Valka put it, be the knack of tending either goats or children.
Fleinn the smith stomped and raged about the steading for many days. Not used to being denied his way, Jorunn guessed. She and Drifa took chamberpot duty together for many days after that, neither one daring venture out alone after dark. Other housegirls went about in twos, as well.
"Tr
olls finally leaving Kvien in peace," a cook muttered one evening after supper, "and Fleinn has to go and fill the void. A monster from our own ranks!"
Jorunn had just pulled Valka aside to hand her a half-full porridge bowl from the high table. "It's true, there've been no prowlings of late," she whispered. "Have your kin left off stalking you?"
The goatherd shook her head. "They go huddle, make plans, I thinking. Be back soon."
The next day in the wide light of noon, Valka surprised Jorunn in the houseyard. Her shawl hung crooked, letting her long nose jut from hiding. The hulder-maid was panting as she clutched at Jorunn's arm.
"What is it?" Jorunn asked, glancing about as she tugged the hulder-maid's shawl into place. "Why are you out in full daylight?"
"Need help!" Valka croaked, huddling into herself. "You do something for me? Pl – pl—" Her tongue seemed to stick on the word. "Please?"
"Help? Ja, if I can." She folded the blankets she'd been airing, set them back into their basket.
"Over by goatshed." Valka pointed. "Round corner. Pot in snow. Take away. Take to far side of river. Pl – pl—"
Jorunn looked around for Drifa or Ketill. Neither was in sight. "Very well. You come with."
"Nei!" Valka shook her head so hard her shawl nearly slid to her shoulders, and she yanked it back into place. "Can't go close. Mustn't!" She gulped. "Trap! Klump trap!"
"He couldn't set a trap in a busy houseyard in the middle of the day!" Jorunn said, then whispered, "Your glamour is slipping. Hide your tail!"
"Trap, trap, trap!" the hulder-maid grated. "Please! You do this, I get you what you want. Old pair, I know where. No one miss 'em."
Jorunn took a sharp breath. "Skis? Truly?" Her heart leaped. "You make sure the smith doesn't come that way, and I'll do it!"
Valka scurried off to stand watch near the smithy while Jorunn trotted to the goatshed, pulse racing with hope.
Around the corner she did indeed find a small clay pot, half-sunk into the newest snow. It stank. It stank worse than wolverine scat. Jorunn screwed up her face, trying not to get another whiff, and ran with the pot down the trail to the river.
No travelers had come this way since yesterday, and she had to tromp through knee-deep drifts. "Across the river?" she muttered. "I'd like to cast it across the next ridge." She set the foul pot on the far bank and ran back to the steading, rubbing at her nose.
Valka came slinking back to the houseyard. She grabbed Jorunn's hands. "Thanks, thanks, thanks," she hissed, stopped and blinked, then drew Jorunn's palms up to her face. She drew a long noisy breath, and gave a shudder.
"Horrible stench," Jorunn said. "What was it?"
"Lovely, dreamy, delightful stench," Valka drawled, and heaved a long sigh. She shook herself. "Lure. Bait. Trap. My favorite toadstool gruel. But my nose not blinded. I smell drowsy-herbs. They try to daze me. Make easy to grab. But I, too smart for them. Too smart." She huffed. And sniffed again. And licked Jorunn's palm.
Jorunn snatched her hands away. "Looks like it nearly worked," she said. "The skis, how soon? I'll need to slip away by night. Gyda refuses to give me leave to go. She mustn't know."
Valka reached out a gnarly hand and tweaked Jorunn's cheek. "I tell you when." She trotted back to her goatshed.
Jorunn rubbed at her cheek. That pinch would bruise. "He who fares over fjell and fjord," she recited as she turned back to her duties. "Bring bags well-stocked with food." She must start hoarding.
* * *
Two nights later, after supper, Valka loitered at the far end of the hall. As Jorunn drew near with a bowl of leavings from the high table, the hulder-maiden jittered about from foot to foot. "Got 'em!" she hissed.
"Now? Tonight?" Jorunn felt like dancing in place, too.
Valka nodded, grabbed the bowl, and darted out of the hall.
Jorunn could hardly bear the wait. Her thoughts kept straying from her duties. She helped her mistress through her nightly routine. As she combed Gyda's hair, it struck her that this would be the last time. This was a memory to treasure always, the fine-spun golden wealth of the loveliest maiden in all the Nord Way, running like silk through her fingers.
"Why are you dawdling?" Gyda snapped. "Get on with it."
And there, the price to pay for such delights.
Jorunn could hardly lie still as the womenfolk snuggled in for the night. Gyda and Brynja talked on and on, ranging from dowries and bride-prices and wedding crowns to the path Brynja's wedding procession should take. Jorunn stared into the gloom and counted snores from the next chamber.
At last the chatter slackened and ceased altogether. Jorunn eased out from under the blankets and furs. She dressed quickly in the dark. From beneath her old ragged gown she took a bag of scavenged food and her old cast-off boots, still stuffed with straw, which would make good tinder on her journey. She left her bag of glass beads on the book Eirikr had given Gyda so she could depart with a guilt-free heart.
Jorunn slipped out of the cousins' chamber. There was enough light from embers in the central hearth to see the youths where they lay along the walls. She stepped carefully past, then stood a long while at the door, listening for the night watchman's tread. At last he passed. She eased out when he was safely gone.
Stars shone bright. Her breath curled in streamers around her face. Her heart leaped in eagerness. A good night for travel.
Jorunn was halfway across the courtyard when she heard voices. One belonged to Fleinn, the smith. She scurried to the side of the closest outbuilding and listened.
Voices rumbled from the byre, two or three men in slurred conversation. She sidled past, then hurried to the goatshed and rapped softly on the door. "It's me!" she hissed.
"Who else?" came an answering grumble.
The door creaked open, a hand beckoned, and Jorunn edged inside. Valka's rough fingers found hers, and led her to grasp a pair of skis, leaning against the wall.
"You did it!" Jorunn murmured. "Thousand thanks, Valka! Thousand-thousand thanks!"
"On with you," the goatherd grated.
Jorunn had helped Gyda into ski bindings often enough, she could do it in the dark. "Thanks, all my thanks," she breathed as she lashed. "I'll never forget your kindness."
"Kindness? You give me bad name, among troll-kind!"
"I count you a true friend."
"I count you gone. Go!" Valka shoved a ski-pole into her grip.
Pole in one hand and provisions in the other, Jorunn peered out the door, listened for several heartbeats, then shoved off. More used to clumsily-woven snowshoes, it took her several strides to find the rhythm. Out of the houseyard, down the slope toward the river, she picked up speed. Her heart soared with joy.
Until someone leaped into her path.
38 – Tangled Strands
Starlight glinted from the golden horns of Thor's chariot goat.
"Let me pass!" Jorunn cried, her fright turning to anger. "Don't hinder me now, I beg you!"
The pony-sized goat shook his head, wagging his beard. "The Norns say you must stay."
"The Norns? Why? It cannot be, it must not be!"
"Your strands twist and entwine, must entangle longer."
"Whose strands?"
"There comes a knot in hers, must be untied by you."
"Gyda? Let her untie herself! I'm on my own path now."
"This task the Norns set you."
Panic welled up Jorunn's throat. "First Gyda's bidding I must do, and now the Norns? I'm not their thrall either!" she blurted, trying to edge past.
Toothgnasher stomped, and one ski splintered.
"Nei!" Jorunn wailed. "Loki take you! I was going home at last, at long last—"
"The Norns say you must stay."
She poured all her heart into her plea. "I must go save my sister!"
Toothgnasher turned his head aside and perked his ears as if listening. "They say, You do their will, they will send a hero to shelter your sister until your task is done."
"I don't want
a task. Why must others always set me to their purposes? My life should be mine to steer!"
Toothgnasher shrugged his heavy fleece. "I don't argue with Norns."
Jorunn shuffled a step with the damaged ski, and it fell apart. "My own life, my own dreams, my own needs—"
"Untie the coming knot. This, the ta-a-ask they set you."
"What knot? Don't put a task on me that's couched in riddles."
"When you see the mountain swallow, you will know the path to follow."
"More riddles! Why must you ruin all my hopes?" Jorunn leaned on the ski pole, her strength shuddering away in despair. She shook her head, hauled herself upright again, tried to shove off on one ski.
Toothgnasher tossed his horns and leaped into the air. In that bound, one heavy hoof struck the remaining ski.
A sharp crack sounded. The polished wooden slat snapped in two, and Jorunn tumbled into the snow. She drew herself back up to hands and knees and fumbled for the useless bindings, sobbing with heartbreak.
The wind sighed into the night's silence. No bleating. No teeth grinding and gnashing. Thor's chariot-goat was gone.
Jorunn buried in a drift the shattered remnants of those precious skis. She trudged at the Norns' command uphill back to a life of thralldom. Ice crunched underfoot, as brittle and broken as her hopes. To be dashed in pieces, all her dreams, so long awaited, it tore at her belly, it tore at her throat.
She stumbled into the houseyard. The tears were freezing on her cheeks, her blood pounding in her ears, her gasps swirling like smoke from a funeral pyre.
A hand cinched down on her arm. "Wandering at night, are you?" grated a voice. "Foolish, foolish girl."
It was Fleinn the smith. The sour tang of ale clouded around him. His grip tightened, and he jerked Jorunn into step, heading for the smithy.
She had no breath, all knocked out of her from the ruin of her plans. She could find no voice, and her strength, though wiry, could not match his. "Valka!" she squeaked as he dragged her past the goatshed.
The night watchman hailed, and strode to meet them. "Back to your cold hearth," the guard told Fleinn. "Let her go and be off."
