Nordic Fairies (Novella series)

by Saga Berg

  When she pulled up her light blue VW Beetle in their driveway, she didn’t even remember the drive home. She clutched the steering wheel, took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts before she stepped out onto the gravel pathway outside their house.

  Trym and his lover, Alrik, were at the house when she came home. She hung her white coat in the hallway and took pause before walking into the kitchen. It was best if she didn’t say anything yet. Trym had a responsibility to report everything to the High Council, and she wasn’t ready to find out what they’d do.

  When she came into the kitchen, Viggo reached for another mug from the cupboard above the sink. “Was everything okay?” he asked.

  Viggo, Trym and Alrik stood around the kitchen island. Alrik lowered his cup of coffee, exchanging a worried look with Trym.

  “I’ve been to the doctor. Only a check up, I’m fine.” She walked up, her black and white Spectator pumps making her feel taller next to him.

  Alrik reached out, put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. She moved her arm around his waist and leaned her head against him. Unlike most of the older Liosálfar generation, Alrik no longer had a protégé to look after and spent most his time with Trym and Svala. If Trym was the one who was suppose to keep her in control, Alrik was the fun uncle who let her get away with murder.

  Viggo poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the kitchen island. “Didn’t the doctor find anything?”

  “No.” She accepted the coffee and avoided his gaze. “Nothing wrong with me.”

  “Well, something’s wrong. You’ve been throwing up for weeks.” Viggo gestured to Trym. “We get sick like everyone else, right? I mean, we’ve all had the occasional cold, or stomach flu. We could contract cancer or any other deadly disease as likely as Mrs. Rowan next door.”

  “Yeah, technically, but it’s very uncommon. It’s practically unheard of,” Trym said.

  Viggo turned to the sink to rinse out some dishes piling up. Alrik’s grip around Svala’s waist tightened and she could tell how Trym and Alrik avoided looking at each other.

  “What?” she asked.

  Alrik leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Nothing.” He smiled, but his eyes didn’t follow. “If the doctor said you’re fine, you’re fine.”

  The blood drained from her face. Alrik’s smile wavered.

  “You have nothing to worry about.” He rubbed her arm. “After what they put you through in your last life you’re up for compensation, not punishment, right? They're not going to screw up twice.”

  Viggo’s shoulders tensed up at the mention of their last life. It lasted over the second World War and they’d been kept apart for more years than they’d ever been apart before. Viggo still refused to talk about what had happened to him while he’d been captured.

  She pushed back the awful memories of a time she rather soon forget and considered the odds of something bad happening to them again. This had to be a compensation, the High Council did owe them.

  Viggo dried the wet dishes with a white kitchen cloth. The first couple of years in this life he’d been unable to relax, always on edge, always ready to defend himself. He still woke her up with terrible nightmares and he was constantly on guard but he hid it better as time passed. Between the painting, the peaceful ocean and the comfort of their love, he healed, little by little. But Svala doubted he’d ever be the same again.

  Viggo placed the last plate on the kitchen island and offered her comforting smile. She held his gaze and felt the first flutter of excitement in her stomach. This was good news, it had to be. It was the perfect gift to Viggo after everything he’d been through and she couldn’t wait to tell him. It made sense they’d grant them this and a child was always a blessing. Maybe it was the one thing that could heal him.

  Chapter 10

  Present Time

  Washington D.C

  Back in the living room in Washington D.C, Svala held her breath while everyone awaited Viggo’s answer. As Mathews eased forward in his chair, her three friends stayed silent.

  After a moment of stale staring, Viggo lowered his gaze. When he returned to the camera his eyes had completely lost their glimmer. Svala swallowed back a lump in her throat. He remembered.

  “That’s personal.” Viggo’s face tensed.

  Svala closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand to see the pain in his eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Mathews asked.

  Viggo grew silent again, as did the entire studio while waiting for him to elaborate. Mathews eased closer and let the uncomfortable silence linger. A staring contest began. Mathews held out for a few seconds longer than Svala anticipated.

  “Seems like it concerns something painful.” Mathews tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips together. “Wouldn’t you much rather tell us than have us speculate? You know how viscous rumors can be.”

  Svala bit her tongue, wanting to hurt the guy for toying with Viggo’s emotions. Some journalists had no class.

  Viggo’s eyes darted back and forward as Mathews’ words sank in. His hand moved up to his neckline, and he kept it against the bare skin above the black v-necked shirt for a moment before letting it fall down into his lap.

  Viggo fixed his gaze on his hands, his voice low. “She was someone I lost. Someone I loved very much.”

  A whimper spread through the audience and Svala’s friends joined in. Svala fought the sickening feeling of having their trauma broadcasted like this.

  Trym stood in the door opening behind them. His hand cupped his mouth, his shoulders slumped and his eyes fixed on the screen. When he caught Svala looking at him he straightened up and forced a smile, but not before she’d caught the tears welling up in his eyes.

  ***

  1966

  Hampton

  Svala gave birth to Freja the summer of 1966. The little girl came out healthy with ten toes and ten fingers. According to Viggo, Trym and Alrik paced the floor in the hospital waiting room during Svala’s four-hour labor.

  “I don’t know what they expected to come out. I’ve never seen Trym so pale.” Viggo reached out and let Freja grab his finger with her tiny hand. He studied his daughter as she lay on her back in their bed, gazing up at him. She was beautiful with all the Liosálfar characteristics already in place. Intense blue eyes, skin that practically glowed and such delicate features she almost looked unreal.

  Svala stood over by the white dresser watching them. A warmth spread inside of her and she savored the moment. She never thought she would experience anything like this.

  Viggo shook his head slowly in disbelief. “She’s so beautiful. I’ve only known her a couple of days and I already love her so much.”

  Svala walked up to the bed. Viggo reached out to circle her waist, and pulled her against him on the bed. They sat together, watching their daughter in stunned silence.

  Half an hour later, Svala headed downstairs but stopped in the middle of the stairs when she overheard Trym and Alrik arguing.

  “Why do you have to assume this is a bad thing? This could just as well be a compensation for the hell they put them through. It doesn’t have to be a punishment. It’s a child for God’s sake!” Trym had trouble keeping his voice down.

  Svala frowned and slowly sat on the dark wooden stairs. She tried to breathe as silently as possible. Trym wasn’t the type to get easily upset and he never discussed The High Council like this in front of her or Viggo.

  “It’s not meant for us to have children,” Alrik hissed.

  “For us?”

  Svala detected the ridicule in Trym’s voice. She wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned in closer.

  “You know what I mean!” Alrik snorted. “It’s not fair to us, and it’s not fair to the child!”

  “You don’t know that. For all we know they could get a full life. They can move on to their next assignment when they're eighty and Freja will be an adult, believing her parents died of old age. That has to be their intention. It’s the only reaso
nable explanation.”

  “And what about their last life? How do you explain that?” Alrik spoke through clenched teeth. “Does that prove they care about what’s right? Or what’s fair? And how can we even know this isn’t something the Döckálfar have arranged. Another sick mind game to get us just where they want us. I don’t trust it and neither should you.”

  Svala eased in closer, eager to hear Trym’s response. The old wood in the stairs creaked and silence filled the room downstairs. She held her breath as she stood, clasping the banister. Now she would have to make her presence known or they’d know she’d been listening in on their conversation.

  Both men smiled at her when she came into view. She smiled back, her eyes darting from Trym to Alrik.

  ”Is everything OK?” she asked.

  ”Of course.” Alrik walked up to her, his green eyes filled with worry. ”Shouldn’t you be resting though?”

  ”I’m fine.” She assured.

  She was happier than she had been in centuries, and she didn’t want their argument to ruin the tingling sensation throughout her all body, like a bliss that had no intention of ending. Trym was right, they did deserve it. They’d had enough pain and heart ache in their last life. This couldn’t be anything else than a reward for what they were put through.

  She never asked about the argument, too eager to believe they were rewarded for past injustices. She didn’t want any other explanation.

  ***

  1966-1971

  Freja had her father’s eyes and her mother’s hair. Like most parents they thought her the prettiest child to ever have been born. They experienced her firsts with constant gratitude, her first laughter, her first step. Her first words.

  About seven months after Freja was born, Viggo sat with her in his lap on a red blanket on the kitchen floor. Svala stood by the sink, cleaning up after dinner as Freja entertained her father. She tried to grab his nose and laughed in delight when Viggo pretended to bite her hand.

  ”Dada.” Freja reached for his nose once more

  Viggo’s eyes widened in excitement. “Honey, did you hear that?”

  Svala dropped the sponge into the foamy water and joined Viggo and their daughter on the floor. She reached out to run her hand over her daughter’s blonde hair. “Did you say Daddy, sweetheart?”

  Viggo grinned. “She did, didn’t she?”

  Svala nodded and her heart swelled. The light was back in his eyes, she never thought it would return.

  He grabbed his daughter and lifted her over his head until the little girl wheezed with laughter. When he lowered her again, she reached for his nose repeating her first word. Viggo stared at her with a spontaneous laughter, his eyes sparkling with joy.

  The years passed and they grew comfortable. They didn’t consider the consequences or reason why they had been granted a child. They became parents who loved their child, like any other married couple.

  Viggo painted pictures of them. Either separately or together, and Svala told him they would soon have to buy a bigger place to fit all the paintings. Trym often told them it was a waste of canvas and income as Viggo never sold a single painting.

  “What do you say about giving this one to Trym for his birthday?” Viggo held up one of his early paintings. The canvas portrayed Svala out on the porch in a blue dress. She held her new born baby in her arms, her hair covering half her face.

  “I’ve always liked that one.” Svala sat down next to her daughter by the table and handed her a fork.

  “You want to keep it?” Viggo asked.

  “No. It’s a good idea. Might shut him up for a while.”

  Freja inspected the art work and frowned. At five she was a hard critic of her father’s work. “You use too much blue, Dad,” she said.

  Viggo tried to hold back a smile. “Really? You think so?”

  Freja nodded with conviction.

  He turned the painting to study it and sighed as he considered the criticism. Freja waited for her father’s response with anticipation, her tiny hands clasping the back of her chair.

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, honey,” he said.

  Freja turned back to the table. Her shoulders drew back, her chin tilted up and a proud smile on her pretty face. Svala and Viggo shared a smile.

  “I have to go into town to buy more paint. Do you need anything?” Viggo put down the painting and leaned it against the wall.

  “No, not that I can think of.”

  Freja abandoned her lunch, turning to her father. “I want to come too.”

  “You have to finish your lunch,” Svala said. “Daddy will be back in an hour.”

  “But I want to go too,” Freja whined and presented her best pout.

  Viggo walked up to the table and ran his hand over his daughter’s hair. “You have to eat, honey, how else will you grow?”

  “Please, Daddy?” Her face contorted into a grimace, her lower lip shivering with the threat of tears.

  Viggo suppressed another smile and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour, sweetie.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” He kissed her again. “And you have to stay here and take care of your mom for me. You think you can do that?”

  She nodded but held a confrontational stance, her eyes narrow, shifting to Svala as if she doubted her mother needed to be taken care of.

  The little girl sulked when her father left. She had entered the phase where her father was her whole world and her mother the one competing for his attention. It frustrated Svala at moments like this but most of the time she found it endearing.

  “Freja, please eat your meatballs.” Svala nodded to her plate.

  “I’m not hungry.” Freja crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her chin down. Her blonde pony tail bounced against the back of her white dress.

  Svala stifled another sigh. Sometimes she lost her patience.

  “Freja, please.”

  “I’m not hungry!”

  The girl was so stubborn and Svala had no idea where she got it from. She had no idea how she’d been as a child and no one to ask. Moments like these, she missed her mother and her sisters.

  “Fine.” She grabbed the plate and rose. “Then there will be no ice cream later.”

  “But, Mom!”

  Svala put the plate in the sink more forcefully than she intended, disappointed with herself for posing the threat. The constant struggle to make the child eat anything other than sweets overwhelmed her sometimes and she knew she had to be stronger than this. Exhaling deeply, Svala calmed herself and prepared to act like a responsible parent.

  The sky outside the window had changed from blue to grey within minutes and more clouds moved in from the city. A strong wind rattled the large oak tree in their back garden and Freja’s red swing was set in motion. The one thing she didn’t like about living by the ocean were the storms. Those times the soothing rhythms of the waves rolling up on shore transformed into a thundering monster that crept closer and closer to their house.

  Tiny rain drops pattered the window. She reached in and closed it with a shudder, hoping Viggo would return before the weather got too bad.

  “Mom?” Freja’s voice came out pitiful when Svala kept her back against her for too long.

  She turned around and her daughter’s large blue eyes made her heart melt. She sometimes wondered if she was too hard on her. It was hard to know as she had been raised in such a different time when children weren’t children in the sense they were now.

  The room flashed, as if someone snapped a picture and first she thought it was the weather outside. When the room flashed again, it stayed bright for too long and she understood what was happening. She panicked.

  “No!”

  The room flashed once more. Svala headed toward her daughter. If she could just get her arms around her in time maybe Freja would shift with her. Another flash blinded her momentarily and when her vision returned she was only inches fro
m grabbing her daughter. The last thing she saw before the room shifted was her daughter’s terrified gaze.

  Chapter 11

  1971

  New Haven

  The Hampton kitchen transformed into a small, bright room. Pink wallpaper, a bed in one corner, a desk in the other; a typical teenage room. There was no sign of Freja anywhere. She glanced down at her young, fourteen year old body, and the panic rose.

  “No!” She shook her head. “No!”

  “Svala!”

  Trym stood in the hallway outside, pale and out of breath. He wore a black motorcycle gear with the label Triumph printed in big white letters on his back, the helmet tucked under his arm, his hair a tangled mess. Under normal circumstance, she would have laughed about it. Once in 1563 she shifted while horseback riding and the bizarre experience stayed with her a long time after.

  “Is she with you?” he asked.

  Svala shook her head, staring at him without seeing him.

  “Was she with you when you shifted?”

  “She was right in front of me.” Svala drew a sharp breath and grabbed her chest. “She was sitting right in front of me. Oh my God...”

  Trym rubbed his face with his free hand and sighed. “We’ll figure this out. We just need to calm down. I’ll contact the High Council. I’m sure they’ve kept her safe.”

  “We have to go back.” She grabbed the door frame and pushed past him. “We have to go back right now.”

  “Wait!” He grabbed her arm. “Just wait.”

  She snatched back. “No! I’m not going to wait! We have to get there now! She’s there all alone, she’s scared and she needs me.”

  “We don’t even know where we are!” Trym raised his voice. “We need to calm down and figure this out. I’ll contact them--”

  Svala shook her head. ”No. I’m going to get her.”

  Trym reached out and fixed her face between his hands, holding her still. “Hear me out. I’ll contact them and...”

  “No! They're the ones who did this! I will not sit around waiting for them to tell us what to do. I’m going, with or without you.”