CHAPTER 10
Næmr had become extremely happy these past months. She had an attentive husband who truly loved her and plenty of ambatts and thralls to help with all her work. Love had made her more contented and settled. She did not have the strange, fitful dreams that caused her to toss and turn and wake her up in the early hours of many mornings. Those fragmented memories that had exploded deep inside her mind which she found upsetting had not troubled her for ages. Halldorr had given her the identity she had never had and she was no longer referred to as the ‘dark stranger’ or the ‘goddess from the mists’ but as the wife and mistress of one of the most respected warriors of the settlement. When Sirgud became too old to manage his affairs or when he finally left this world for the next, then Halldorr would take his father’s place and she would become mistress of all his estates.
She took off her bone dragon pendant and laid it carefully inside a small box where she kept her jewelry. The need she felt for it to protect her had gone. Some day, in a future time, she may feel the need to wear it again. Until then, this new life was hers and her husbands and, in time, together with strong, healthy sons they hoped to have. She had grown accustomed to the village way of life, and felt, that with the passing of each month, she had found her destiny at last. She belonged.
One afternoon, late in winter, after the low dull clouds had drifted apart, a commotion took place in the village that sent a flurry of terrified cries around the snow-covered buildings as panic-stricken villagers called for the priests and priestesses to assemble under the sacred ash, Yggdrasil. The priestess, Vestlasa, wearing her long sacred robes, arrived and began banging furiously at Næmr’s door.
“Næmr! Næmr! Come outside! Hurry! Næmr!”
“Oh, gosh, Vestlasa. What’s wrong?”
Næmr quickly snatched back the door covering and opened the large wooden door to the exterior. The priestess was standing, pale and shaken, her face as blanched as the plants that had been frosted by ice.
“A thing of evil’s high in the sky. We must consult with the gods. I fear Ragnarok, the end of the world, is about to begin,” she wailed.
Vestlasa clutched at her Hammer of Thor necklace that hung around her neck. She clung to the hope that its representation of Thor’s magical qualities would remove the evil that seemed to have arrived in their sky.
Næmr did not hesitate. She wrapped the soft, spotted cat-fur cloak Halldorr had given her around her shoulders and snatched a few handfuls of straw to stuff into her boots. Yalda had instructed her well in this, for the straw proved good protection against the biting cold and helped to keep one’s aching toes from being totally numb. She stepped outside into the crisp, bracing air. The faint winter sun struggled to provide much light and the morning remained dull. Further down the valley a white mist clung to the fjord and the cold, silent boats lay covered in snow.
When they had walked a little distance from the house, Vestlasa pointed high into the north-western sky. Her bare finger shook and trembled, not from the cold but from the fear she felt.
“L . . . look, Næmr. Look!”
Her words were shrill. They punctuated the air with an icicle exclamation as her gasping breath froze whitened around her lips. Vestlasa was taut and on edge.
Næmr shielded her eyes with her hand and looked up. Beyond the top of the sky she saw a shape, like some huge shimmering sword, poised as though it were set to strike the land below. Vestlasa grabbed Næmr’s cloak.
“You see it, too, don’t you?”
Næmr nodded. She squeezed her eyes to focus more clearly but the cold bit hard and her eyes streamed with tears. The sword trembled, vibrated and was ready to strike.
“Hurry! We don’t have much time!”
“B . . . but how long has it been?” Næmr was now beginning to share some of Vestlasa’s concern.
“Yggdrasil. We must get to the sacred ash before that celestial sword comes down and kills us all! The giants are making their move.”
Vestlasa pulled Næmr along with her. They edged around the buildings until they came to open fields where they began to slip and stumble in the deeper snow.
“We should have brought skis, Vestlasa,” panted Næmr. Her thigh muscles cramped and she had to pause. “I don’t think we can reach Yggdrasil before dusk. Not if we go on like this. The snow’s too deep.”
In these northern districts, there were only a few hours of decent daylight left before winter sun sunk below the hills and day became as night again.
“Then dusk it will have to be!”
Vestlasa’s comment was short and curt. She knew that it was imperative they reach the sacred tree as soon as possible. They would need to be there along with the three wise women and the priests if there was any chance at all that Midgard could be saved from the destruction that seemed so imminent.
There was no turning back. To waver now would provide the giants with their opportunity to crush the gods, together with all those who lived upon the Middle Earth.
For hours, the two figures ploughed on, the snow deepening the further they went. Næmr’s chest ached, her muscles burned, her head throbbed but, together, they pressed on. Exhaustion fed greedily on their weakened flesh. Finally they picked out the greyness of the sacred tree and as they struggled closer, its frozen branches groaned and creaked under their heavy load.
The sun had begun to sink. A creeping mist began to crawl across the ground, its tentacles wrapping themselves around the landscape, squeezing out what visual clues they had used that day. The curtain of the night was pulled across the sky and as it darkened, the sword shone bright like a fire-bolt in the sky, its long, slender blade threatening to strike their world.
The three priests clasped their hands across their chests. They were already standing around the Yggdrasil’s base. Næmr could hear their low murmuring as they chanted incantations to save their fragile world from the evil above. Aged and gnarled like the old tree trunk, the three wise women huddled as one, arching their bent backs against the raw coldness of the dying day.
All of a sudden, like a serpent with three heads, three faces turned upwards and six skinny arms linked together as one and pleaded with their gods.
“Behold the sign that tells that Ragnarok is about to begin!” they screamed. “Look, can you not see thes blade stretching across the sky from a shining hilt. Is that not a weapon of the giants?”
Their cries foretold of the destruction of the earth, a time reached when men will slay their own brothers and all of Midgard will freeze over until all are slain.
They watched transfixed with fear as the sword glowed bright. It seemed to have grown brighter, like a monster that hungrily feeds on brightness itself. It was an awesome message. The Fates could read the signs.
“See, the dreadful wolves, Skoll and Hati have caught the sun. Darkness will soon engulf our world forever!” They threw their frail, fur-clad bodies down upon the frozen surface of the earth, screeching like gulls caught in a winter storm. “The final battle is about to begin!”
The three priests called upon the gods to defend their world. Yet they knew that this was not to be, for as men fight men and death claimed all so, too, would the gods fight their enemies. Each would destroy the other until the Earth would sink into the depths of a deep, vast sea and all the life upon it, would perish. Such is Ragnarok. It was prophesied from the time when time began.
Vestlasa called to the malevolent spectre to spare their lives. But with each darkening minute, the sword grew brighter and was more menacing than before. Finally, she turned her panic-stricken face towards Næmr and pleaded with her to intervene.
“Do something! Næmr, speak to the gods! Tell us what future lies ahead!”
“Yes, tell! Tell!” The three implored as one.
Næmr had been standing watching the object that hung poised in the night-time sky. Her calmness contrasted strongly with the disturbed countenance of the others who feared the strange spectacle. She did not see it as a demon. She saw no
evil apparition that was about to bring the final destruction of heaven and earth. She watched the silent shaft of light with its long, hazy tail streaming out behind, and looked directly into the brilliant nucleus head of this stranger that had appeared in the sky. Suddenly, she understood the bright light. She knew it had come from some distant time and space. It brought a message to her from another world far beyond this world in which she stood.
“Auahi-roa! Visitor from afar!” Næmr exclaimed.
A comet, very much like her, a mysterious visitor who had arrived from the depths of time, a traveller appearing now but soon to depart into another time, another space, far beyond the comprehension of those she called her friends.
“What do you see, Næmr, Goddess of the Mists and wife to Halldorr?”
The priests felt her calmness. The women ceased their cries and looked towards the quiet, motionless figure of the young woman who stood away from the mighty sacred ash. A priest made his way towards her. She could still hear the distraught voices behind.
“An evil omen!”
“Our end is come!”
The priest shaded his face with his hand and turned away from the brilliance of the celestial light to the young woman.
“Why do you not seem fear what is in the sky?”
Næmr lowered her eyes and looked into the frightened face of the priest. She said calmly,
“I’ve seen the likes of this before.”
A memory of such a heavenly object entered her mind and she understood why the comet had come.
“We’re running out of time! We will have to fight the giants!”
He refused to look into the sky.
“We won’t! This hasn’t been sent from the giants. Nor is it a demon sent to harm us.”
The priest lowered his voice.
“How so? What is it that you know?”
Næmr raised her head and looked up at the comet hanging in the sky.
“It’ll stay a week or two. Then, it’ll travel across the sky and you’ll see its blade grow shorter. It will fade away until it disappears once more into the stars.”
“What destiny does this thing weave into the lives of man?” the priest asked after a long pause. “Does it not bring a message of death and doom for us?”
“No,” she assured him. “Of that, I’m sure.”
“How so?”
“This thing in the sky has visited Midgard from time to time. It came before any of you were born and Midgard is still here. And the village is still here.”
“But it could be that this time things will be different and the giants will come.”
“The comet will come again . . . in seventy-six years . . . and again, and again. As time goes by, it will return many times. It’s a traveller from far, far away. That’s the way this visitor of the bright light is.”
The priest did not understand. Her knowledge was far greater than his and she spoke of strange events he could not comprehend.
“Then, it will not send us to our deaths?”
She shook her head.
“No, we’ll continue to live.” She looked down the valley to where their village lay under a thick blanket of night. “This thing will leave the sky . . . and life on Midgard will continue. I promise you that.”
She wondered whether she had convinced the priest and made him less afraid. He stood beside her for a while and together they watched the comet.
Then, slowly he turned and walked back to the others.
“The goddess has spoken,” he told them. “She has vanquished its evil spirit and weakened strength of the giants. Don’t be afraid! The goddess says that within two weeks it will be gone! It will not harm us! Our settlement will be protected! She has pledged her word!”
They lit their tallow torches and made their way slowly down into the valley, back into the village that had been their home for so long, even the old ones had no memory of its beginning. They walked back in silence, only their flaming lights showing their way. Overhead, the comet shone bright and then as they neared the village walls, the aparition dissolved into the gathering clouds. It began to lightly snow.
An anxious crowd had gathered inside the Great Hall. The large doors opened and eight figures stepped in. they brushed the fallen snow from their shoulders and walked slowly down the isle as the crowd moved aside. The head priest spoke to them, hoping to allay their concerns.
“Fear not! Our goddess here has guaranteed us our safety. She has pledged that what we see in our sky will cause no harm. I have seen with my own eyes how the sword fades and grows weak. Return to your homes! We shall meet again when the day has begun!”
A low murmur travelled through the crowd. Reluctantly, they began to leave the hall. Finally, only a handful of people were left. The last remnants of flickering flames and glowing lamps had not yet been extinguished. Soon, only the priests remained. They prepared for a night time vigil, just to make absolute certainty that nothing untoward should happen.
Across the far side of the village dwellings, Halldorr waited anxiously for the safe return of his wife. Never in his life had he felt so uncertain, so despondent and so aware of what the Fates had in store for him. Had this malevolent thing come to take away his bride? Had the gods come to claim her back, to take her far away from Midgard?
He, too, had viewed the shining object, bewitched by its beauty, yet awed by its threat. Never had he seen, never heard of such a sign before, never felt that kind of fear that he felt now. He sat alone and wondered what message of doom it contained. Perhaps, Næmr, his Næmr, would be able to allay his fears.
He was relieved when he heard the door creak open and saw that Næmr had returned. He watched as she removed her cloak and hung it on the peg. He waited and watched. She came over to the fire and stood warming her frozen hands in the heat of the flames. Her husband got up and stood just behind her. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and pressed his warm body against hers. They stood arms and body as one, entwined like the plait in her hair, each quiet in thoughts of their own, listening to the soft hissing and crackling of the logs as the flames licked their sides. He longed for the sound of her voice to break the silence of this night.
“Halldorr, are you also worried about the sword in the sky?”
“Yes, I am. Is it not an omen of war? If not, then what does it mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? How nothing?”
“I mean there’s no danger.”
“None? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve seen this before. It’s a comet, a lonely star that wanders far beyond Earth and sky.”
He looked at her, unable to comprehend or share in her confidence that nothing was going to happen. She seemed so far away from him now, like the thing that hung high in the sky. He grappled in his mind to understand what she was trying to say.
“Stars send messages. Our priests read their messages from the patterns they make. What message does this strange star send?”
At that moment she knew that the message was for her. The presence of the comet was awakening her memories and rousing them out of their sleep. It was like a pointer, giving direction to all the chaotic fragments of her memories and now that the comet had come, it provided the catalyst whereby all those fragments could bind together and help her remember. It was a messenger from the past and the future in which time was everything. It was here to share one brief moment with her before vanishing into another time. Næmr felt its spirit surge through her body. She felt the closeness of another time which until now had remained out of reach and far away.
Here! Take this kaanga to Mum. You kids can have it for your lunch.
The sky was blue with small fluffy white clouds sitting on a distant horizon. The corn rustled slightly as she watched an old man in a leafy-woven sunhat bend over and snap off each cob.
She could hear Koro as clear as she could now hear the constant clicking of cicadas in the trees and the musical echo of the kereru, the forest
pigeon, resonating between the rugged hills, clothed in their deep, dark-green cloak of thick foliage. This was the place of her youth.
She knew she was that little girl whose hands stretched out to receive the corn cobs, its golden pearls still safely caressed within their blanket of pale-green leaves.
Thanks, Koro. Can I have a little one? Please? To eat on the way.
Yes, she remembered its taste: each kernel swelled with its sweet juice. She remembered how the outer bits stuck between her teeth so that she had to flick them out with her fingernail. Yes, she remembered it well.
“Please, please believe me, Halldorr,” she implored.
She looked at him with wide, dreamy eyes. He had never seen her look at him like that before.
“What’s wrong?”
“The c . . . comet.” Her words stumbled from emotion. “It brings me joy not fear. It’s given me back my past. But it’s also brought me sadness. My family. I don’t know if I’ll ever see my family again.”
“Am I not of your family now?” he asked putting his arm around her shoulder.
“You are. And your father and I love you both.”
They sat close together and everything was silence for a while. Then, Næmr gently placed her hand on his.
“I remember,” she said, her eyes wistful and sad. She turned them away from him and looked directly into the flickering flames of the fire. “You know, this comet’s come and given me the key to open up memory. I will remember. I know I can.”
“Please tell me.”
The warm glow of the fire softened her features. Its light played patterns around the walls. But it was not this house that Næmr was seeing.
“I remember that our house was not far from a beach; black sand that sparkled like a million diamonds in the sun and it was so hot it burned our feet. We had to run like mad to get to the sea. I can remember our summer sun. It was so hot it made my cheeks tingle and burn. You know, my mother said she reckoned she could cook an egg if it was put on the bonnet of . . . ”
She suddenly stopped. The realisation hit her like an avalanche. The family she remembered did not come from this cold and snow-clad place. And yet, part of her did belong. She could not turn her back on these people here with their dragon-headed longboats and sacred stones. Her people were from a much warmer place, a place where there is never snow and fields remain green throughout the year.
“Oh, no. It can’t be!”
Halldorr looked at his young wife. He wanted so much to share with her the pictures and memories that were flooding her mind.
“What?”
Tears were welling up in her eyes. Slowly they began to trickle down her cheeks until they began to fall like the waterfalls that fell from the rocks.
“Sorry, Halldorr! My family. I see my family. I had brothers, crazy boys. I remember the time when my mother wanted to prepare shellfish for a meal. The boys were gone for ages and at the end of the day, they came back having dragged this huge sack of muscles and pipis home. Poor mum didn’t know what to do. She sent a bagful to our neighbour. Koro came in from the garden. He’d heard mum shouting and carrying on and when he saw what the boys had done he scolded them for taking so many and told them to take them back to the sea. A good three-quarters of the sack. How the boys moaned. All that work for nothing!”
“Were there so many to find?”
“Oh, yes. Lots. Many more than here.”
She moved away from him. He let her pass and did not try to stop her. She took the bone pendant from out of her jewellery case and returned to her husband beside the fire.
“This should tell me who I am.”
She turned the carving over and ran her finger over the inscription on the back. She handed the pendant to Halldorr.
“Do go on. I want to share in the things you know.”
Næmr smiled, then nodded.
“My people have a big house like the Great Hall. Everyone goes there to talk and sing, and sometimes even to cry. We make time to connect with our past and look to our future. Our hall is our ancestor and through him, we know who we are and where we can stand.”
Her husband handed back the bone carving and Næmr held it close to her breast.
“I’ve a great yearning for the earth of my bones. Papa-tua-nuku, my Earth Mother calls to me and I hear her cries. I feel her strongly, pulling me, but part of me doesn’t want to go. Halldorr, I love you too much to leave. This dragon pendant, my moko, will give me strength. I have to cope. I must. Somehow.”
Halldorr had listened patiently to what she was saying. He could understand her feeling for the land, for did his own village not have their sacred mountain, Jotenfjell? Did they not meet together in the Great Hall to share ideas and stories, too? Yet she had spoken of her ancestral home as if it were now and yet he knew of nowhere it could be.
“Do you remember any dragon boats reaching this homeland of yours?” he asked.
“Koro taught me of ancestral boats that journeyed across the oceans until their people found the safety of a land far, far from where they had set off.”
“Were they dragon boats like ours?”
Halldorr had heard of the stories that told of those in their boats who had sailed to strange lands. When he was still a boy, he had loved to listen to the skalds relate the adventures of those men and their boats. He had a secret need for adventure that still flowed through his veins, and he longed for the time when the wild fingers of the restes waves would beckon again. Until that day, he had to be content to farm his land and be happy with the time he had with his bride.
“High carved prows, yes. But no dragon heads. Feathers that fluttered in the wind. Ours have long sleek hulls that slip silently through misty waters. I see warriors. Waiting. Paddles upright. Waiting for the word. Koro’s waka, my family’s waka, my waka, the waka of my ancestors, the waka that carries with it the hopes of my people.”
“Like ours. Whenever I go away, I know I’m taking the hopes of the village with me. If I and those who sail with me are successful on the raids, the people here will benefit. The raids and our boats go together.”
Her next comment took him by surprise.
“They were used for war but that was a long time ago before even Koro was born.”
“Are they for fishing, then?”
“No. Like here, we’ve other boats for that.”
“For travel, then? They must be used for that.”
She laughed.
“Not wakatoa.”
“If you didn’t travel by boats, then sleds or wagons?”
Her images were crystal clear.
“Yes. We do have wagons. Kind of.”
“And ponies too?”
“Our wagons move themselves.” She swept her hand horizontally in front of him. “Like this. Real quick.”
His expression told her that nothing was making sense.
“Magic. It must be magic. Only Odin on his wonderful eight-legged Sleipnir can go as fast.”
“Come, Halldorr,” she suggested as she realised he could never understand her previous world. She decided to let the subject lie and, instead, pulled at the cuff of his sleeve. “Let’s go out and look at the comet together. Let’s see if it’s moved.”
She laughed teasingly and pulled him up. He was reluctant but she managed to drag him as far as the door. Halldorr grabbed the fur cloak that was hanging beside the doorway and wrapped it around both of them. Together, they stepped out into the freezing night air. Wispy, high clouds had now dimmed its light but they could still see the light of the comet shining in the gaps.
“Halldorr, can you see it?”
“Yes, I can but it’s not much brighter than those stars there.”
A small pinpoint of brightness could still be seen shining against the blackness of space above their heads.
“It’s high above the clouds, the moon and that star over there.”
She pointed to a bright star below the cloud level and low on the horizon.
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“Like the wanderers,” he concluded. “That sword-light of yours . . .”
“It hasn’t come to pull Midgard into the fight with the giants. We’re completely safe.”
Halldorr put his fingers across her lips.
“Stop! No more! You are putting poison in my mind. Loki has taken control. The priests tell us that Midgard was made from the flesh of the first Frost Giant called Ymir. Don’t you know that the sun, the moon and the stars were thrown into the sky between the world of man and the world of the gods?” He pointed to the comet. “That thing is evil. It has upset your mind. If such words you have told me are heard by others, I fear you’ll not be safe. Næmr, I beg you, never, never speak to me of such strange things again. Forget. You must forget! I’m afraid that if you don’t, it will destroy you. I don’t want our life with each other to change. You’ve made me so happy.”
Næmr realised this was her life from now on. Like her ancestors before, she must learn to accept and adapt her new country, for there could be no going back to the old. She was no longer a child of her parents but the wife of her husband. Together, their life was their own. She stood on her toes and kissed his warm, moist mouth. She whispered to him the words he hoped to hear.
“I do love you, Halldorr and I want to share my life with you.”
“And I with you.”
Together they left the cold and re-entered the warmth of their house. Halldorr shut the outer door and drew the thick curtain back across the opening. Næmr pulled at his hand and they walked back to the fire.
“I’ll speak of this no more. Not even to Yalda. The comet’s not upset my mind. Until now, I couldn’t make sense of the fragments that tortured me. Now I can. Aren’t we all part of those who came before us as well as all the things we experience in our lives?”
“Yes, we are. I’m my father’s son. I’ll be a jarl, like him, just as he was made a jarl when his father died. I’ve known the excitement of battle and I’ve seen strange lands and those strange lands excite my mind and I wish to know more. If I sailed further would I find what lies beyond the edge of the sea? Can you understand that?”
“Yes. It’s what brought me here. Curiosity. But curiosity can kill the cat.”
“Agreed, Næmr. It’s the only way we can get their fur. A trap set has sometimes caught a cat. Such furs are precious.” He took her in his arms, pulling her towards him. He suddenly felt protective towards her. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Promise me, Næmr, that you will never fall into the trap of curiosity. I don’t want you to try to return to that world of yours. I want you with me.”
She looked up into his sad eyes and realised that what she had told him tonight, he would have to take with him to the grave. His world was not ready to accept other ideas. She must accept him as he must accept her, and hope that their love would be strong enough to take them through a life they had vowed to share together. Perhaps, in time, they could share all their differences.
He drew her thick ebony hair back from her face and lifted it back off her shoulders. Lightly, and with great feeling, he kissed her forehead.
The comet lingered in the sky for several weeks, making its appearance known only during the brief times when the sky was clear. Each day passed and nothing happened. Village life returned to normal and once more people began to grumble about the weather and each other again. And as the comet faded from the skies, the memories faded once more from Næmr’s mind.