As
weeks passed listlessly for the young girl, the rest of the village
prepared for the coming feast- seemingly oblivious to her inner
turmoil. The butchers were busy with the last minute fattening of a
few choice goats and sheep. The bread woman saved her finest
ingredients for the traditional breads and delicacies. The fisherman
pulled in heaping nets to smoke and dry great stores of cod for the
coming voyage. The blacksmith (a handsome younger man, in Sigrid’s
opinion) worked constantly, spending the long days split between
repairing, sharpening, and rebuilding weapons and practicing with
them in the men’s field. The women worked tirelessly; spinning
new garments, preparing less perishable food, and properly pampering
so as to assure their men did not go wanting. The women who would be
joining the raids, however, had to ration their time between chores
and honing their own battle skills.
Everyone
had something to do. Everyone except Sigrid.
While
they no longer held animosity toward one another, Sigrid was not
exactly jumping at the idea of trusting Brandr again. He was a nosy
boy, maybe he had a good heart, but he didn’t act like it
sometimes. Maybe
he’s just daft, she
thought, laughing. She shook her head. She knew he wasn’t, but
maybe it would be easier if he was. At
least Ulfr, remains deliberately out of the situation. Comes from
having siblings, I guess.
Despite
her resolution, she was lonely. Independence didn’t give her
someone to talk to. Much to her father’s dismay, he had no
other children, which meant Sigrid lacked a designated playmate. She
considered- very briefly, but on several occasions- to go see Otama,
but her childhood friend now spent most of her free time with
Hjordis. That was an encounter Sigrid was decidedly against putting
herself in to.
As
her mind wandered, she’d find herself hanging out at the
jewelry shop with her uncle. Her cheery uncle was easier than Brandr
to forgive. The man’s joy was infectious and as delightful as
the trinkets he made.
“If
you spend any more time on that counter, Sigrid, I’ll have to
start charging you rent.” Her uncle called from the bowels of
the shop, over the sound of hot metal being poured into a soapstone
mold.
Sigrid
grinned, fiddling with a strand of her hair. She’d jumped on
the counter and now hung off it from the hips down, much like a
beached seal. If she thought about it, it was uncomfortable. Luckily
she managed to distract herself, mindlessly gazing at the examples of
jewelry and bobbles on the walls.
Brooches,
necklaces, rings, arm cuffs, beads, bangles, and belt buckles dangled
and dazzled in the daylight. Although silver most prized among the
Northlanders, bronze made up the largest amount of the jewelry.
Bronze- as well as red deer and elk antler- was easiest to come by.
By way of sea and river the Northlanders acquired glass, gold,
silver, and all other matters of pretties from trade. Her uncle
stayed busy with what he made- the Jarl would come by for more
adornments, boys who came of age needed their personalized Mjolnir
pendants, women wore brooches to signify their wedded status. All in
all, the village appreciated Brisingr’s skill and charm.
“You
know,” her uncle continued, coming to the front of the shop.
“On a day as nice as this, most children don’t spend
their time with smoky relatives.” He smiled and wiped soot from
his face with the back of his blue sleeve.
“I’m
not most kids. That’s what you always say, right?” Sigrid
smiled and laughed, pushing herself off the counter.
Her
feet stung as she landed, reminding her of how long she’d been
hanging there. Grimacing, she stomped her feet into the dirt, hoping
to speedily send along the needles in her feet.
Her
uncle laughed and scratched his short beard thoughtfully, eyes
quizzical. He pondered audibly, dramatically, for a spell, until his
eyes lit up with a satisfied glint. Sigrid knew mischief was to
follow. He snatched a leather pouch off the wall and filled it with
colorful beads of glass and semi-precious stones, the small kinds of
beads women used for clothing.
“These
are for Grid, Bjorg’s wife. She ordered them recently. Could
you go and deliver them to her for me?” He said it so casually;
she almost forgot to be suspicious.
Almost
forgot- but not quite. “Wait, but doesn’t she pay you
when she comes and gets them?”
Brisingr
shrugged, brushing it off. “She already paid for them.”
Sigrid
regarded her uncle with squinted eyes. He sighed exasperatedly and
crumbled on the counter, leaning down to her. “You’ll be
my absolute favorite niece.” He winked and lofted the
drawstring bag over the counter.
Sigrid
caught it. “I’m your only niece!”
“So
it’s an easy guarantee!” Brisingr smiled cheekily,
stretching like a lazy farm cat.
Laughing
and waving him off, Sigrid nodded and fastened the strings to her
belt. Setting off down the market place, she could see men practicing
in the clearing beyond the mead hall. Swords and shields rung out
with violent clashes, men grunted and chortled as they brawled in the
grass, a few bowmen launched arrows into tree trunks.
That
should be me, she
thought vaguely as she turned south at the mead hall, facing toward
the sea. Nestled beside a patch of trees, opposite Folkvar and Auda’s
home, resided Bjorg’s family home. The realization came to her
sharply- which she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten- that
Bjorg and Grid were Brandr’s parents.
Her
uncle was a clever man.
Taking
a quick breath, Sigrid plucked up her willpower and strode out toward
the home with purpose. As she approached she discovered Grid quietly
tending to her garden, plucking unhealthy leaves from a vegetable
stalk.
“Hello,”
she said, mousier than she’d intended.
Grid
turned and smiled, crows’ feet blossoming at the corners of her
smiling eyes. “Hello,” she said warmly, smoothing the
mass of braids at the back of her head. Wife
braids, Sigrid
noted absently. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
It
wasn’t something Sigrid had prepared for. Searching for the
right words, she untied the pouch at her belt with clumsy fingers.
“Yes, I’m on an errand from Brisingr, the jeweler. He’s
my uncle. I’m delivering you sewing beads?” She walked
closer as she talked, proffering the bag out at arm’s length.
The
look on the woman’s face confused her. She didn’t seem to
remember anything that Sigrid had said. Frowning, Grid stood up and
placed one hand at the base of her back to stabilize her. Steadied,
she took the bag and examined the contents with one deft finger. She
paused, hands on her hips, elbows akimbo. For a dreadful moment
Sigrid was certain she’d argue with her.
“Strange,
I don’t recall ordering these.” Her mouth went askew as
she looked at Sigrid thoughtfully. Her eyes softened. Sigrid was
certain her gaze flicked to her left wrist, now fully healed. A
knowing look crossed her face. “Who did you say you were? I’m
sorry- my memory's a rat’s nest.”
“Sigrid
Arisdottir, the jeweler is my uncle.” She replied hesitantly.
“Ah
yes, of course. You’re the one he’s so fond of.”
The woman’s smile grew, and Sigrid knew she was blushing. The
glimmer in Grid’s eyes made her uneasy. “Actually, I do
remember ordering these. Thank you Sigrid, and thank your uncle for
me.”
“Of
course,” She turned, ready to take her leave.
“One
moment, Sigrid!” The woman called after her. She turned to face
Grid, trying her best to be obedient. The woman indicated to her dirt
caked feet and dress hem, then to the garden which still needed
tending. “If you’d be so kind, I’d love if you
could bring these inside and place them by my loom. You seem, I’m
a mess, and I still have a fair amount of gardening to do before I
start dinner.”
Grid’s
earnest face implored Sigrid to agree, despite fervently not wanting
to. Gritting her teeth, she nodded and retrieved the drawstring bag
once more, heading for the main door.
The
inside of the house was much the same as hers, if not a little larger
and smelling of much better prepared food than her mother’s. A
smile fire served as minimally needed heat, and sunlight filtered
through open windows.
All
she wanted was to drop the pouch by the loom and leave without
possibly running into Brandr, if he was there. She’d made it to
the loom in the corner and had almost passed the fire when Brandr
stepped into the hall from a connected room, chewing on a piece of
dried cod.
He
caught her gaze and swallowed, his hand dropping to his side. His
face went blank, trying to process why she’d be in his house.
Sigrid remained fixed to her spot, midstride. What should she tell
him? Suddenly she forgot what she was doing and felt profoundly
uncomfortable. They stood there for what seemed like forever.
“Uhm,”
Brandr started with a frown.
“Yeah.”
“You’re
in my house,” he stated.
“… Yeah.”
She gulped. “Your mom, she ordered beads.” Her answer
must not have sufficed, as it only seemed to complicate Brandr’s
thought process. She pointed vaguely over toward the loom. “They’re
over there.”
“Oh.
Well,” he looked around at nothing in particular, chewing the
piece of cod once more, deep in thought. “I was about to grab
some practice weapons and see if Ulfr wanted to join me. You can come
along, if you’d like.” He smiled awkwardly, his mouth full.
Her
uncle was a very clever man indeed.
“I
guess. I mean, if you guys want me there.” Despite herself, she
grinned and as the two of them walked out of his house, it felt good
to have her friend back. She would have to thank her uncle.
After
bouts with Ulfr, Brandr, and herself, the three children sat back in
the grass. Sigrid’s knee was bruised from a scrap with Ulfr,
but it was hidden by her dress. Brandr had a budding scrape and smear
of dirt on his forearms from when she tripped him. Ulfr had a couple
cuts from Brandr, who’d apologized profusely and became oddly
restrained afterwards. They were,
altogether, quite disheveled. It was a good afternoon.
“I
can see my dad from up here,” Brandr remarked. He pointed down
the hill from where they lounged, their vantage point excellent for
watching the training field below.
Bjorg,
his father, was currently training with his sword. The handsome
blacksmith’s sword locked with his, and the two struggled for
the upper hand. Beside her, Brandr rooted for his father with bated
breath. The blacksmith leaned in and knocked Bjorg with his shield.
Bjorg stumbled back, but did not fall. Regaining his footing, the
children could see Bjorg laugh and clap the younger man on the arm.
“Where’s
your father, Sigrid?” Brandr asked, still focused on his own.
His words seemed guarded.
Sigrid
searched somewhat reluctantly. Her father grappled with a younger
man, the taller of the Viking twins, on the outskirts of the clearing
by a couple of trees. Even from a distance, she could imagine his
face red with anger and exertion. Her jaw clenched as she pointed.
“He’s wrestling with the taller twin, over there by the
trees.”
“It
looks like he’s winning,” Ulfr noted, nodding
approvingly.
Her
voice dropped. “He always does.”
Brandr
looked at her and knitted his eyebrows, tipping his head like an
inquisitive dog. “That’s good, isn’t it?” The
hesitant tone crept back into his voice, like he didn’t want to
hurt her.
“Sure,
I mean, why wouldn’t it be?” She replied, shrugging.
Brandr acted like he had a secret. A secret of hers. One she
certainly did not want to share. The one about why she was not sad
when the men left on raids.
Brandr
and Ulfr shrugged it off, moving on to nattering about the other
warriors and how they fought. If they knew anything about her secret,
they remained politely out of it. Sigrid only half listened to the
boys, off in her own world.
“I
wanna be like Dagfinnr,” Ulfr continued. “He’s a
great swordsman. Mom says swordsmen get whatever they want. My dad
was one.”
“Do
you remember him at all? You must’ve been very little when he
died.” Brandr replied.
“I
was. It’s been a little over eight years ago, and I was only a
baby, barely a winter old. To be honest, I don’t think I can
remember him.” Ulfr sounded dismayed, but lacked the heart in
it. He didn’t feel sadness for something he didn’t know.
Sigrid understood that- if she would be honest, she did not feel any real sadness for the death
of her birth mother. She couldn’t even remember her.
Sigrid
and Brandr left a respectful silence. After a time Ulfr continued.
“Well who do you guys want to be like?”
“I
dunno,” Sigrid replied, deep in thought. “Maybe Folkvar,
if he wasn’t so glum, or my uncle.”
The
two boys laughed. Aspiring to be like Folkvar was something many of
the children he taught shared., but something about Sigrid wanting to be
like the giant, burly man struck them as funny.
“I
know- I want to be like my dad. Or Asgeirr.” Brandr said
plainly, still smiling from laughing.
Sigrid faced him, curious. “Asgeirr? Isn’t he the total
bore? He never seems to do anything. My father never talks of him
when he tells stories of the raids.”
“My
mom says he has no heart- and that’s why no one loves him, and
why he hasn’t taken a woman.” Ulfr continued, following
her momentum.
Brandr
met her eyes with unusual seriousness, almost akin to reverence. “I
don’t think so. I think he’s just quiet. And what could
you two know? Maybe he’s just reserved. He has to have a heart.
Everyone has a heart.” His eyes became distant, and Sigrid
fancied that he was talking more to himself than to her.
It
was her instinct to pry more, to argue her point, but Sigrid got the
impression it was wiser not to. She had been on the receiving end of
Brandr’s anger once before and was not in a hurry to do so
again. Instead, she stood up, gathered her practice spear, and
stretched. “I don’t know about you two, but I have chores
before the feast tomorrow.”
The
puzzled expressions on their faces confirmed her thoughts. Of
course they don’t. They’re boys. Girls cook. Boys eat.
She rolled her eyes, trying to smile.
“So
you’re leaving?” Ulfr asked, looking downhearted. She was
glad that Ulfr had welcomed her back so congenially, but she actually
did have chores.
“Yeah.
Sorry. See you both tomorrow- in my best dress. Don’t laugh at
it, okay? I’ll still be able to eat more than either of you.”
She laughed, smiled, and waved goodbye as she hiked up the rest of
the hill to her house. Although she wished she could stay, she didn’t
have the heart to stay and watch her father.
Inside
her house, however, he mother was stressed and anxious; quick to hand
over many of her chores. In no time at all, Sigrid was preparing food
and weaving extra clothing and picking the best vegetables out of the
garden, and then running errands for her mother and her uncle.
Everyone was busy, and Sigrid was not- which made her an easy target.
She did not mind it, she liked being busy, but it wouldn’t have
hurt for them to say thank you once and a while.
Perhaps
it would have been better to stay with her friends.
~
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