by L. M. Roth
Despite the sense of alienation he felt at times in Eirinia, he had never felt any real desire to return to the land of his birth. And yet, Dominio had led him here. Why?
He trudged on in the deepening snow. He no longer took joy in it, his feet feeling like blocks of ice that were an increasing effort to lift as he walked, and his hands numb with cold. He kept his eyes on the path carefully. It soon became clear to him that he was indeed being led miraculously by Dominio, as the path remained clear although the forest floor on either side of it quickly became covered with snow that piled deeper and deeper. So he had another conformation that he was on the right path and not mistaken in his choice…
It had been two days since he was awakened by the Lights of Rainbow Hue and realized where he was. During those two days it had grown colder, and the snow heavier. His small fire at night barely produced any warmth, and spread a pool of melted water that soaked the ground beneath his pelts of fur. He wondered how much longer he was to remain on this path before coming to the place of destination that must surely lie ahead.
On the third day he set out on the path again, and determined to keep going, ignoring the increasing discomfort that threatened to discourage him. Once again the snow began to fall, although it had stopped during the night. The wind also had dropped in the night, allowing him a few hours of sleep as it no longer bit through the meager shelter of his tent.
He gradually became aware of a faint sound, one that was not natural to the forest. He strained his ears to listen and discovered that the path led him closer to it. He picked up his pace, until at last he could make out the sound clearly.
Boyhood memories flooded his mind: it was wind chimes, the sound that every traveler listened for in the wild of winter. For the ringing bells announced that a home or village was nearby, and the wanderer welcome to come in from the cold.
With relief he set out with all haste toward the sound of the chimes.
Chapter XVIII
An Unexpected Reunion
Cort followed the sound of the ringing chimes, oblivious now to the biting wind and heavy snow. The path remained clear of deep snow, with only a light dusting covering its trail. The sound was not far away, less than a quarter of a mile and he soon arrived at its source.
With a shock he stopped in mid-stride. He was standing before the walls of a house he knew quite well, for it was just outside the village in which he was raised. The home belonged to a man named Stig, his wife Lis, and their daughter Siv, who was Cort’s age and had played Staerkes with him and the other village children. There were no other children, as they had already lost three in childbirth, and Lis was a delicate creature who could bear no more.
He had not spent much time in this house, but all knew of it for Stig was a man of fierce independence who had no desire to live behind the walls of the village, not even for safety. All Trekur Lenders knew of the need for the walls as additional protection from the occasional bear that might visit their villages from the wild. But Stig feared neither bear nor man, and chose to live his life separately from the rest of the village, even if it be only a few hundred yards outside the walls.
Cort hesitated before proceeding. He had not expected the chimes to lead him to his home village. Did his father and mother still live? And if they did, would they be glad to see him, or was it a matter of small moment for them?
And his name: should he call himself Cort Adalbart, his adopted name, or Cort Asbjorn, his given name? If he called himself Adalbart, there might very well still be a death sentence against him; for the Tribal Chief had declared that every village in Trekur Lende would be told to watch for Dag, Cort, and Fanchon. Cort knew this was no idle threat, for word spread rapidly among the Trekur Lenders due to the speed of their hunters and trappers and their ability to roam vast distances in a short time. But did that sentence of death still stand?
He thought long and deeply, and in the end decided to use a false name. After all, he had no intention of remaining in Trekur Lende, for how could he? Were he to stay, at some point he must use his real name and if he were still an outlaw then he would be in danger. He sighed deeply and wondered why it was that people could not live in harmony together.
Well, he thought wryly, I suppose I know the answer to that and should not be surprised. For was it not man’s selfish pride that started wars and fighting as each man coveted what another possessed?
Having determined on a course of action he walked slowly to the small house. He had forgotten the steeply slanting roofs, but noted now how they were clear of snow, it having fallen to the ground on either side away from the house. And yes, there were the wind chimes, there in the corner, ringing sweetly in the blowing wind.
He paused for one moment longer as though to weigh the possible consequences of his action; then he strode forward and knocked on the door.
After a moment, it was opened slightly and carefully by a tall man who peered out between the door and the frame. He looked Cort up and down with a practiced eye, checking to see what weapons he carried. Noting that Cort carried only the usual bow and spear he opened the door wider.
“Stranger?” he queried, raising an eyebrow and studying Cort.
“Yes, a traveler who is passing through and in need of a warm fire as a respite from the wind,” Cort replied.
“Your name?” Stig asked, still holding the door partially closed.
“Of course,” Cort nodded, “my name is Knud. Knud Aksel. I do not wish to trouble you…”
“Come in, come in,” Stig motioned to him as he opened wide the door. “We are just about to eat the midday meal. One more to feed is no trouble.”
He ushered Cort into the house and called to his wife, who was in the kitchen area.
“Lis!” he shouted. “Another place at the table; we have a visitor.”
Lis bustled in from the kitchen and glanced with curiosity at Cort. In the north country they were accustomed to the random stranger from the wild, and he did not sustain her interest very long. She merely nodded her head and continued to set the table.
Stig pointed to the chair where Cort would sit. They seated themselves at the table and Stig asked only a few random questions of his guest, and gave only casual attention to the answers. Hospitality was a sacred trust to the natives of Trekur Lende, where opening one’s home to a stranger frequently meant the difference between life and death, and the only requirement asked of the stranger was that they wipe the mud from their boots on the mat at the threshold of the door.
Lis brought a steaming kettle of hot stew from the brazier and using a ladle, scooped hearty servings into the wooden trenchers of Cort and Stig. There was another place set at the table, but Lis did not wait for the person to claim it. She motioned for the men to sit and eat.
As they ate, conversation was idle and in Cort’s opinion, not particularly interesting. Nothing much happened in Trekur Lende, where the inhabitants rarely left their villages or heard news of the outside world. They spoke of the year’s harvest and how many pelts the hunters could expect to take to the trading post to barter with the peddlers.
A slight commotion signaled the arrival of the person not yet seated at the table. Stig and Lis did not even look up from their food, but Cort did and froze in astonishment at the sight of the young woman who had just entered the room.
She was tall, slim, and as graceful as a willow waving in the wind. Her golden-brown hair was plaited into two braids that wound about her head, framing a triangular face as delicate as a fawn’s. Her wide brown eyes widened further still at the sight of Cort. She said nothing, but waited to be introduced to the stranger.
Cort nodded his head to her, but could not greet her until her father gave him her name. It was a custom in Trekur Lende that a strange man could not address a maiden unless her father approved. They could sit at the table until sunset and he would not be able to speak to her unless introduced.
At last Stig spoke.
“My daughter, Siv,” he told Cort. “Siv,
this is a stranger taking shelter. Name is Knud Aksel.”
Siv nodded at Cort, yet a slight frown furrowed her creamy forehead. She looked questioningly at him in a manner beyond the polite interest shown a stranger.
“And you are traveling from where?” she asked, her voice a rich bell-like sound that reverberated in Cort suddenly with the intensity of birdsong. It seemed to speak to something in him, something he had not even been aware of before…
“I live alone in the north. I am a trapper and rarely come south. I am presently on my way to the trading post and found myself near your village. The chimes led me to your home.”
As Cort spoke, Siv’s eyes widened until they seemed all that was visible in her doe-like face. She caught her breath and blinked her eyes rapidly, staring at him as if in disbelief.
She knows me, he thought, panic rising up within him. I must warn her somehow not to betray me.
He caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head. She seemed to understand his signal and dropped her eyes from his gaze in a gesture that could have passed for maidenly modesty.
To her parents, nothing seemed amiss and the meal proceeded in the same desultory fashion. When they had finished eating, Siv and Lis cleared the table and began washing the trenchers while Cort and Stig stood at the brazier and talked about the storm.
“You will have to stay with us tonight,” Stig told Cort. “On the morrow will be soon enough to continue your trek.”
“I thank you,” Cort said with a grateful smile. “It is bitter cold, and a night under a warm roof will fortify me for the rest of my journey.”
He wondered how soon he might speak to Siv, but it was some time before the opportunity presented itself. In the heart of winter, all family activity seemed to be confined to the house, and there was no occasion when Stig or Lis left the house. He had to content himself with a stolen glance at her to enjoin her silence for the present, and a jerk of his head toward the door to indicate a future meeting out of doors.
It was not until the family retired to bed that Cort could let himself out of the house. Their sleeping quarters were at the back of the house; he had been allotted a place before the brazier in the main room, where he made a bed from a pile of pelts. He carefully opened the door and quietly closed it behind him and walked a short distance away from the house, where he took care to blend into the shadows of the trees.
He had not long to wait. He had been outside scarcely five minutes when Siv joined him. She could not see him in the dark of night, so he slipped out into view and tapped her arm. She let him take her hand and lead her back into the woods. Only when he had assured himself that they were out of earshot did he speak. But Siv spoke before he could.
“Cort!” she whispered. “I knew you as soon as you spoke. Why have you come back? For you must know that there is a death sentence out on you, from one end of Trekur Lende to another. Why is that?”
Cort sighed. In his heart he had hoped that the incident of twenty years ago was long forgotten. But time was nothing in Trekur Lende, where nothing ever happened and no one forgot anything that did.
And so he told her; told her of his adoption by Dag, and Dag’s rejection by his tribe with the threat of death should either of them set foot in Trekur Lende again. As he spoke, Siv hung on his words and her eyes grew soft when he told her how Fanchon had broken her betrothal to Dag after his exile by the Tribal Chief, and how greatly it had hurt his adopted father.
“And what of your own father, Cort? Did you ever have any word from him, or your mother?”
“No, nor would I expect to,” he said curtly, the ache of the memory of his last encounter with his father still with him. “For he sold me to the highest bidder and cares not how I am or even if I still live, I’ll be bound.”
He said this last with a snort of impatience, and Siv put a soft hand on his shoulder, coming close enough to him that he could smell the scent of her hair. It smelled good, a clean and crisp scent like that of the wildflowers that dotted the woods of Trekur Lende in the summer months. This then, would be the memory of her that he would take with him, the comforting hand in the cold dark of a winter night, the smell of summer flowers in her hair.
At least, that was the memory he thought he would take. But as he looked into her brown eyes, he suddenly knew why Dominio had brought him back to the land of his birth, and in the instant of knowing, realized that she knew also. He held out his arms to her, and she came into them. Their embrace was long and warm, as his head bent over hers and their hands entwined together. Thus they stood in the shelter of the trees, as they became one shadow under the light of the moon.
Chapter XIX
Forever Yours
He finally released her gently, and she drew slightly back from him, stroking his hair as tears filled her eyes. Cort was unaware that he also had shed tears, until Siv drew her finger down his face and tenderly wiped away the tear that coursed down his cheek. Feeling unmanned, he pulled away from her to compose himself.
“I am sorry, Siv,” he said huskily. “I never cry; I do not know what made me do so.”
“Hush, Cort,” she whispered softly. “I know why you weep; for the same reason that I do. Every night, ever since you left home as a boy, I prayed for your return. I prayed that you would come back to me. And you have.”
“You did?” he exclaimed. “Why did you do that? I left so long ago, more than twenty years ago!”
“I know,” she smiled. “But I always knew, even as a little girl that you were the one. I was heartbroken when you ran away, and I never stopped hoping for your return. No, not even when your father said you had come and gone with another man who adopted you. I still hoped that one day you would come for me.”
Siv said this with such a yearning in her voice that Cort found himself responding with a longing of his own he hadn’t known was there. He saw now why he had taken no wife in Eirinia, why no maiden had taken his heart. For his wife waited for him in Trekur Lende.
He held up his hand to hers and they entwined their fingers together. He then turned her hand over and kissed the palm with gentleness as if adoring a sacred object. But then, did not Dominio teach men to treat their wives with reverence and not lustful passion?
Dominio.
“Siv,” Cort said urgently. “You said you prayed for my return. To whom did you pray? Was it to Bjorrne?”
Siv shook her head.
“I prayed for a long time to Bjorrne. And nothing happened. But ten years ago I traveled with my father to the trading post just to leave the village for a while, and a man was there who stayed at the inn with us. He spoke of Dominio and His Son Alexandros. Father would not listen, but something in me cried out to hear more and I met the man in secret before we left for home. He told me the Good News and prayed with me, and although I have much to learn, it is Dominio to whom I pray. And it was to Dominio that I prayed for you to come back to me.”
Cort’s body relaxed and he let out a deep sigh of relief and exhilaration. So there would be no impediment to his marriage, for Siv was a fellow believer. Had she not been he could not have married her, but would have had to leave her here in Trekur Lende.
Which brought him to another thought.
“Siv,” he said in some consternation, “I am only passing through Trekur Lende; I shall not be staying here. And I do not know where I am going. I have recently left Eirinia due to a rift with my brother, and have not determined where I shall settle. In short, I have no home to offer you, and can not tell you where we may live.”
He feared that such an admission would surely deter his new love from considering a life with him, but Siv only smiled and shook her head at him slowly as if wondering at his obtuseness.
“It does not matter, Cort,” she assured him. “I have not waited twenty years for you to let such a small thing stand in our way. Do you not know? It matters not to me where we live or how we live. I am yours, and I will be forever yours.”
It was easier than Cort expected
to convince Stig and Lis of his desire to wed their daughter. But he felt that before he could ask for her hand, he must be honest and tell them who he really was. To his utter astonishment, Lis made an announcement of her own.
“Stig, Lis,” he began the next morning after they had broken their fast, “I have something to tell you. I am afraid I did not tell you all that you needed to know yesterday upon my arrival.”
“Ah, I already know who you are, Cort Asbjorn,” Lis stated with a shrug of her shoulders. “And I told Stig so last night after the household had gone to bed.”
Cort sputtered.
“You knew! And you did not betray me? How is that?”
“Well, did I not see the way my daughter’s eyes grew so big when she saw you? Did you think I did not know her childhood friends?”
She paused a moment and glanced at Cort with an almost accusatory air.
“And, you also have a look of your mother’s brother, Bent. I would have known you anywhere.”
Upon seeing his open-mouthed stare, Lis relented and shot a smile down the table at him.
“And as your mother and I grew up together, I will not give you away.”
Tears sprang into his eyes and he flew up from the table to envelop Lis in an affectionate hug. She returned it, then slapped his arm in teasing rebuke for the moment of sentiment. Cort then remembered that in Trekur Lende no one betrayed their emotions. He had forgotten, having spent so many years with the Eirini who wasted no time in letting everyone know how they felt about anything.
“Then, have I your permission to wed your daughter?” he asked Stig and Lis. “I do not know where or how we shall live, but it will not be in Trekur Lende. However, I have traveled much and have friends in different lands. We shall find a home; that I promise you.”
