Sandra Hill - Viking II 01 - Truly, Madly Viking (v1.0)

by Truly, Madly Viking (v1. 0)(lit)

  "Who sent you?"

  The whale just laughed, Deep down, you know. "Good-bye then," Jorund called out.

  The whale did an enormous backflip, creating a wave of huge proportions, the whole time holding the sword between its teeth so that it glittered in the bright Texas sun. The Orcaland people would soon be upon them.

  One last thing, Thora told him before swimming off. Tell Beth that Keiko sends his regards. "Keiko? You know Keiko?"

  If whales could smirk, Thora did now. Then she flipped him a big splash of water with her tail fins and swam off. He thought he heard Thora mutter, Can't wait to straighten out that Magnus and all his women!

  "Thank you," Jorund said then. Simple words, but they were from the heart.

  You are welcome, Viking. Use your gift well.

  Left alone then, Jorund glanced at his surroundings. So this would be his destiny. With a smile, he headed for home.

  Maggie's first sign came from Rita. She was hissing in the front window, her back arched with outrage. Joe was the only one who brought that hostility out in her pet. Was this Rita's way of telling them that the man of the house had come back?

  "Mom! Mom! It's Joe!" Beth shouted. She and Suzy were out the front door in a flash and running down the street toward the tall man who was walking purposefully along the sidewalk toward the house. He was wearing the usual Norse attire: a belted leather tunic over tight leggings and cross-gartered half boots. His blond hair was loose and blowing slightly in the breeze. He didn't look any the worse for wear, as he had the last time, but then he'd been gone only for a day. A lifetime!

  By the time he reached her open front door, where she stood leaning against the frame for support, he had one girl in each arm, both of them chattering away and kissing his neck and face in welcome. But it was Maggie to whom he looked.

  "Honey, I'm home," he said, mimicking the line he must have heard on the TV a hundred times. His tone was flip, but his eyes were dead serious, and vulnerable with question. He had to wonder if he was still welcome. After all, how many times could he leave and still be able to return?

  "For how long?" she asked, trying to sound querulous, but failing because she was so happy to see the lout.

  He set the girls on their feet and shooed them toward the house. Surprisingly, the twins scooted inside, giving them privacy. But the look they gave her as they passed was clear: Don't screw this up, Mom.

  "Forever," he answered then, and opened his arms imploringly to her.

  She hurled herself forward into his tight embrace. Against his neck she whispered, "Forever sounds just right to me."

  Only later, when they all sat in the den, feeling very much like a true family, did Maggie ask Joe, "What will you do here?"

  "I know not for certain. Build fireplaces? Teach demented people how to row a machine? Join the you-ess military as a warrior. He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

  She shook her head. "I just want you to be happy."

  "I will be happy wherever you are. You are my destiny."

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later...

  Everyone agreed it was the best Viking wedding ever held on the grounds of a Texas mental hospital. Primitive at times.

  Poignant at times.

  Unconventional at all times.

  Jorund's brother Geirolf wanted him to wait until summer and have a spectacular lakeside ceremony at Rosestead, following the ancient Viking rituals.

  Rosestead's famous rosebushes would be in bloom then. But Jorund was heard to exclaim, "Ibad kemur ekki komi til greina!" That was the Old Norse version of "No way!" Jorund said his brother was living in another world—Viking soap opera humor if he thought he was going to wait any longer than necessary to make Maggie his bride, and he certainly wasn't waiting for a bloody rosebush to bloom before he broke the period of celibacy his fiancée was insisting upon during the betrothal period.

  Rolf sighed in the end and said, "Allt lagi." That was Viking for "OK." He also said something about bullheaded Norsemen who made decisions with organs other than their brains.

  It was important to Jorund and Maggie that all their friends from Rainbow be a part of their wedding. Of course, barricades had to be erected around the hospital grounds to hold off the news media and spectators who'd gotten wind of the unusual event.

  The wedding was held on a Friday—or Friggs day—to honor the goddess of marriage. It was an unseasonably warm and sunny day, even for Texas in January. Everyone took that as a sign that Jorund was in good favor with the gods, except for Maggie and her daughters, who claimed full credit, having made a wish upon a star to their One-God.

  A small family-only wedding ceremony was held in church early that morning, to be followed by the traditional Norse nuptials on the hospital grounds that afternoon. Jorund claimed to be covering all his bases in tying the matrimonial knot.

  The day started for both Jorund and Maggie with the ceremonial cleansings, which would normally take place in the castle bathhouse, similar to modern saunas. They compromised by having Maggie take a lilac bubble bath in her own home, with Jorund and his male attendants visiting a local athletic club, with boasted a Jacuzzi and sauna, as well. The symbolism behind these rituals had something to do with purification and the washing away of the virgin or single status. Jorund said the hot steam and cold rinse was more symbolic of his sexual state these past two sennights, which required many cold showers—hot, cold, hot, cold, hot, cold.

  While these cleansing rituals were going on, the bride's and groom's attendants were supposed to be giving them advice. In Maggie's case, there was a lot of giggling going on. In Jorund's case, there was much scoffing and ribald jesting, especially concerning a certain body part of purportedly remarkable size.

  Maggie wore the wedding outfit brought from Maine by her sister-by-marriage, Meredith Ericsson, which fit perfectly after a few adjustments. It included a long-sleeved, collarless chemise of gauzy white linen, ankle length in front and pleated and slightly longer in back. Metallic gold embroidered roses edged the wrists and circular neckline. A crimson silk overgown, open-sided in the Viking style, had matching bands of metallic embroidery at the neckline and hem.

  The gold shoulder brooches and belt buckle were gifts from Jorund in the design of inter-twined boars. The boar was the symbol of Freyja, goddess of fertility. Jorund and Maggie hoped to breed many children before she got too long in the tooth—Jorund's words—or he lost his virility—Maggie's words. In truth, there were rumors that Maggie already carried Jorund's seed.

  Jorund wore his brother's wedding finery: an black cashmere wool tunic with long sleeves, which hung to midthigh over slim trousers. At the waist was the leather belt Maggie had given him for Christmas, including his scabbard, minus his sword, Bloodletter. Rolf had presented him with a new sword that morning, Joy-bringer, which would play an integral part in the ceremony. A white silk-lined mantle, embroidered with roses matching the bridal attire, completed the outfit.

  Rolf and Jorund, Meredith and Maggie had all agreed that they would be starting their own individualized Viking customs in this new world, including the passing on to each generation of these family bridal costumes.

  Everyone who attended the wedding ceremony wore Viking attire, including the balding, middleaged Fred Bernstein in furs... which in actuality were worn only on rare occasions and then only in the most frigid climate, but Jorund did not tell him that for fear of hurting his feelings. Fred was accompanied by Gladys Hatcher, who was heard to remark to some attendees that Fred was more than he seemed to be... that, in fact, with all the exercise he'd been getting lately, a person could crack coconuts on his butt. When said attendees had looked askance at Fred, who actually did look quite handsome as a balding Norseman, Gladys had added, "No kidding. His buns of steel would probably set off the metal detectors at the airport." Good-hearted laughter followed, as it did throughout the day.

  Natalie Blue sang the processional and recessional song, "Sweet Dreams."

  By the time t
he bridal party approached the trellis, decorated with imported lilacs, everyone was in high spirits, especially Maggie's dual maids of honor, Suzy and Beth, who looked adorable in matching Viking gowns of robin's-egg blue, their hair in braids wound into coronets atop their head. Jorund had insisted that the girls wear in their braids ribands of all the colors of the rainbow, and soft-skinned, pastel-colored harem shoes on their feet. The girls kept gazing at Jorund with adoration, and on more than one occasion were heard to ask, "Can we call you Daddy yet?"

  In some primitive Viking wedding rituals, an animal was sacrificed to the gods.

  It was not surprising which animal Jorund suggested: the fat white hairball sporting a robin's-egg blue bow, sitting big-as-you-please beside the refreshment table. After being jabbed in the ribs by a feminine elbow, Jorund compromised and sacrificed a Big Mac to the gods.

  During the ceremony, Jorund handed his sword to Maggie, which was to be held in trust for their sons. The sword was a living symbol of the continuation of his bloodline. Jorund informed Maggie in an aside that, when their first son was born, a few grains of salt would be placed on the sword tip, which was in turn touched to the babe's lips. Thus would the newborn be given the courage of Viking chieftains throughout time, a contempt for danger, weapon skill, and even a facile tongue.

  Instead of scoffing at this primitive ritual, the attendees listened raptly.

  And Maggie had tears in her eyes. "What if we have a daughter, and not a son?"

  "Same thing," Jorund decided on the spot. "We are American Vikings, after all."

  At that, Maggie gave the sword back to Jorund, thus marking the transfer of her guardianship and protection into his hands.

  Finger rings were exchanged by both parties, each offered on the tip of the new sword. Once the rings were on their fingers, they joined hands upon the sword hilt and spoke their vows. Rolf and Steve stood as Jorund's witnesses. Meredith and Shelley were at Maggie's side.

  When they were finally wed, the bride-run began, with Maggie being given a head start in her rush for the hospital door. Jorund chased after her, passed her by with a joyous laugh, and stood awaiting her when she arrived, breathless with excitement. Jorund blocked her way by setting his sword across the doorway. When he took her hand and led her inside, it represented the final transition from maid to wife.

  The ancient rituals touched the heart, and made the attendees laugh out loud. On the whole, it was a rip-roaring, whooping event in the style of a true Norse celebration, combined with a little Texas low-down hoedown.

  In fact, Jerome Johnson, new owner of Rainbow, gave one of the bridal toasts—honeyed nonalcoholic mead, of course—with these words:

  "Texans must be Vikings at heart, because both know how to have a damn good time."

  Jerome had become a good friend and patron to Jorund. Not only was he lending them his yacht for a one-week honeymoon, he had even offered to help finance the health club that Jorund planned to open—a club that would cater not to perfect, already fit people—mentally and physically—but to those who needed to hone the talents that God—or the gods had given them... to be the best that they could be. It was all about self-esteem, as Maggie, in her role of psychologist, had once told him.

  "I want to make a difference in this world, like my brother Rolf does," he had told Maggie when first explaining this plan. "Too long I have been a warrior, taking lives. Now I want to build lives up."

  Maggie's response had been a little sob and the words, "You already make a difference, Joe, just being you."

  "And Texans and Vikings both think the universe revolves around them," Gladys Hatcher had yelled out, seconding Jerome's toast.

  "And they're both the world's best lovers," Maggie had muttered under her breath, then ducked her head, just the tiniest bit tipsy from too many nonalcoholic mead toasts and the euphoria of this most special day.

  But Jorund heard her and smiled. "Yea, that is the truth. Good loving. 'Tis a gift we Vikings give our women."

  Author's Letter

  Dear Reader:

  Thank you so much for your wonderful response to The Last Viking. I hope you will like its sequel, Truly, Madly Viking, just as much.

  In previous books, I have remarked on the fact that you've gotta love a Viking man. Then I went on in the other books to say that you've gotta love a Cajun man, too, and noted the similarities. Well, guess what? I think there are similarities between Vikings and Texans, too.

  You've heard of long, tall Texans; well, surely there were long, tall Vikings as well. Both groups of men have wicked senses of humor and are a little bit thickheaded, proud, and loyal to the bone. And handsome? Lordy, lordy! If a Texas man tips his hat, hitches his hip, shuffles his cowboy boot in the dust, and winks at you, you'd better beware. If a Texas Viking does the same, run for the hills.

  Please know that I take no credit for writing the T-shirt sayings in this book. They come from observation, word-of-mouth, and the Internet.

  Please know, as well, that I am fully aware that there are no killer whales in Galveston. A little literary license, if you will.

  Mental illness is no joking matter, of course, and I hope no one takes offense at my take on the mental-health industry and its workings. Keep in mind that this is a fantasy novel and was never intended to replicate the way in which actual psychologists or psychiatric facilities operate in real life. On the other hand, laughter—especially laughter at oneself—can be a marvelous balm, if not a cure, for any illness... mental or physical.

  Please let me know what you think of my Viking, Jorund, in this book, and of my Vikings in general. I can promise you that there will be more Vikings in my future. At the very least, Adam and Rurik, from The Bewitched Viking are in the planning stages. And there might possibly be a sequel to Frankly, My Dear and Sweeter Savage Love.

  Sandra Hill

  P.O. Box 604

  State College, PA 16804

  E-mail: S.HILL3@GENIE.COM

  or SHILL733@AOL.COM.

  Information on my books is on the internet at:

  http://www, sff.net/people/shill