Outsider

by Klaire de Lys

  ‘Oh, I do think I might pass out!’ Holmvé laughed, pretending to be flustered and fanning herself. ‘Jarl, will you catch me if I faint?’ she cackled.

  ‘He’ll catch you no doubt, but you might just break him, you old hag!’ Eilíf chuckled.

  ‘What are you on about you crazy old woman? Look at those healthy strong arms! Why, I think he could easily carry all of us if he was so inclined!’

  ‘Well if he is, I won’t say no!’ Gísla giggled.

  ‘Ok stop! The lad probably has something to say,’ Holmvé shouted over them. ‘He might be here to finally pick one of us, so be quiet, and if he picks me I’ll bite the first one of you who protests our love!’

  Laughing, Jarl cleared his throat, his face quickly turning serious.

  ‘I’m here to say I have to leave, Holmvé. With Knud and Halvard.’

  The women glared at him. ‘What? Why?’ they asked in unison.

  ‘I want to take Knud to Lǫgberg. I’m worried about all the goblin swarms, and no Holmvé, I’m not just saying that because of Knute. You’ve all noticed it, I have heard you talking about it and I know I’m not the only one worried.’

  ‘Will you be coming back?’

  ‘Of course I will! I’m hoping to convince Queen Vígdís to send her armies to help us.’

  ‘And if she won’t?’

  ‘Then Halvard will stay with Knud in Lǫgberg and I’ll come back for all of you.’

  For a few moments none of them uttered a word.

  ‘I’ll be leaving you in change, Holmvé,’ Jarl said. She walked to him and held his heavy bearded face in her wrinkled hands, smiling at him worriedly.

  ‘You take care. I’m not having the last Vǫrn die before me.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Jarl smiled. He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, then turned and left the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

  ‘See?’ Holmvé chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. ‘He picked me! My charm is just too much to resist!’

  Picking Up The Pieces

  40 years ago...

  Dag smiled as he strolled through the forest, the thin rays of sunlight making their way through the canopy above and warming his face. It was one of those glorious days of late spring, right before the heat of summer, when the weather was just perfect. A pleasant breeze swept down from the Riddari, cooling the air that was warm enough to warrant not wearing a cloak. Despite being so high up in the mountains, the Aldwood valley could get surprisingly hot in the summer, so hot that Dag had sometimes returned to find forest fires had scoured large parts of it. The trees would always grow back though, and he had never known the fires to reach the southern side of the Aldwood.

  Dag sighed contentedly at feeling the sun on his skin and his bones slowly warming. He leant his head back and eased out the knots in his neck, feeling less stiff than he had during his trek across the freezing Riddari. The thick fur coats he had worn only that morning were draped over the pony’s back.

  Behind him, the pony snorted loudly, butting its head against his arm. Dag laughed and pulled an apple from his bag, which he had been saving for the last stretch of the journey. The dappled pony happily munched on the apple whilst they walked. Looking almost as old and tired as he did, with its white, grey and black spots faded and coarse, it slowly plodded along behind him and ignored Dag as he pulled gently at the reins, urging it to move faster.

  After the grueling week it had taken to cross the Riddari, the pony was in no mood to obey its warlock master, and stubbornly stood still when they stepped into a small clearing. Dag frowned at it.

  ‘Come on Felix! It’s not far now! You can rest when we get there!’

  Almost like it could understand what he’d said, the pony shook its head and snorted loudly, bent its knees and slumped down heavily on the grass. It peered up at Dag as if it was daring him to try and make it move.

  ‘Fine then! I’ll walk ahead and you can just follow me later,’ Dag snapped, letting go of the reins and storming ahead. The weather was too lovely to be annoyed with his pony for long, and he quickly calmed, enjoying the sunshine.

  Ahead of him, he could see the old pine trees which led to the glade, their trunks and some of the canopy covered in jasmine flowers. When he had first led Sylbil and Arnbjörg through this place, they had decided to stay as soon as Sylbil had seen the beautiful flowers on the pines. She had wept quietly, and Arnbjörg had comforted her, reminding her once again how much they had given up to be together. The jasmine was the symbol of Sylbil’s family house, the house of Jikka. A house she was now a pariah to.

  Strolling past the trees, Dag plucked a few of the vines and began twisting them into a garland , being careful not to crush the delicate flowers as he wound the tendrils around in a circle, in and over each other. He had made a garland for Sylbil and Arnbjörg’s wedding day, and since then, each time he had come to visit them in the Aldwood, it had become a tradition to make one for her.

  Reaching into his bag, Dag winced as his hand brushed across the red thistle plant he had carefully packed inside. Its roots were tightly bound with several strips of sackcloth he had used to keep the earth in place, the cloth moist from when he had submerged the plant in a river for a few moments earlier that morning.

  There were no red thistles this side of the Riddari Mountains, in fact there were no thistles at all in the valley. With so many jasmine around, Dag thought Arnbjörg might appreciate having a reminder of his old home and family crest.

  Chuckling, Dag laid the jasmine garland carefully over the thistle plant. It was quite amusing how much the two plants reminded him of Sylbil and Arnbjörg’s personalities. Both so completely different, but somehow so perfect together. A coarse prickly plant, which many people overlooked as weed, and a seemingly delicate but fiercely tough, white flower.

  Next to the plant, and in a small pouch sewn into the side of his bag, were two small rings, expertly made to fit together like a jigsaw, but which could be separated to be worn separately.

  When he had married them, they had been in the middle of a storm, the rain hammering down on the cave above them and thunder making the whole mountain shake. They’d had no gifts or rings to exchange, nothing but each other to offer. Dag was determined that that not always be the case.

  It was then that he heard the animals; at first just a few yelps, like pups play fighting over the tidbits of food their parents had brought home. Then he heard the snarling - loud angry snarls - and a small voice shouting; panicked. Another loud yelp echoed through the trees.

  Dag’s heart raced as he quickened his step, the hairs on the back of his neck starting to rise. He had no idea what was happening, no idea what to expect, but a sixth sense picked up on it before he could see it for himself and warned him something was very seriously wrong.

  Pushing his way through the bushes, not caring how they whipped across his face and arms, Dag stumbled into the clearing, tripped over a root and fell awkwardly to the ground. The wild dogs turned to look at him and a few padded towards him before sensing that despite his elderly appearance, this old man was not to be meddled with. The air around him tingled with magic.

  Glancing up, Dag felt his heart drop into his stomach and time seemed to stop. He stared in horror at the scene before him.

  Sylbil and Arnbjörg were lying on the ground a few feet from their house with blood staining the grass around them. The flies had already started to move in, circling their bodies like hundreds of little back clouds. The door to their house swung to and fro in the breeze.

  Standing beside them, Astrid was holding the end of her mother’s long black hair in her hand as if it was a leash. With an arrow in her other hand, she was stabbing at the air to fend off the wild dogs, which were almost as tall as her. Screaming and shouting at them, with dried blood all over her hands and shirt, and the end of her arrow glistening with fresh blood, she looked wild; terrified. One of the dogs was limping, a deep wound prominent above its front left leg, and whimpering in pain.
Two dead dogs lay on the ground near Astrid, their faces shrivelled and twisted as if the fat from their flesh had been sucked away at an incredible speed.

  Astrid didn’t even notice as Dag stood up, her eyes completely focused on the dogs. She turned swiftly to hit at the cloud of files that swarmed around her parents’ bodies, before turning back and whacking one of the dogs as hard as she could across its face, cutting its nose and puncturing its eye, as it tried to move towards Sylbil’s feet.

  Sensing their window of opportunity was closing, two of the four remaining dogs closed in and leapt towards the bodies, their teeth bared.

  Dag stared in horror as Astrid dropped the arrow and lunged at the nearest animal. She grabbed its face with her bare hands and screamed as she pulled the life from it. The other dogs yelped in fear and scuttled away. The air prickled with static as Astrid’s hands glowed red. The dog shrieked in pain and clawed at her wrists but Astrid refused to let go. The animal went limp, its face shrivelling like a prune, the skin cracking in several places. Astrid kicked its body away, screaming at the other dogs to stay away, and picked up the arrow again, not even noticing that her hands were bleeding. The wild dog had clawed her skin off and blood oozed down her arms.

  Dag quickly conjured a small burst of blue flame and hurled it at the dogs, who rapidly scattered, yelping in fear. He edged towards Astrid, praying she would remember him from when he had visited the previous spring.

  ‘Astrid! Astrid it’s Mossi! Do you remember me?’ Dag asked, his hands raised and his palms extended as he knelt on the ground.

  Astrid glared at him, her eyes wild and frantic, appearing far more animal that human. She was filthy, her hair matted with dirt and blood, and her eyes and cheeks sunken.

  Shuffling a little closer, Dag reached out for her, but stepped back as Astrid lifted the arrow and pointed it at him, snarling and moving her other hand over Arnbjörg’s face protectively. She winced as she felt the cold skin under her fingers and lowered her head to look into her father’s stone grey eyes, which stared blankly ahead at his dead wife.

  ‘Astrid! Astrid please! It’s Mossi! Remember me? I made the flame flowers!’

  Her face was blank, emotionless, and taking a deep breath, Dag turned his right palm up and raised it in the air. A small swirl of light circled under the skin of his hand and slowly formed above it, twisting and curling in the air until it took on the shape of a thistle and jasmine. Astrid’s eyes slowly focused, her breathing quickly turning into an hysterical rasp, then she crawled forward, tentatively at first, before suddenly throwing herself into Dag’s arms, screaming like a wild animal.

  ‘Shhh! It’s ok, goldheart! It’s ok!’ Dag whispered, gently stroking her hair, his fingers getting caught in the hundreds of knots which riddled it. Even with just one arm around her, Dag could feel how much weight she had lost. Her bones jutted out from under her skin and her twig-like arms held barely a thin layer of fat. For a young girl who was growing, the lack of meat on her bones was worrying. Judging by how she looked and the state of her parents’ bodies, it had barely been two days since they had died, but not enough time for her to shrink so drastically.

  Dag held her close and looked down at Sylbil and Arnbjörg, noticing for the first time the dagger impaled between them. Tears filled his eyes and he quickly rubbed them away.

  ‘Astrid! Goldheart, tell me what happened,’ Dag asked. Astrid shook violently and she slipped to the ground, her legs finally giving way from exhaustion.

  ‘They killed them! An elf, he had green eyes like Matir. And the dwarf, she had grey eyes like Faðir! I don’t know why! Did...did I do something wrong? Why are they dead? Why...Mossi, why did they kill them?’

  Astrid, panicking, tried to pull away from Dag and swept her arms around Arnbjörg, disturbing the flies that settled all over him. She clung to her father’s body, refusing to let go. Dag tugged at her gently, coaxing her back into his arms, but Astrid held on even tighter as the flies began to resettle around him.

  Behind them, Dag’s pony appeared in the clearing and Astrid, hearing the sound of its hooves, looked up, the last spot of colour draining from her face. Utterly terrified, she screamed as loudly as she could.

  Dag ran to the pony, led it out of the clearing and tied its bridle safely around a tree. He muttered a few words under his breath and waited until a small protective circle of blue flames encircled it. The wild dogs watched from a safe distance but quickly scattered when Dag tossed another ball of flames at them. Satisfied that Felix was safe, he raced back to Astrid.

  She was crouched on the ground with a glowing hand on Arnbjörg’s limp body. Her heart thundered in her chest, strained and exhausted, as she tried to transfer the energy she had absorbed from the dead wild dogs to her father. The skin she touched glowed with life but quickly returned to its dead, grey colour the minute she removed her hand.

  The tears slid down her cheeks as again, she lowered her hand to his chest.

  ‘No Astrid! You can’t!’ Dag said, grabbing her arm to stop her. ‘There is nothing you can do!’

  ‘Please! Please I’ve done it before! I’ve healed animals before! Just let me heal them!’

  ‘You can’t, goldheart! You can only heal the living. They’re...they’re not here anymore!’

  ‘But I can! Just...just let me try!’

  ‘ASTRID!’ Dag shouted, grabbing her firmly and shaking her as she tried to push past him and touch her father’s skin again. ‘You can’t! They’re gone, there is nothing you can do!’

  Shrieking, Astrid tried to fight him. She kicked and scratched and pulled at his long beard in an attempt to get away. Dag held her hands tightly and refused to let her go, now realising why she looked so sickly thin. It was lucky he had arrived when he had. Another few hours of trying to revive dead bodies and she would have drained the last bit of energy from her own.

  How she had learned to absorb the energy from the wild dogs, killing them, Dag did not know. Sylbil was a healer, he doubted even she knew how to absorb energy, despite her three centuries of knowledge, and even if she had, it was not something she would have taught her young daughter. Jakkito powers were not something to be taken lightly. Without proper training it was very easy give too much energy and either severely damage or even kill oneself. In fact, Sylbil would not have begun teaching Astrid magic at all, was it not for her natural ability.

  Dag had been there the previous spring when Sylbil had accidently crushed a small mouse in the door as she closed it behind her. The tiny animal had made a run for the gap but had narrowly missed. With its ribs and organs crushed, and squeaking helplessly on the floor, Astrid had raced to it and scooped it into her hands. Dag had been sitting at the table carving something, what he couldn’t remember, but both he and Sylbil had stared in shock, Sylbil’s expression being closer to horror, as Astrid’s hands had started to glow a pale blue before turning completely ashen. She had lost consciousness for a brief second and fell to her knees as the newly healed mouse leapt from her hands and scuttled under the stairs to safely. Arnbjörg had heard Sylbil shouting and had dashed from the tree room above in a panic. At the bottom of the stairs he saw Sylbil cradling Astrid in her arms, saw her run her hands over Astrid’s face to revive her.

  After that, Sylbil had had no choice but to show Astrid how to use her Jakkito gifts. It was rare for such a young child to be gifted so early; Sylbil had only realised her own gift in her ninetieth year. It had terrified them all.

  Fortunately, Astrid’s powers were weak and undeveloped and she did not yet know enough to put her full strength into attempting to heal her dead parents.

  Picking her up, Dag led her away from them and held her tightly until she stopped struggling. Her breathing was heavy and pained and the little energy that remained in her frail body was barely enough for her to fight him.

  ‘Please Mossi! Please! I can help them!’

  ‘You did, goldheart. You did. Now let me help them.’

  Astrid nodded reluctantl
y and dropped to the floor, her hand pressed over her heart and head in pain. She was physically and mentally drained.

  Dag walked over to Sylbil and Arnbjörg. He bent to close their eyes and muttered several words under his breath. The ground beneath them rumbled and moved and he watched as their bodies slowly sank into the ground. A mound of earth built up over and around them and Dag’s hand glowed brighter. Tears streamed down his face. Astrid watched, her eyes glazed and distant, her shoulders slumped as she finally resigned herself to the terrible truth.

  Pausing for a moment, Dag lowered himself to the ground, rubbing the tears from his face. Between them, he could see the hilt of the dagger glinting, but congealed in blood. He glanced to his left and saw a pile of rotting flesh a few feet away from him. The wild dogs had devoured most of it and the flies covered the splashes of blood that covered the ground. Small pieces of blood-soaked armour were strewn around. Elf armour.

  ‘Looks like you were right, Sylbil,’ Dag muttered under his breath, his eyes red and swollen from the tears. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. I promise.’

  In that moment, Dag could have sworn he heard a low sigh behind him. He turned and saw a small cloud settle back into the ground as the wind picked up slightly through the trees.

  He considered moving the bodies so that they were lying side by side and not how they had fallen. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Curled up against Arnbjörg, Sylbil’s arms were clenched to her chest, her good hand cradling the stump that remained of her other one. Dag had a horrible feeling that one of the wild dogs had probably taken the severed limb but he scanned the area around him in hope, seeing nothing but a large splatter of blood and some unrecognisable flesh on the ground next to him. He looked back at Arnbjörg holding Sylbil protectively in his arms, his large calloused fingers brushing the side of her face so gently. It almost felt disrespectful to move them. They had had such a short amount of time to be together, had fought so hard to live in peace. The very least he could do was to leave them together in death. The sight of the old, thin, red scar around Sylbil’s neck that peeked out from under her collar made the tears in his eyes well up even more.