by Mari Mancusi
Once someone noticed I was gone, they’d probably assume I’d fled the kingdom. Or maybe they’d wonder if one of the masked attackers had kidnapped me. In any case, I’d never be heard from again.
What would Agnarr think when he realized I was gone? I had told him I was leaving and never coming back. But he’d lost so many people in his life…I hated the idea of him suffering over the loss of yet another.
The wind whipped up in a large gust, almost knocking me backward with its force. I grabbed on to a nearby tree for support, hugging it with all my might until the blast faded. I could feel tears leak from my eyes only to instantly turn into tiny particles of ice on my cheeks.
On a last impulse, I lifted my voice in song. That was what I told the children I did when I was scared, after all, and I couldn’t remember ever being as scared as this—except maybe the day of the dam celebration when the spirits rose up in anger. But I had sung that day, too, calling Gale to my side to help me. Gale had always helped me when I was a child, to get out of whatever scrape I’d gotten myself into.
Of course, I hadn’t seen Gale in years; for all I knew, the spirit had been trapped in the mist like everyone else.
But something inside me still told me to try.
“Ah ah ah ah…” I called, putting my hand to my mouth. But the wind greedily ripped the notes from my mouth as soon as I sung them. Stealing them and carrying them away.
“Ah ah ah ah.”
And yet, still I sang. What choice did I have? What else could I do?
“Ah ah ah ah.”
I collapsed into the snow, unable to move. A great tiredness came over me. Maybe I could rest here. Just for a moment…
I closed my eyes and let the darkness in.
Ah ah ah ah…
What was that?
My eyes flew open at the sudden sound. I scrambled to my feet, weak and confused. I looked around, suddenly spotting a strange little whirlwind a few feet away. Leaves were dancing above the snow. Where had they come from? The trees were bare and the ground was covered with snow.
I rubbed my eyes, thinking at first it must be a hallucination. But no, the leaves were still dancing when I pulled my hands away. I opened my mouth, senseless hope rising in my chest.
“Gale?” I whispered.
The leaves whipped away, up the mountain. They stopped for a moment, swirling in a circle, as if waiting for me to follow, before moving onward.
With a surge of adrenaline, I started to climb. I didn’t know if it was really Gale or merely an illusion brought on by the cold. But a moment later I stumbled across a small rocky cave cut into the hillside. My heart lifted.
I rushed into the cave, ducking under the low-hanging entrance. The storm howled angrily outside, but inside, the cave was dry. I drew a shaky breath, still shivering like crazy and soaking wet, but it was better than being out there. If I was smart, I might have a chance.
Forcing my stiffened limbs onto hands and knees, I searched the cave for wood. There wasn’t a lot, but I did find a few stray pieces. Pulling my flint from my pocket, I shakily tried to light a fire, near the entrance to ensure proper ventilation. I missed the first few tries, my hands too freezing to properly strike the stones together. My despair rose.
Then an idea struck me. I looked out the mouth of the cave. “Bruni?” I called softly for the Fire Spirit. If Gale had found its way here, maybe Bruni could, too. “I could use a little help.”
I hadn’t asked the spirits for anything in years. I’d tried to do it all on my own. And I’d been successful for the most part. For years I’d stood on my own two feet. Made my own way. But, I realized, it wasn’t shameful to ask for help when you truly needed it.
And I needed it that day.
I struck the flint once more. This time, I was able to make a spark. I didn’t know whether it was by my own hands or if Bruni had intervened, but the leaves caught the spark, igniting. I blew on them gently until those flames spread to the wood.
I held my hands over the small fire gratefully, warming them until my skin felt as though it were covered in small pinpricks, a sign the cold was retreating.
My eyelids felt heavy, and I no longer struggled to keep my eyes open as I had one last thought: maybe, just maybe, I would live through this day after all.
I AM A NEWBORN BABY.
My father cradles me in his arms in our small tent. My mother is near; I can smell her warm, earthy scent. She’s carefully finishing up knitting a berry-colored shawl while humming the familiar Ahtohallan lullaby. She will give me this shawl when she is finished.
It will change the course of my life, forever.
The entrance to our tent parts. A village elder ducks inside and sits down with my parents. He is old, the oldest of our family, and he has lived long and seen many things. My father smiles at him and greets him with respect. The elder nods solemnly and lays a hand on my forehead. His fingers are rough, calloused, but gentle.
“You may be small,” he says in a deep voice, “but you are already one of us. A blessed child of the sun. As such, the spirits will always be with you. They will protect you. They will keep you safe.”
My mother and father exchange warm smiles.
“But you must do your part,” he adds, “to be worthy of the spirits’ gifts. To respect the land we walk on. To listen to nature and heed her call. To seek out peace whenever possible. To love even when it might be easier to hate.”
Then he smiles, his watery blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “But for now, little one, all you have to be is yourself. Your very adorable self,” he adds, winking at my mother. My parents beam with pride.
The elder says goodbye, exiting the hut. My mother sets down her knitting. The shawl that has taken her weeks is finally done. She inches closer to my father and me, cuddling up against us. She takes the shawl that she has filled with love at every stitch and wraps it carefully around my body until I feel warm and snug and secure.
“My sweet girl,” she murmurs, gently stroking my nose with her finger. It tickles a little but also makes me sleepy. “May the spirits always protect you. And may you grow to do great things.”
I am a small child. No more than five years old.
I’m huddled in my family’s tent, now terrified and alone, hiding under the same berry-colored shawl my mother made for me when I was a newborn. My mother and father instructed me to stay here, hidden, as they led would-be invaders from our encampment. They would come back, they promised.
They haven’t come back.
Light suddenly pours in from outside. I shrink in fear, trying to make myself as small as possible under the cover of the shawl, as a stranger steps into the tent. She looks around, her eyes searching. I can’t help emitting a small squeak of terror as she inches closer.
She freezes at the sound. I cower in fear as she reaches down, lifts up the shawl, and discovers me hiding underneath. She gasps in surprise; then her face softens. She drops to her knees and pulls me into her arms. I should be frightened, but her touch is gentle, kind. She smells a little like my mother.
“Sweet little girl,” she whispers, “are you here all alone?”
I let out a small sob. The first one I’ve dared since my parents disappeared. “They told me to hide,” I explain in a wobbly voice, pulling the shawl around me and hugging it tight. “They said bad men were coming. But that I would be safe.”
“You are safe,” she assures me.
She carries me out of the tent. More people are outside, milling about. They are dressed like my family—but they are all strangers to me. Still, they look kind. My fear begins to fade.
“She was hiding in the tent,” the woman explains when they turn to look at me. “I think she’s the only one left.”
Fear once again grips my heart with icy fingers. “Where’s my mother?” I cry. “Where’s my father? I want to see them—now!”
The woman sets me gently on the ground, then kneels before me. She takes my hands in hers. They are coarse, harde
ned, but her touch is somehow soft. “I am sorry,” she says, seeming genuinely distraught. “I am afraid they are not coming back.”
I stare at her in horror. “No!” I shake my head. “You’re wrong! My mother would never leave me! She promised never to leave me.” I clutch the shawl around my body. It still smells like her. It still feels like her.
“Sometimes we make promises we cannot keep,” the woman says slowly. “But do not fear. You are not alone, little one. You may have lost your family today, but you have also found a new one.”
“How?”
“The Northuldra are made up of many groups, but in the end, we are one family. One people under the sun.” She smiles at me. “What’s your name?”
I am around nine years old. I’m wandering through our camp, weaving my way through the huts as Gale sweeps in behind me, tickling me under my arms. I screech, erupting in giggles.
“Go pick on someone your own size!” I scold the Wind Spirit playfully.
Gale obliges, sweeping over to tease a young woman as she cooks by the fire. When she shoos it away, it heads over to an older man, stealing the carrot he’s about to feed to his reindeer. Then it sweeps under Yelana, who’s busy knitting a shawl. The Wind Spirit steals the nearly finished project straight from her hands and drops it on her head. She starts scolding the spirit in a loud voice, but I can tell she’s not really mad.
My heart swells as I watch them all. My family. Maybe not the one I was born to, but the ones who now hold my heart. I still miss my mother and father, but the pain has dulled over time to a slow ache.
“May the spirits protect you,” I remember my mother saying each night as she’d tuck me in. “May you grow to do great things.”
I don’t know if I’ll do great things. But I have done this thing. Made a new life, found a new family to call my own. Not of blood this time, but of love, friendship, and respect. I hug the shawl my mother made me close to my chest. I think she would be proud of me if she saw me now. I think she would be happy that I found a new peace.
Gale swirls around me again, tossing me into the air. This time I don’t scold it or send it away. Instead, I let it take me high into the sky, then look down at my family below. My heart soars.
I am home.
The peaceful scene in the village shatters. The forest has erupted in violence. Wind, fire, smoke. The ground is buckling under my feet.
I am twelve. Agnarr is fourteen. And he’s lying on the ground, bleeding.
I stare down at him, feeling the conflict rise inside of me. I should leave him here. Go back to my family. The longer I stay, the more I risk not being able to go back. The fires are fierce. I may get cut off, trapped.
I turn to leave. But not before I catch his face again. Pale, anguished, eyes fluttering. A soft moan escapes his lips. He’s clearly in pain. And no one else is around to help.
Only me.
My mother’s words once again echo through my head. “May you grow to do great things.”
I don’t know if this is a great thing. This could be a stupid thing. A terrible thing. The worst thing I could do.
But then I remember how I felt back in that tent, the day my family was killed. How scared I was. How alone. If I hadn’t been found, I would never have survived.
Found by someone who didn’t know me. But saved me anyway.
As I will save this boy.
I call out to Gale. The Wind Spirit sweeps in, taking Agnarr and me, cradling us gently in its breezy embrace. As it carries us away, I just want to make sure he gets to his people safely.
I don’t know if I’ll ever do great things.
But I will do this thing.
Hopefully it will be enough.
I awoke in the cave later that evening. The storm had vanished and the setting sun was painting its last pictures before dipping below the horizon. I sat up groggily, examining myself for any injuries. But the spirits had protected me.
And maybe spoken to me, through my strange dreams.
I thought over the dreams as I took stock of my surroundings, noticed the still-smoking heap of ash that had been my blazing fire, acknowledged the hunger roiling deep in my belly. Something inside told me that I should pay attention to what I’d seen. That these long-ago fragments of the past could be pieces of a puzzle meant to be linked together to help me determine my future.
My mind flashed back to the village elder’s mandate when I was just a newborn baby. To seek out peace whenever possible. To love even when it might be easier to hate.
I thought of Agnarr lying on the forest floor. Me, calling out to Gale.
A simple act of love, powerful enough to change the very course of the world.
May you grow to do great things.
“Iduna!”
I looked up, startled by the sudden voice. To my surprise, I was no longer alone.
The mountain trolls I’d been seeking.
They’d found me.
BULDA RUSHED OVER TO ME, CHECKING ME out carefully for any injuries. Grand Pabbie looked at me solemnly. “You are awake,” he said.
I scrunched up my face, confused. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“We trolls have our ways.”
“Are you all right, dear?” Bulda asked, grabbing my arm and sniffing it. “It’s too cold for a human to be outdoors, even if you are in a cave. Where is your husband, dear Agnarr? Does he know you’re out here?”
“Do you have any daughters yet?” added the younger female troll curiously.
My heart ached at their words. Husband, daughters…
“He is not my husband, and there will be no daughters,” I corrected them wearily. “Agnarr is to marry a princess of another kingdom. She will have his daughters, not me.”
“But the vision said—”
“I guess the vision was wrong. Agnarr must marry a princess.” I walked over to a nearby rock and brushed off the snow to settle on its unforgiving surface. “And I am no princess.”
“Bah!” Bulda blurted out in disdain. “What is a princess, anyway? Some silly title made up at birth? Because their great-great-ancestor was good with a sword? Royal or common, your blood runs red. And it has nothing to do with one’s ability to help one’s people.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to the Arendellian council,” I muttered. “They are very set on Agnarr being married for the good of the kingdom.”
“And you don’t think you’d be good for the kingdom?” Bulda pressed.
I opened my mouth to argue the point, then closed it. I thought of my years in Arendelle. Inventing the turning blades on the windmill to help the farmers with their output and better feed their families. Reading to the children. Baking for the elders. They weren’t the grand acts of a king or queen, but they had the potential to be life-changing all the same. To bring people together. To make them feel safe and cared for. Loved. Respected.
But it wasn’t enough.
I shook my head sadly. “They want to create an alliance between two nations.”
“And would not your marriage do that?” Grand Pabbie suddenly broke in. He gave me a knowing look. “I know where you come from, Iduna. And I know what you did that day to save Agnarr. An act of love, saving one’s enemy. Don’t you think the spirits know the same?”
I stared at him, unable to speak. He wasn’t wrong. I had saved Agnarr in an act of love—even before I fell in love with him. In that moment in the forest, there had been no Northuldra, no Arendelle—just two people who needed one another coming together.
Forming an alliance all our own.
And even though the spirits had been angry that day, raging through the forest, Gale had still seen fit to help me save Agnarr’s life. That had to mean something, right?
“Also, this may not be written in the Northern Lights or all that,” Bulda added, “but the guy clearly loves you. Though he’s a bit of a fixer-upper. That mustache! What is going on with that half-grown mustache?”
I giggled. I couldn’t help i
t.
Grand Pabbie’s eyes settled on me. They were kind and knowing. “Iduna, do not sell yourself short. You are one of the people of the sun. You are more than worthy of an Arendellian prince.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You have saved his life. You have won his heart. All that’s left now is for you to take his hand.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I gazed at the trolls. “It’s funny,” I said. “I came up here to ask you to help me forget. Instead, you helped me remember.” I drew in a breath. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure is all ours,” Grand Pabbie assured me. “Now go, Iduna. Go back to Arendelle. And forget about the council. Agnarr is the only one who matters in the end.”
“And get that boy to grow out his mustache!” Bulda added. “Tell him Bulda said he’ll look utterly dashing with it!”
And with that, the trolls popped back into boulder shape and rolled up the hill to return to the Valley of the Living Rock. I watched them go, feeling a warmth rise inside me, despite the cold weather outside. It was an almost giddy happiness I could barely contain.
For so long I’d lived in fear. Not sure who I was. But now I realized that what really mattered was who I could be.
And there was only one way to defeat that fear for good.
We didn’t need an army to bring peace to Arendelle. We only needed love.
And what could be stronger than my love for Agnarr?
I PRACTICALLY RACED DOWN THE MOUNTAIN, the exhilaration inside me thrumming through my body, propelling me forward. Down the pathway, to the lower altitudes, where the snow had already melted except in small, random clumps. It was hard to believe I’d almost frozen to death on my way up.
When I neared the town, I looked out over the hillside, smiling at all the windmills spinning contently in the morning breeze. There were so many now; each farm had wanted their own. And grain production had been up so much this year, we were able to send some by ship to neighboring kingdoms that weren’t so lucky.