Lightning Scarred

by Carolyn Ivy Stein

  It almost felt like Jörd's powerful lightning, but this power was different, lighter and sweeter, and she thought she smelled apples and the warm textured breath of summer grasses mixed with the musk of animals.

  Dagning slipped further under the chest until only his tail twitching back and forth could be seen. Magnihild knelt down and flattened onto her belly, trying to see what lay under the chest. She pushed her hands into the dark trying to ignore the dust that threatened to make her sneeze.

  The floor felt dusty and hard below her probing fingers. She couldn’t feel any of the game pieces. So many had been lost she was sure they’d been pushed under the chest. If they were not here, where were they? She pushed her hands closer to the wall. It felt warmer and softer, like loamy ground instead of hard wood planks.

  Dagning mewed, and with the sound came more sparks that temporarily brightened everything underneath the chest. Through a hole in the wall, Magnihild could see a field of grass and flowers, midsummer in all its glorious, verdant greenery. The mead hall and the snowy world outside felt small in comparison to the world Magnihild glimpsed beyond the small, cat-sized portal.

  She saw thousands of game pieces, all laid out neatly on a green field, and in front of each one a ginger paw pushed them forward.

  Were all the world’s cats playing their own game? If so, it was a game Magnihild couldn’t quite figure out.

  She pushed herself further under the chest until her rear hit a lower plank, making the entire chest rock slightly. Dagning’s whiskers brushed her skin and sent prickles of lighting rippling along her arm. She shuddered, but she continued to press her hand into the green field, feeling her way toward the closest piece.

  As she touched the small, colorful wooden disk painted with flowers another hand did as well. Then a small velvet paw. All three melded around the game piece and it wasn't lightning that flooded Magnihild's goddess-etched channels, as had happened when Jörd sent power through her, but the cool, vital, glacier water that melted each summer and refroze each winter.

  Flowers smothered her until she couldn't breathe in anything but the wild madness of a short fierce summer's blossoms.

  Desire slid along the lightning scars like tree sap rising in spring until Magnihild moaned with frustrated hunger, conscious of her husband's blood beating within his body from across the room.

  So near. So far. So maddening.

  A voice that smelled like apples and honey spoke through Magnihild's mind sweeter than anything she'd ever tasted. "I am so proud of you, my fine cat, born of my own sweet chariot steeds. You've won the day, bringing me the prize I sought. Soon you shall have your reward."

  "What is this?” said a voice made from thunderbolts. It tingled against her like lightning that strikes close enough to raise the hairs on a warrior’s arm but no so close that it touched the skin. But it wasn’t inside her. It came from… Where? It sounded like Jörd. But how? “You know that Magnihild is mine.”

  Another voice purred inside her like a thousand kittens. Magnihild wanted to roll around in that sound, to feel it forever. “Certainly, but Dagning is mine. My delightful servant who has brought me my prey, this one hanging from his little paw like a very large mouse. You are a master of strategy, Dagning.”

  Dagning purred. For a moment their roles were reversed and Magnihild’s heart beat like she were on the losing side of a battlefield. She trembled.

  “You are training the cat to hunt humans?”

  “No, of course not, what fun would that be? Anyone can hunt humans. No, I am teaching him to bring me those touched by gods.”

  “Why?” asked Jörd, echoing Magnihild’s own unspoken thought.

  Magnihild’s heart felt as if it would burst from her chest any moment. Was this what a mouse felt like right before—No. Don’t think about that.

  “Sweet Jörd, this is strictly catch-and-release. I’ll send your human on her way with a sweet reward; no harm done. There is even a bit of good in it for her, as well as a reward for my delightful servant.”

  “Then release her now.”

  Moments later, Magnihild bumped her head against the wooden bottom of the chest. Both goddesses gone as if they’d never been. The game tokens that had been in Freyja’s garden were now scattered under the chest. She gathered the pieces and placed them in her apron. She held it tightly to keep the apron wrapped around the pieces and to prevent any of them from disappearing again to Dagning's questing paws.

  Sixty-five days later, in early summer, Dagning led Magnihild to the carved chest. Underneath, a small black and white cat had given birth to four golden kittens, each with a pattern that looked like Freyja’s falcon on their heads. Dagning puffed up with pride and purred loudly.

  Magnihild didn’t need an Edda to know the meaning of this. For bringing her as prey to Freyja, the goddess gave him kittens. She looked down at the wriggling kittens, so helpless. Yet even now she could feel the power of the goddess pouring through them and she shuddered like a mouse cornered by six powerful cats.

  Each kitten would have to go to a worthy bride. Thereby, Freyja spread her net wider across Midgard. Each goddess-touched gift was a piece on a vast Hnefatafl board that she moved and changed to further her strategic plans.

  Who wins when gods play?

  Edda - Burning Ice

  From the Polina Manuscript

  Six long ships, prows bloody, their decks filled with death,

  Skarde Bjornekiller took his navy through an ice ring in the summer sea.

  Stinking of blood, they sailed through to Thule.

  He chased his enemy, Geirleif Geirleifson.

  But the seas shifted, the ice bunched up. The seasons shifted.

  Geirleif Geirleifson disappeared with his entire fleet.

  Where summer once reigned, winter took command.

  A contingent of ice witches met Skarde Bjornekiller's ships as they made landfall.

  One tall, lump of snow stepped forward, revealing her icy visage to the sailors.

  The ice witch spoke and her voice was like windborn ice scraping against yew trees.

  "Who commands these ships? Who brings these ships to violate our shore?"

  Skarde Bjornekiller stood against these fearsome women,

  holding in his guts with one hand as they tried to slip out.

  Lifting sword in salute with the other arm he said, "I am Skarde Bjornekiller.

  We come from Hlesey and we chase our enemy to these shores.

  The ice witches threw spears made from ice and two of Skarde's men died at once

  their blood freezing as it flowed freely over the icicle.

  [This section of this edda fragment is too damaged to read]

  And then did brave Sigmund turn about, baring his buttocks to the ungentle ladies.

  He grunted once, twice, thrice, and on that signal Frekason brought the torch close.

  Sigmund farted a mighty blast that caught the flame.

  The smelly fart shot like Greek fire across the bow incinerating all in its path.

  And thus were the icy hearts of the Thulish witches melted.

  Deep Compassion

  Carolyn Ivy Stein

  Yrsa's hollow belly roared. That, even more than the slight warming of the air and the drops of liquid water on her lush white fur told her it was spring. She allowed bluish light to seep past her lashes for a long time before she opened her eyes to the dim sunlight illuminating the interior walls of her bedroom in the ice-carved house. She felt her ribs, so much more prominent now. She’d grown too thin this winter. Fortunately, she hadn’t mated this year.

  Last summer, between herding seals and training young Kaneedma females to take their positions as seal herders, she'd supervised a group of Kaneedma and human artisans. She watched with delight as they transformed ice into more than a home for her and her cubs.

  By the time they finished, the icy walls were a work of art with intricate carvings of battles and daily Kaneedma life. When the sun struck the wall of the la
rgest chamber just right, the carved Kaneedma warriors seemed to move in battle. She wondered how the artisan had made that happen. It was like magic to Yrsa.

  In her sleeping chamber, a three-dimensional carving of one-year-old cubs rolling around in a mock battle at the foot of her sleeping roll made her smile whenever she saw it. Aleutian artisans imported from Midgard had decorated the inside of her sanctum with seal pelt tapestries embroidered with delicate stitches. Clearly their small hands and fingers were goddess-designed for the work, unlike her large paws.

  Time to get up.

  She lumbered past a sealskin calendar with its beautiful Viking art surrounding a wheel depicting the two seasons of the year: winter and summer. This month was Einmánuður. The sadly underweight Viking trader she'd bought the art from told her the month polar bear cubs emerged from hibernation was called Einmánuður.

  It pleased her that humans recognized the cultural dominion of Kaneedma people in their own minor practices, even as it troubled her that they called the Kaneedma “bears.” It was a slur. The Kaneedma were no more bears than the humans were monkeys. She had the opportunity to make this point directly to the ambassadors of Thule from the human lands and they seemed to understand. At least they promised they would communicate it to their people.

  Their acquiescence to the emotional needs of the Kaneedma proved that Modir appeared to be correct about the sentience of this non-Kaneedma species. Not everyone agreed, of course. And some who agreed in principle that humans were sentient still hunted them because they were delicious. But, overall, the campaign to spare their lives was proceeding nicely.

  Still, she would gladly eat a human right now if one presented himself to her before she broke her winter fast.

  Joking. Just joking.

  She was not immune to the delicious smell, but her study of ethics prevented her from indulging in even the fattest, most luscious human meat.

  Damn she was hungry. It was always this way after her winter hibernation.

  Björn and Drifa, her plump, healthy cubs, were already awake and crashing around in the great room, searching for preserved seal. But she had hid it well in the first month of winter when they'd all settled in for the long sleep. The hungry cubs were too old to nurse these days but continued to stay with her since they were not yet ready to hunt, herd, or fight on their own. Björn in particular proved clumsy despite his bulky muscles and thick fur. The less said about the seal slide incident, the better. Becoming known as Brown Butt Björn did not bode well for his future.

  Well, she had done what she could with him. Today they would begin the long trek to the coast where she would offer him to the venerable Hildingr for military training. She hoped the old warrior remembered his time mating with her so many years ago and looked kindly on Bjorn. A Hildingr-trained Kaneedma would bring glory to Bjorn's entire family. If he survived, it meant he would have his choice of mates once he was old enough to challenge the adults for his place.

  Drifa had delicate of features with white fur that stuck out in an unruly mess, but was far more sophisticated than her littermate, Bjorn. She would serve her apprenticeship in seal herding for at least another winter before having her own cubs. The challenge would be keeping adult males away from her. Her already enticing scent told them she was an adult, ready for their wiles though her mind had not yet reached the point where she could nurse and teach another generation. Well, what else were mothers for if not to fight for their cubs?

  Seal herding was an art, and while Yrsa had a certain level of talent, it was nothing compared to Nanna's facility with seals. Drifa would thrive under Nanna's attention as long as she kept her attention on the seals and away from any distractions.

  Last summer, one of the human artisans had created a false door to hide the pantry from the cubs along with a fake pantry as a double fake. It looked like it had worked. The frozen seal meat was still fresh and still there. She pulled out enough for a hearty meal for the three of them. She didn't know whether they would find prey as they hunted their way down the coast, but it was important to eat enough to survive the cold weather, just in case.

  Yrsa ate her fill. It was delicious; so juicy with ribbons of fat. She sighed happily as she finished her meal.

  She called, "Drifa! Bjorn! Equip yourselves. We begin our trek after we break our fast."

  The twins bounded into the main room. Drifa squealed with pleasure at seeing the seal portion on the wooden table. The wooden table looked out of place in Yrsa’s house, but it was a luxury given her by an old lover and she wouldn’t part with it. The seal fat and blood looked even more delicious on the table, so she supposed it was worth keeping, just for the aesthetic beauty of it.

  Björn didn't waste words but began eating with a passion. He hoarded every bit so that his area stayed clean. Drifa, ever consumed by drama, made a mess, but also ate every bit. Good. They needed to eat just enough to be active but not so much that they wanted to nap. She would deliver them to their tutors with the raw intelligence that a slight hunger provided.

  Their breath through the long dark winter had melted and frozen over and over again until the snow covering their spacious dwelling had solidified into a protective shell that disguised and protected the house from outsiders. Perfect for a cozy winter slumber. But now winter was over.

  While the cubs ate, Yrsa chipped away at the interior ice of the disguised entrance, showering her white fur in a snowstorm of tiny ice shards. She could tell by the quality of light that it was safe to go outside again.

  No one stayed out in Thule's biting temperatures other than seals too dumb to know better… and male Kaneedma. Not that Yrsa was saying that the males of the Kaneedma were dumb, but she thought it significant that only they and the Weddell seals spent their time above ground in the dark and cold of a Thulish winter.

  Yrsa finally chipped away enough ice to open the door so they could exit their home. The cubs had finished their food and were chasing each other around the table.

  "Bjorn! Drifa! It's time to go."

  "Still hungry, Mom." Björn didn't quite whine, which showed he'd learned something since last spring, but the tone of his voice was distinctly inappropriate. She walked over and cuffed him hard so that he slid against the hard floor with a sloosh and bounced against the ice wall.

  "Dress yourself. We leave. You will maintain a proper demeanor with Hildingr, understand?"

  Björn sighed, but he stood up and went to the wardrobe where his clothing was stored. Drifa was already there, fingering the sashes and matching them to her belt and pouch.

  "Make haste!" Yrsa said as she widened the doorway.

  It took longer than it should have but the three finally started their trek to the coast.

  Yrsa decided to drop off Björn first. The longer journey with Drifa would give Yrsa the chance to give a few last lessons to her daughter, increasing her chance of success. Björn was on his own; she knew nothing of military training.

  Yrsa bounded onto the ice in front of them and listened carefully to the resulting thump. She sniffed, trying to catch a waft of scent ahead of them. Deep ice had a characteristic sound, while the shallow ice not only sounded different, but Yrsa could smell prey under the ice, if it were there.

  This ice pack was solid and deep and had no smell of prey. She felt the ice tremble behind her. She turned to see Björn and Drifa bounding about excitedly.

  Well, no harm done here. As they moved to thinner ice, they would need to be quieter, but she’d handle that then.

  They continued traveling, Yrsa sniffing the ice as she went, calculating the depth of the snow, and moving on until she smelled a seal. No, wait. It was something she'd never smelled before.

  She bounded onto the ice with her full weight, over and over again, until it cracked beneath her weight. She did it again and a hole finally emerged. She and Björn worked to widen it, looking for the prey within.

  Bjorn, anxious to eat, plunged into the water.

  Yrsa followed him to assi
st in case he found trouble, and rescue him if he couldn’t extricate himself. But once in the water, she lost track of her cub. She dived but didn’t see him.

  Eventually, she saw a curved ice bow with opaque water seemingly suspended within the arc. That was unusual. Ice bows were common everywhere on the surface, but to see one in the water was rare. And there was no structure she’d seen below the water that had lightning shafts sparking within it.

  Curiosity overcame her. She went through it, and as she did her ears rang as if someone was playing ice music inside her skull. Her fur tingled with electricity.

  She must have blinked because suddenly everything changed. The water was warm, too warm, warmer than summer. Blood warm. She swam for the surface, keeping an eye out Björn and looking for the hole in the ice.

  There was no ice, and despite the warmth, Yrsa shivered.

  At first Yrsa thought she'd traveled into summer, because when she came up for air, there was no ice above her. When she poked her head up, all she saw was ocean, as if her icy home had never existed. But a true Arctic summer was filled with life, with flocks of birds and a rush of sea creatures. Instead she had traveled to a barren sea. Where was she? And how would she get back to Drifa and Björn with no land or ice as far as the eye could see? More importantly, she had to find land or ice for herself. She wasn't a seal. She couldn't swim for hours.

  Nevertheless, she paddled steadily, seeking land, and searching for Björn or Drifa but finding neither. She dived again, feeling the strangely warm water flatten the fur against her skin.

  Everything about this water looked different, from the way the light no longer played through the algae in rainbow prisms to the strange emptiness throughout. Even the water itself lacked the brine that helped buoy Yrsa as she swam.