A cool breeze wafted into the room. Selby shivered and moved slightly behind Ingrid’s shoulder. Aguane entered, carrying a gown over her arms.
“Let’s start with a bath,” Galwain said, and all the women headed off to ready Ingrid for her big day.
50
Ingrid
A large platform had been erected in the center of the village. It was meant for Thelonius to preside over the festivities and revel with the crowds. Instead, it had pillars wrapped in ivy at each corner, flowers and plants growing from pots set in groups along the edges, and too many candles to count.
It was early evening, and the brightest light of the day had given way to the purple hues of twilight. In the distance, Vimala stood shining on a grassy hilltop as Thelonius and Eir waited in the center of the platform, facing the stairs where Ingrid approached. Caelya and Selby were to the right, Bremen and Plintze to the left. Ingrid, however, only had eyes for Jorg, who stood waiting for her at the top of the stairs.
Aguane had dressed her in a light teal gown made from a fabric that shimmered in the low light. Her hair cascaded in curls down her back, and a small silver diadem encircled her forehead. She epitomized her new status as a goddess.
Jorg wore a deep blue tunic over black trousers. A sword hung from his waist with a golden hilt encrusted with rubies and sapphires. His hair was pulled away from his face, and his ears stood tall and proud. It made him even more handsome, and Ingrid held her breath as he took her hand. She giggled as the dimple in his cheek burrowed deeply as he smiled.
A crown of silver in the same leaf and ivy pattern as Thelonius and Caelya’s sat on Jorg’s brow. He’d accepted his position as a prince of Alfheim, somewhat begrudgingly, but it suited him.
They stood together as Thelonius and Eir took turns saying words, wound a cloth around their entwined hands, and made them repeat their vows. Ingrid hoped she’d remember it all later, but at that moment, she was too happy to think about anything other than Jorg.
When he bent to kiss her, a shock wave jolted through them both. It was the bond locking into place. More than a simple agreement to love each other, their souls connected and wove together—inseparable for eternity. They smiled at each other and kissed once more to the cheers of the crowd.
Music and laughter filled the village. A constant stream of well-wishers approached Ingrid and Jorg. Others bowing to them took them a while to accept.
They’d danced when they could, ate from platters spilling over with food, and soaked in the joy. Several times, someone asked them about where they’d live or what they planned for the future. Ingrid didn’t care about any of that. She knew there were details to work out, and they had responsibilities to fulfill, but they’d think about it later.
In a rare moment, when the couple had only a few others around them, Plintze caught Ingrid’s attention. He stood off to the side and nodded to her. He held his staff and appeared to be going somewhere.
Ingrid squeezed Jorg’s hand, and he followed her gaze. Together, they strode over to the dwarf.
“You aren’t thinking of leaving?” Jorg asked.
“Ach, it’s time,” Plintze said. “I need to go.”
“Why? Where will you go? Can’t you stay with us?” Ingrid heard the desperation in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. The thought of Plintze going away pained her. Since the moment the cranky dwarf had sauntered into her life back on the moors, he’d grown into one of her dearest friends.
Plintze stared at the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Don’t push him to stay, Hjarta. If he wants to leave, we need to respect that.
I’ll miss him too much.
Jorg pulled Ingrid close and kissed the top of her head. She huffed a wry laugh to herself. With all her new power and abilities, she had grown no taller.
She reached out and took hold of Plintze’s hand. “Wherever you go, will you send word, so I know you’re safe?”
“Humph.” Plintze eyed her sidelong with a grin.
Ingrid’s cheeks pushed into her eyes as she smiled back. “How am I supposed to live without you?”
“Lazuli is alive. Eir told me, and I need to find her.”
“What?” Ingrid and Jorg said together.
“How is that possible?” Jorg asked. “You searched for her before we left and never found her.”
“She hid from me,” Plintze said. “Eir found her and healed the injuries on her shoulders where the wings used to be. Now she’s living alone, embarrassed to show herself to anyone.”
The thought of the mischievous sprite as a recluse broke Ingrid’s heart. “Will you go back to the home where you lived when we met?” Ingrid asked, hoping it was true. Then she’d know where she could visit them.
“Aye.”
“I can’t imagine anyone better to care for her,” Jorg said and squeezed Plintze’s shoulder.
Ingrid wrapped herself around the dwarf in a strong hug. It hurt to let him go, but he deserved happiness—even though thoughts of he and Lazuli bickering and pestering each other made her wonder if happiness was what he’d have. Then she realized they’d care for each other, and in their own way, it would be more than happiness. It would be love.
They watched him walk away through watery eyes. Eir tipped her chin to them as she took his hand, and they disappeared.
When they turned back to the revelry, Ingrid tugged at Jorg’s sleeve. He stopped and gazed at her, a question creasing his brow.
In the distance, Selby’s laughter rang out. She and Bremen danced happily. It seemed so long ago she and her friend had sat on a barrel, watching the other girls practice while hoping to become shieldmaidens. They’d wanted grand adventures and glory.
Ingrid shook her head with a grin and focused on Jorg. “I think we deserve time alone now, don’t you?” she asked.
“It’s all I’ve wanted for hours.” His voice rasped as he stepped closer. “For years, actually,” he whispered against her ear as he kissed her neck.
Ingrid leaned into him, and Jorg fell backward, landing on a soft mound of grass. She’d opened a portal behind him and taken them to a hidden valley Caelya had told her about.
“I like your new talents,” Jorg said with a laugh as he sat up.
She snuggled herself onto his lap as they scanned the area. Just as Caelya had described, a small cottage sat in the distance, nestled among the trees. Nearby, a waterfall created a private swimming hole. Bushes laden with blue and red berries sweetened the air. It was a private hide-away all to themselves.
“How long do you think it will take the others to notice we left?” Ingrid asked.
Jorg brushed his fingers through her hair and held her gaze. “I don’t care, but they won’t be seeing us for a long time.” He kissed her, and she melted into his arms.
They had forever, and she’d treasure every minute.
Thank you for following along on Ingrid’s journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!
The next story, Arcanum, gives a look into Ingrid’s parents, Agnethe & Klaus. It is a fun look back at how they met and how they found out what might be coming in their future. I hope you enjoy the more historical, yet still youthful tale.
Arcanum
Contents
1. Alone in a Crowd
2. Attack In The Night
3. It’s All Too Much
4. A Helpful Stranger
5. Hope Returns
6. Fight At The Inn
7. Changes
8. Heart’s Desire
9. A Surprising Ally
10. All About Reputation
11. The Final Straw
12. A Deal Is Struck
13. Too Many Feelings
14. A Hint Of Knowledge
15. Wedding
16. At The Cabin
17. Tragedy Strikes
18. A Secret Restored
1
Alone in a Crowd
Whispered from mother to daughter, the secret pa
ssed to only one woman in each generation. Agnethe’s mother was dead.
As a child, she’d been told it would be her responsibility to know the truth and carry it forward to her own daughter. “When you are older and ready to understand,” that’s what her mother had said.
But now, Agnethe stood numb as she watched the flames of the pyre rise higher into the air. Bile rose in her throat as the smell of burning flesh, wool, and wood mixed in the air. There wasn’t anyone she could ask. That’s one thing her mother had shared — “no one else must know, you must keep the secret.”
Maybe she’ll visit me on her way to the afterlife. Agnethe shuddered at the thought, and her stomach knotted further.
“Come child,” Bierka, Agnethe’s aunt, said as she pulled her away from the flames. “Let’s go gather your things.”
Agnethe only nodded, unable to form words. Beyond the haze of smoke on the other side of the pyre, she noticed a strange woman. Hooded in a dark cloak, so her face was not visible, Agnethe could feel her stare as if directed into her soul. As she moved to step closer, the woman spun and walked away.
That was odd. The hairs on Agnethe’s arms stood on end and brushed against the wool of her crimson tunic.
Bierka called to her again, snapping her concentration. Slumping her shoulders, she glanced toward the pyre once more before following her aunt.
Because her father was away raiding and would not be back for months, possibly years, she would move in with his family. Maks, her older brother had gone with him as well, leaving their mother to run their textile business with Agnethe’s help.
The cloth they produced was not just fine quality, but known for the intricate patterns and colors both Agnethe and her mother brought to life within the fabric.
Even with the men gone, they could make a handsome living sending their finished work down the canal that ran in front of their village to where it met with the River Trent. Agnethe would sometimes fantasize about her creations making it all the way to the capitol, Jorvik.
Managing the sheep and the looms herself would be difficult, so Agnethe would move in with her relatives. Thankful, at least, that she would not be forced into a hasty marriage even though she was fourteen, and of marrying age.
They would tend her flocks with their own until, or if, her father returned. While grateful for their care, she was uneasy at the prospect of living in close quarters with her four cousins and aunt.
Her uncle, too, had gone on the voyage with her father, which she was glad of since he was a huge, hairy man who drank too much. But, so was her cousin. Even though he was only a year older, he towered over her and leered in a way that made her uncomfortable.
The three girls weren’t much better, always making fun of Agnethe for her light colored hair, bright turquoise eyes, and fair complexion—the exact opposite of their dark features. Their broad shoulders and boisterous personalities dwarfed Agnethe, figuratively and literally, but her mother always told her they were acting out of jealousy.
“You have the presence of a well-bred queen and they don’t, so hold your head up and act with dignity. Let them show themselves as fools,” her mother would say. Now she was to live among them. Crowd into the same bed with them.
It had been quiet in her home with her and her mother, working side by side tending the sheep, or at the loom weaving cloth, talking and laughing together. There had been so many opportunities for her mother to tell her about the secret, about what she carried inside her blood and would pass on to her own daughter one day. But now, she was lost and alone.
Why didn’t you tell me? When would you have determined me old enough?
Letting her mind wander helped keep her from dwelling on the fact they were approaching her home. Her empty home. The thatched roof and wattle walls resembled many others in Saxebi, but it stood out silent, and dark. Slumped, like it knew life would never brighten it’s walls again.
Bierka and Agnethe entered through the front and Agnethe closed her eyes, breathing deep of the mint and lavender bundles that hung from the rafters. Her mother had insisted they kept the flies away and it must have been true because no other home Agnethe visited was as clear of the buzzing pests as her own.
Her eyes stung, and she inhaled deeply to keep the tears from falling. Bierka had already loaded cooking utensils into a crate as if the hands that touched them last, meant nothing.
“Get to work, girl, I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary,” Bierka said when she saw Agnethe still standing by the door.
Striding past her aunt, Agnethe pushed through the door curtain into her room determined to enjoy quiet, uninterrupted time while she packed her small amount of belongings. Shaking out her bedding she folded the blankets that decorated her bed.
I doubt I’ll be able to use these, but I will not leave them to rot here, either.
Bierka had told her she could only pack the essentials because they didn’t have much space for her; she didn’t know what would happen to the things she wasn’t allowed to take. A thought crossed her mind to leave everything as it was, hoping she could come and be by herself sometimes, but that wasn’t to be. Agnethe fit everything into two crates. Sighing at the sight of the filled boxes, she turned to go into her parents’ room.
At the foot of the massive bed that her father had built for them, sat her mother’s trunk. The bed’s four large posts rose from each corner with fabric panels hanging on either side that could be pulled to create a private intimate chamber. The rich purple silk was a gift from her father from one of his raids and a treasure of her mother’s. She had said she felt like a queen surrounded by such beauty as she slept.
A collection of rugs lay scattered on the floor and along the wall next to the doorway hung all her mother’s dresses. Fine clothes made from a variety of fabrics were her particular weakness and her father was always keen to bring her new styles whenever he came back home.
What will you bring her this time Father?
Agnethe thought of the pain she would see in her father’s eyes as he held an embroidered silk dress from Frankia, expecting squeals of delight, but finding silence. The dresses would stay hanging in their place, there wouldn’t be a need for them where she was going. However, after sorting through the trunk of simple everyday clothes, beads, belts and night dresses, Agnethe brought the entire contents. Her mother was a little taller than Agnethe, but she could alter her woolen dresses and hangerook aprons to fit.
On a side table, she found her mother’s collection of brooches, held in a box that was yet again a treasure brought home from her father. It had never occurred to Agnethe how many fine things her mother owned because her father cared to bring them home to her when he’d been gone. Nor had it occurred to her, how much her mother had enjoyed such fine things. She remembered a conversation once about how living in a prosperous settlement such as theirs was far preferable to a small, unnamed farming village.
Agnethe wasn’t sure, it was all she knew, but it was also calm and peaceful inside her home as opposed to the hustle and bustle of the streets outside her door. A quieter village didn’t sound so bad to her, and she suspected would sound even better after moving in with her cousins.
Once she was finished in the bedrooms, leaving Maks’ room untouched, she entered the open living quarters to see her cousin, Trond, carrying a crate out the front door. She glimpsed the sturdy horses attached to a wagon when the door didn’t close all the way behind him.
“Are you finished in the other rooms?” Bierka asked.
“Yes, there are two crates in my room and a trunk in my parents’,” she said.
“I don’t know if we’ll have room for all of that.”
“Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad for me to stay here? I could keep this place myself and then I wouldn’t be such a burden to you,” Agnethe offered, hoping once more the decision would change.
“You know that will not happen. Beyond the work it would take for you to care for this place by yourself, it would be t
oo dangerous for you to be here alone. We’ll make it work somehow with all this stuff. Your mother certainly enjoyed finer things and my brother was all too happy to oblige her.” Bierka grimaced as she examined the home that Agnethe had been raised in. “A simple life, with simple things is plenty. You would do well to remember that.”
“Yes,” Agnethe answered, not wanting to argue with her aunt or listen to any more conversation about her mother that would make her detest the move more than she already did.
They shut the door behind them when the last item had been loaded and Agnethe startled when a furry creature rubbed against her leg. “Caesar, there you are! You almost missed me and got left behind silly boy,” Agnethe said, picking up the scruffy orange striped cat.
“Leave that mangy thing here for the dogs to find, I say,” Trond called out from the front of the wagon, ready to urge the horses forward.
“He comes with me,” Agnethe said with a raised eyebrow daring anyone to say otherwise. Her aunt shook her head and climbed up into the wagon next to Trond. With a jolt forward, they jounced along the dusty, narrow street, passing thatched roof huts and shingled workshops as Trond bellowed at the many bustling people to get out of the way. Agnethe sat on the open back, letting her feet dangle as she held Caesar on her lap, enjoying the rumble coming from his chest against her thighs as she absently scratched his ears. Grabbing hold of the raised side with one hand as the wagon lurched over a rut and holding the cat with the other, she watched her home slide farther away and swallowed the hard lump in her throat, blinking several times to keep the tears pooled in her eyes from falling.
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