by Kris Tualla
Hollis wagged her head, astounded by the Viking’s finds. “I don’t either.”
“Mister Ezra Kensington the fifth was as meticulous with these notes as with all of the rest.” Sveyn flashed a crooked grin. “If I ever encounter him, I will thank him for you.”
“How deeply buried is all of that?”
“The tri-corn is in the box you are sitting on.” Sveyn swung an arm, pointing. “The pewter cup is in that corner. And the elixir and film on top of that pile.”
Hollis stood and opened the box she was sitting on. That discovery was easy to explain. The rest would have to be worked toward in a methodical manner, not pulled out randomly.
Sure enough, a worn and dirty tri-corn hat in the style of the eighteenth century was wrapped in tissue paper atop a length of frayed rope. Ezra’s accompanying note said:
This iconic hat was worn to the gallows by the notorious English highwayman, Richard “Dick” Turpin, on the very day that he received his ultimate punishment. The scalawag tossed his hat into the crowd before leaping off the gallows platform and dying instantly when his neck snapped. The hat was retrieved by a Mistress Bessie Hardboyne of York, and held through generations of the family for two hundred years. Hard times in 1931 forced the family to sell the item, luckily to me.
“That’s quite a story. I’ll have to look him up. I imagine that we are to believe that this was the rope that hung him, but there is no way to prove that,” Hollis said over her shoulder as she carried the hat to the front room and placed it in a blue box.
“DNA.”
Hollis turned to look at Tom, knowing that she was talking out loud. “We are not about to ask the British government if we can dig up Dick Turpin for a DNA sample.”
Tom shrugged. “You’re right. He’s too obscure.”
“Have you heard of him?”
“No.”
Hollis nodded. “Point made. How are you coming in there?”
*****
After eating take-out Chinese food, followed by a refreshing shower, Hollis curled up on the sofa next to Sveyn and started streaming the first movie in the dystopian fantasy series that he was interested in.
“So this setting is based on earth, but it’s in the future,” she explained. “Some things in this world are very advanced, some are more primitive than now, and a lot of the elements are just made up.”
Sveyn stared at the screen. Hollis told him it was fine to ask questions. “Not in the theater, because I can’t answer you there. But when we are alone here, I can pause the movie if we need to talk.”
He nodded, transfixed by the images. When a sex scene came on the screen, however, he recoiled a little and asked her to pause the movie.
“These people allowed men to make films of them having marital relations?” The Viking was obviously horrified.
“They are not really having sex, Syevn. They are just pretending.” Hollis pointed the remote at the television. “Most of the time they have little bits of clothing over the important bits.”
He looked at her, eyes wide under a lowered brow. “Her breasts are not covered, Hollis. He clearly has his hands and mouth on them.”
“Well, that’s true,” she admitted.
“This is not right. These things are private.”
Hollis ventured off on a rabbit trail. “You said that you and Linge never had sex.”
“No, we did not. Why do you mention that now?”
“When was the last time you did have sex?” She made an I know sort of face. “I mean before you were stabbed, obviously.”
He scratched his cheek. For a man who claimed he couldn’t feel his body, he sure touched it a lot. “It was about three weeks earlier, as I recall. I went with a woman from one of the villages.”
“Did you pay her?”
He looked offended. “No. She was not a whore.”
“Did you have a relationship with her?” Hollis pressed.
Sveyn shook his head. “She wanted me, is all. And I admit that I was pleased to accommodate her. She was very pretty.”
Hollis considered the man sitting in front of her in all his masculine glory. The leather, linen, and fur could not hide what was clearly a well-honed body, sculpted by hard work, and harder fighting. Her nether parts tingled.
I want him.
Tough luck, kiddo.
“And what is your situation?” he asked.
His question startled her. For a moment she wondered if he would be shocked if she admitted to not being a virgin.
“Matt is the only man I have ever been with.” She watched Sveyn’s face carefully. “So it has been almost two years.”
“You were not married.”
Her cheeks flamed. “No. But I was a virgin before we moved in together.”
The Viking looked confused. “Why did you move into his house and lay with him if he would not marry you first?”
“Partly to see if we were compatible for marriage.” Hollis used to believe that, but now she had a pile of doubts higher than Camelback Mountain. “And partly because women in this time are idiots.”
“Explain, please.”
Hollis’s shoulders slumped. “Women give sex, hoping to get love in return.”
Sveyn’s lips twisted. “And men claim love, to receive sex.”
A light went on. “Have they always?”
“I can only speak about the last one thousand years,” he began. “But in all of those years, I have never seen that men or women have changed.”
“That can’t be true, Sveyn.” Hollis waved her arm in an arc. “Look at all we know, now.”
“I am not talking here.” The Viking tapped his head. “Knowledge about how to build a car or an internet does not change how a man feels about a woman.”
“Or what he wants from her?” Hollis had to admit Sveyn was right. And he had the experience to back it up.
He leaned closer. “Or what she wants from him.”
“I want you to be real.”
Hollis gasped, horrified at her thoughtless admission. “I’m so sorry, Sveyn. You are real.”
If he had blood, it would have drained from his face. “You cannot imagine how desperately I, too, want to be the kind of real you are speaking about.”
Hollis made a decision, one that was necessary for her sanity—and very possibly his. “We need to not talk about this. Never again.”
He stared at her. “About sex?”
“No. About the impossibility of our situation.” Hollis built a mental wall around her heart. “One day you’ll leave me. We know that’ll happen, if only because I’m eventually going to die. True?”
Sveyn’s face hardened. “Yes.”
She added a layer of barbed wire to the wall. “So whether it’s tomorrow, or fifty years from now, we know this—us—will end. It has to.”
His gaze fell away.
“And to keep me—us—from going insane because we can’t have what we want, we need to agree that we won’t mention it again. It’s like beating a dead horse.”
His gaze jumped back to hers. “Why would anyone beat a dead horse?”
She bounced a nod. “Exactly.”
“No, Hollis. I mean, what would be the purpose of beating a dead animal? I cannot think of one.”
“Oh!” She pondered the archaic, yet still often-used, analogy. “Well, you beat a horse to get it to move, right?”
“Ah, yes.” Sveyn’s brow smoothed. “So beating a dead horse will not make it move. It is an action with no purpose.”
“Right.” Hollis lifted her chin, defying her sorrow. “Just like complaining about what can’t ever happen has no purpose either.”
He heaved an airless sigh. “You are right. We will never speak of this again. That is best for both of us.”
Hollis turned back to the movie and deliberately shifted the gears in her head. “So now you know that nothing that happens on the screen is real.”
“I do.” He wagged his head. “But this moving picture is more sho
cking than the ones I watched the last time I manifested.”
“What year was that?”
“Nineteen-forty-four to nineteen-forty-five.” Sveyn looked sad. “He died in the war. In Italy.”
“I’m sorry. But, yeah, movies in those days were very strict about what could—and could not—be shown or talked about.” Hollis tucked her legs under her. “Ready?”
“Not quite yet.” Sveyn pointed at the screen. “I cannot see how those creatures can be costumes. They are not shaped like people.”
“That’s CGI—computer generated imaging,” she explained.
“So the computer makes them up?”
“No, an artist does, using a computer. And then the images are added to the film. But please don’t ask me how.”
“I am disappointed by that,” he said.
Hollis looked sideways at the Viking. “Why?”
“Because I would like to have clothes that have flames and do not burn. Or platforms to stand on that can fly.”
Hollis huffed a dry laugh. “Maybe in your next manifestation, they will exist.”
His expression turned pensive. “Perhaps.”
Saddened, again, by the thought that he would have an existence far beyond hers, Hollis faced the television and pressed play.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunday
September 20
Watching Sveyn watch the movie was more entertaining than the film itself. The Viking sat forward in his seat, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his fists. When anything surprising happened, he jumped first, and then flashed an open-mouthed grin at her.
“This is amazing!” he’d shout.
Hollis nodded. She explained once again on the way to the theater that for her to reply would get her in trouble with those sitting around them. Partly for that reason, and partly so no one would sit beside her and claim Sveyn’s seat, she chose a location farther off to the side than she usually sat.
Sveyn was next to the wall.
All the way home, he chattered about the story, the hero’s predictable actions, and how surprising it was that the heroine was so scantily dressed in comparison to him.
The sun was down when Hollis parked the car, but the sky was still shifting colors—yellow to turquoise to purple to dark blue. She hesitated before going to the door, and looked at the silver and indigo clouds scattered across the sky.
“One thing I do love about Phoenix is the sunsets,” she murmured. “There’s just so much open sky that you can see in all directions.”
Sveyn stood beside her, fists on his hips. “Arendal is on the coast with hills behind the town, so we can see half the sky. But on the ships we are able to see this and more.”
Hollis looked up at him. “Have sunsets changed?”
He smiled into her eyes. “No. Nothing really changes.”
She chuckled. “I’m not sure if that’s comforting or terrifying.”
“It is both, I assure you.” Sveyn stretched his arms wide. “Watching the swordplay in the moving picture—as impossible as it was—makes me miss my own sword.”
“Show me,” Hollis urged. “Show me how you practiced.”
Sveyn declined. “That would appear foolish.”
“Well I’m the only one who can see you, so what do you care?” she prodded.
He scowled. “You will believe me foolish. I do not wish for you to think that about me.”
“I won’t, Sveyn. I promise.” The idea of watching him flex his muscles grew more appealing by the minute. “Please? I’ve never seen anyone go through the motions before.”
“I suppose that must be true. The need for swordplay seems to have disappeared over the last century and a half.”
Hollis hoisted herself up onto the trunk of her sedan. The automatic lights in the parking lot were beginning to glow blue as the sky darkened, and a breeze gusted sporadically over the asphalt.
“When you are ready, good sir,” she encouraged.
“Very well. I see that I shall have no peace if I do not comply.” Sveyn walked away from her car and into the empty drive. “We start by swinging the sword to loosen our joints.”
The Viking held an imaginary sword with two hands and began to swing it in a figure eight in front of his body. Then he swung it over his head, turning his body one hundred and eighty degrees with each swing.
“Don’t you get dizzy?” Hollis called out, forgetting herself. She looked around quickly, but no one else was in sight.
“That is why we do this,” he explained. “To remain accustomed to the motion.”
That makes sense.
“Next, we gather up our shields—” He made a fist and bent his left arm. “And do it again.”
As Sveyn moved, Hollis was startled to realize that the Viking was an athlete. She had never really thought about the fact that Vikings—or the inhabitants of any culture who had to provide for themselves and defend themselves—must be coordinated, strong, and aware of their immediate surroundings.
Just like a football player. Or hockey player. Or baseball player.
“You’re an athlete,” she blurted.
He stopped moving, and he didn’t look happy. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean you’re strong and coordinated. And when you’re fighting, you need to be aware of who is near you and whether they’re going to attack you.”
“Oh.” His expression softened. “Like a warrior. Not a Greek competitor in a game.”
Hollis tried not to laugh. “I’m sorry. I forgot that the ancient Olympic games were the only reference you’d have for that word.”
Sveyn flexed his arms. “Is there another?”
“No, not really. In fact the Olympic Games were started again in eighteen-ninety-six, and they’ve happened every four years since. Except during the second war with Germany, of course.”
The Viking looked askance at her. “Do these modern athletes still compete naked?”
Hollis did laugh at that. “No. And it’s a good thing considering that there are winter games as well as summer ones.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Hmm. I will look forward to seeing these.”
Hollis waved her hand. “Go on. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He lifted his imaginary sword and shield and resumed his exercises. Hollis sighed and mimicked the man’s stance in the movie theater—leaning forward and chin resting on her fists.
Sveyn Hansen was truly a magnificent specimen of male virility. His thighs tensed and bulged under the leather pants with each lunge and spin. His biceps flexed and extended under his linen shirt as he manipulated the invisible implements of war. And the concentration on his face was dark and intense.
I want to have your babies.
Shut.
Up.
Not only did Sveyn appear strong and powerful, but his actions were smooth and graceful. Clearly he had run through this practice routine hundreds of times before, so that the movements were second nature to him. He transitioned seamlessly from aggressive tactics to defensive ones—and so clearly that Hollis had no trouble following the sequence.
She swiped a drip of sweat from her brow. She knew the Viking could not feel heat of cold, but she ached to see his body more clearly.
“Can you take off your vest and your shirt?” she asked. “Or maybe unwrap the fur around your legs?”
Sveyn halted and shook his head. “No. I cannot change my appearance in any way. Why do you ask this?”
Because I want to see you naked.
Am I going to have to slap you?
Hollis shushed her inner dialog. “I know you don’t normally feel hot or cold, but it’s still pretty warm out here and you’re technically exerting yourself.”
He approached the car where she sat. “This does not affect me. I do not sweat, and I do not begin to pant.”
“Because you don’t breathe. I get it.”
He looked apologetic. “I will stop now, so you can go inside where it is cool. I should have con
sidered your condition.”
“I’m fine.” Hollis slid off the trunk. “And I really appreciate you showing me how you practice your skills.”
“You are very welcome, my lady.” Sveyn gave a little bow, then pretended to sheath his sword.
Hollis grinned. “You’re funny, you know that?”
“Do you like funny?” His eyes twinkled.
“It’s one of my favorite things.” She looked up into his eyes and blew him a kiss.
Monday
September 21
As agreed, the Object of the Week to be posted today was the Viking sunstone. Miranda suggested that they add a link to an episode on the travel channel where the host of a series recreated a stone and tested it out.
“It’s not a myth anymore, is it?” Hollis mused.
“How old is that one?” Stevie asked. “Could it be a recreated stone as well?”
Hollis flicked a questioning glance toward Sveyn.
He shook his head. “Think about it.”
“If there were other recreated sunstones, then calling them a myth would be foolish,” Hollis deduced.
“That’s true, isn’t it?” Stevie clapped her hands. “And finding that one stone off the coast of England wouldn’t have been such a big deal.”
“So this stone must be nearly a thousand years old.” Hollis held the chunk of grooved calcite up to the fluorescent light. “Because Norwegians stopped viking in ten-seventy.”
Stevie giggled. “I swear you know the most random things, Hollis.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s becoming an interest.”
*****
“So, George and I went out this weekend,” Stevie effused over her lunch in the staff break room. “He’s such a nice guy.”
“That didn’t take long.” Hollis pulled her orange peel chicken from the microwave.
Stevie looked stricken. “You said you didn’t mind.”
“And, I don’t. Really.” Hollis sat across from her. “Where’d you go?”
“To see Twilight Future.”
Hollis looked at Stevie, ignoring Sveyn who promptly sat in the chair next to the registrar. “What did you think?”
