Curse
Breaker
An East o’ the sun and west o’ the moon retelling
Taylor Fenner
Also by Taylor Fenner
The Haunting Love
Finding Elizabeth
The Eternals Trilogy:
Out of Darkness
Into the Light
Through the Fog
Eternal Fire: An Eternals Trilogy Novelette
Night of Terror & Other Assorted Stories
Coming October 2018:
Headless
CurseBreaker
eBook Edition
Copyright © 2018 by Taylor Fenner
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
First Publication January 2018
Cover Stock Credits: 117930142 © Maksim Shmeljov /Shutterstock
Cover Design by Taylor Fenner
To my grandmother, Bonnie Fenner, for reading East O’ The Sun and West O’ The Moon to me when I was a child.
Curse
Breaker
An East o’ the sun and west o’ the moon retelling
Taylor Fenner
Chapter One
Scandinavia, 810
When I knelt at the Temple at Uppsala and asked the Goddess, Freya, to grant me true love and adventure I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I’ve nearly forgotten that day, so many months ago; given up hope that there was any guy out there made just for me since the man I thought I’d marry was killed during a raid. And the only adventures I find come out of the books my father brought back from England on one of his raids.
I try not to think about that trip to Uppsala at all because that feels like where our family began to unravel. When I close my eyes I can still see the ground dyed red with the blood of the sacrifices to Odin and I can still feel the blood splattered upon my face. A young warrior from the next village was offered up as a sacrifice and my older sister, Arika, sobbed until my father told her to stop because the warrior would be dining with Odin that night and that was better than a life here on Midgard being mooned over by a girl he didn’t even know existed.
I suspect that wasn’t exactly true because I saw Arika drinking with the warrior during the merriment the night before and now her dresses don’t quite fit the way they should.
I shudder at the thought because it could easily have been me in her shoes after two men from our village approached me and asked me to entertain their rods for the night. When I refused, they said I should be grateful that two men of their standing even looked at a poor farmer’s daughter, like me. I was dying to explain that I was waiting for love but I know they would have just laughed and they did have me cornered. Besides, the only guy I thought I could love lay long dead on a battlefield across the sea.
Thankfully, my sly brother Axel snuck upon them and placed a knife to one of their throats as he asked if they felt grateful that he was giving them the option to lose their lives or just their manhood. He later walked away disgusted, either by the encounter or the overall festivities, I don’t know. Axel is the most levelheaded of my brothers, so no wonder Father leaves him in charge of the farm while Father and our two eldest brothers are off on a raid.
I can’t help feeling sorry for Arika. Soon there will be another mouth to feed and she can’t even expect to marry out of the family now. No man will marry her after she’s bore another man’s child; even if that man is dead, nobly sacrificed to Odin. I sometimes hear Arika crying at night on the pallet we share, but I don’t know whether she’d be okay with me comforting her or not.
I sit puzzling over the latest book in my collection on an average Thursday night late in the year. My mother stands at her loom humming as she weaves yarn into cloth and my eight siblings are scattered throughout our small hut doing this thing or that, while our father sits staring at the fire daydreaming about the sea. The orange flames make Father’s golden hair, tightly braided and hanging down his back, sparkle and appear almost copper. He stares at the flames intensely with his fingers steepled at his lips in thought, the firelight dancing in his amber eyes.
The only one that can understand my father’s yearning for the sea is my brother Donar’s new wife Sorena, a shield maiden from a village many days away. She loved the rush of a raid just as much as our father but Donar, ever the competitor against our eldest brother, Bjorn, likes to control everything around him. Donar has forbidden Sorena from leaving the relative safety of our little village now that they’ve found out Sorena is carrying their first child. Now she spends most of her time moping around the house, staring off into space and flipping her white blonde hair about, lost in her own head.
Near the fire, my other sister-in-law Elvi sits at the solid dinner table rocking her newborn son, Gunner, to sleep. A complete opposite of Sorena from their complexion to their fire and ice hair right down to their personalities, Elvi is content to tend to the house and my brother’s child. In return, Bjorn, who is much more like our father, showers his wife with love. I think if Bjorn had his way he’d give up traveling the seas and raiding distant lands to spend all his time with his wife.
Outside our home, the wind howls and the house shakes and Thor bangs away angrily at his anvil in the skies above. Sometimes I think he’s angry at me in particular, for craving a life that offers me more than mundane days filled with housework and tending to my rambunctious younger brothers, Espen and Leif.
All at once three sharp knocks land on the door, interrupting my musings and breaking the calm stillness of our little house. The knocks bang against the door like nails being pounded into a coffin. Something in the rhythmic knocking tells me that whatever is waiting on the other side of the door is about to change our lives forever. An ominous chill runs down my spine in response.
At the sound, everyone pauses in their activities and looks up in confusion. Espen and Leif’s toys clatter to the ground with a thud and even Bjorn sits taller in the corner of the house where he sits sharpening the blade of his ax by candle light.
My father sighs and hefts himself off his chair. He limps across the room to the door where he opens it a few inches.
“May I help you?” My father asks.
“Are you Wray Daalgaard?” A male voice asks.
“I am he,” my father replies.
“May I come in? I have a proposition for you,” the voice requests.
Father opens the door wider revealing a massive polar bear standing just outside the door. His front paws, the size of dinner plates, hold him up as he braces himself against the opening. Closest to the door my eldest sister, Britta gasps and Arika rushes to her side, catching her just as she sinks to the floor.
“What kind of proposition?” Father asks as he steps back to allow entry to the polar bear.
The polar bear ambles in from the stormy night. I half expect him to shake his shaggy coat to rid himself of the wetness clinging to his fur, but he refrains as he props himself up against the table where Elvi sits frozen, still holding baby Gunner in her arms. Bjorn crosses the room to stand beside her whilst keeping one hand firmly on the hilt of the knife tied to his waist.
The polar bear takes in our humble cottage and our meager belongings before raising h
imself up to eye level with my father. In a calm but firm voice, he says, “I’m prepared to make you as rich as you are now poor.”
By her loom, my mother inhales sharply. Ignoring her, Father scrutinizes the polar bear warily, “what is it that you request in return? Perhaps mercenary work, or maybe an extra set of hands to help run your manor,” Father offers hopefully.
The bear shakes his head, “no, nothing like that Mr. Daalgaard. What I seek is much more valuable than a hired killer or manual labor. What I want is your youngest daughter. If you will allow me to take her back to my dwelling I will make you richer than you could even imagine.”
“What?” My mother exclaims faintly as the ball of yarn she’s been weaving drops to the floor and rolls away.
“Her?” Britta, Arika, and our other sister Kiersten ask incredulously as their heads snap toward me in unison, their eyes holding silent accusations.
“Me?” I squeak as I look between the polar bear and my father nervously. Surely Father wouldn’t agree to this proposition, trading one of his children for money.
“Yes, you,” the polar bear confirms with an arrogant smirk. The polar bear actually smirked, am I going crazy?
Meanwhile, my father stands by the door silently contemplating the polar bear’s offer. Why didn’t he say no outright? Finally, his eyes, always so full of wisdom and kindness, lift to mine. I already know his decision before he says a word.
“I will allow it,” Father pauses as I hold my breath, “so long as my daughter agrees to go willingly. She is a free woman and I won’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”
“No!” I exclaim without even considering the offer, “I won’t go.”
My father sighs unhappily as he scratches the back of his neck where the top of his golden braid tickles his skin. Turning away from me back to the polar bear he says, “Give my daughter some time to think things through. Return next Thursday evening and you will have your answer.”
“Very well,” the polar bear allows as his gaze flits over me. I notice that his eyes are the color of a stormy afternoon, a startling gray-blue set against his stark white fur. For a second I swear I see a flicker of lightning flash in his eyes but it is gone as quickly as it appears. “Until next week,” though his words are spoken to the whole room it feels as if they are meant solely for me.
The polar bear drops back to all fours and ambles out of our little shack as if he owns the place. The howling wind grabs our door and snaps it shut behind the polar bear’s departing back. Nobody says anything for several long minutes as if we’re waiting for the polar bear to be far enough away.
Bjorn is the first to break the silence, “I can’t believe you wish to allow this, Father.”
Donar pipes up before Father can respond, “Why shouldn’t she go? It would make our lives so much easier to be so rich. I don’t think it is asking a lot.”
“You would think that,” Bjorn retorts.
“What do you think the beast wants with her?” Kiersten asks Britta as they appraise me.
“A midwinter snack, perhaps?” Britta guesses and they barely attempt to snort back laughter as Arika purses her lips disapprovingly. Nearest to me Axel stares at me inquisitively but remains quiet. Espen and Leif go back to their toys, bored with the entire conversation.
“Enough,” Father says, silencing everyone as Mother goes to stand beside him supportively. “Now Helga, why is it that you do not wish to go?”
I open my mouth to speak but close it in thought. My father is a fair man. During a raid, he’s ruthless and unforgiving but when he is home with the family he tries to indulge each of us with whatever we desire despite how little he has to offer. A simple “because I don’t want to,” isn’t going to cut it for him.
“I worry that this opportunity could be a trick,” I reply slowly as I organize my thoughts. “What if the polar bear takes me away but doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain? What if he takes me away and I never see any of you again? What does an animal want with a human companion?”
“Haven’t the stories of the Gods taught you that appearances can be deceiving, Helga?” Father counters. “What if the polar bear is merely a disguise?”
I bite the inside of my mouth until it stings as Father’s words turn over in my mind.
“What if the Gods are testing you to see if you are worthy of love,” Father asks, “Would you toss that opportunity away so callously just because things seem challenging or unusual?”
“What if it is Loki playing a trick on us?” I retort.
“Isn’t it worth taking the risk if at the end you’re given a life you could have never dreamed of?” Father asks quietly.
“She’s selfish, that’s what she is,” Donar pins me with his glare, “just ask Nona Brynja.”
“Shut it, Donar,” Bjorn jumps in to defend me. Needlelike pain jabs me in the chest as I think of the grandmother I never got to meet and the reason why.
“That is enough, Donar,” Father scolds. “Leave your sister alone. It is her decision to make and she has a week to make a choice. You will not bully her into anything.”
“Yes Father,” Donar says reluctantly before stalking out of our little shack and into the angry storm swirling outside.
After that, I try to go back to my reading, but the handwritten script scrawled upon a coarse paper bound between two strong black covers smears under my fingertips. My concentration wavers as I try to understand the language the book is written in. Instead, my mind wanders to the previous owner of the book. Who was he or she? Someone young like me, perhaps. What was their life like? Did they ever feel the strong pressure of their family’s hopes and dreams bearing down on them? I can feel the stares of my family on me even though I don’t dare look up. Finally, unable to take the tense, expectant silence anymore I set the book aside and disappear behind the curtain where Arika and I sleep at night.
Later, after everyone has gone to bed and the candles have been blown out I lay awake on the hard pallet listening to Arika's half-sob half-breaths and think over the night. Was the polar bear Freya's attempt at granting my request for adventure and love? Could Father truly be right? What if this was all a test? What would the Gods think if I refused to try? I would be turning my back on them and shaming myself and my family at the same time.
I hadn't allowed myself to try for love with anyone in so long. It felt like my heart had turned to stone the day my would-be betrothed died in a faraway kingdom. Everyone else had moved on, but I had closed myself off from everyone, including my sisters who were once my excitable, often giggling confidantes. Where has my laughter gone? Will I ever know true happiness again?
Chapter Two
I wake up the next morning unsure if the polar bear’s appearance at the door was anything but some crazy figment of my imagination. Arika is already up and away by the time I crawl out from under the rough wool blanket we frequently argue over. I quickly dress and secure my uncontrollable curly hair that’s vibrant red during the darkest months of the year and golden blonde during the lighter, warmer months.
When I emerge from the room into the central part of our home Mother is rocking baby Gunner near the fire while Sorena struggles to mend a pair of Donar’s socks. She jabs herself with the curved needle and curses the gods before sticking her thumb into her mouth.
“Morning,” I mumble as I shuffle to the table where a steaming bowl of porridge sits waiting for me.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” My mother croons which makes Gunner giggle, “have you thought any more about the polar bear’s proposition?”
My wishful thinking that last night was all a dream dashed, I drop my spoon back into the wooden bowl with a clunk, “No, not yet.”
Sorena looks up from her mending, “she has a week to decide, she has plenty of time to think about whether she’ll leave the only home she’s ever known to go live with a polar bear.”
Thanks for the reminder Sorena, I think as my stomach sours.
“
You left the only home you’d ever known to come here and be with Donar, for a chance at love,” Mother points out.
“Yes, love,” Sorena mutters bitterly as she rips a stitch out of the sole of Donar’s sock. “At least Donar was a man, not a beast.”
“Where is everyone?” I ask just to change the subject.
“Oh, up and about,” Mother says vaguely. “Except for Elvi, she’s sleeping in because this little guy kept her up last night.”
Gunner grins up at his grandmother, too young to understand what we’re talking about.
“I should go help with the chores,” I say as I wolf down my porridge, mildly scalding my throat in the process.
“Oh, don’t worry yourself about that,” Mother says, “There are plenty of hands around here to do the chores, you should just focus on thinking over your options.”
“That’s alright, I don’t mind,” I reply as I rush from the house, not even bothering to clear my bowl from the table.
I start to scuttle across the yard to the barn when I see Father on his horse coming up the snow and ice-covered lane leading to our house. I pause when he approaches me and dismounts. He pats the wheat colored stallion affectionately before turning his attention on me.
“What news do you bring from town, Father?" I ask hesitantly, not sure whether I really want to know. Winter is always a ravaging force on our people and every year our numbers dwindle due to the elements and people running out of food to make it through to spring.
"Widow Loth and her daughter froze to death in their home. They ran out of firewood and had no means to pay for more. Two other families suffer from a mysterious illness, likely leftover from our last raid in the west," Father relays grimly.
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