by Melissa Gunn
“Are you ever going to tell us why Dad left, Mum?” Freya pounced on the idea.
“It’s nothing I want to talk about. Just... well. Just remember it wasn’t your fault. Right, here’s our stop. Off you get, Freya.”
Typical. Mum’s saved by the stop.
Freya’s expression was mutinous, but she followed her mother off the bus and didn’t revive that line of conversation. They’d alighted from the bus outside the main village, but still a reasonable walk from their home. They had to pass several holiday parks and a mini-golf establishment before they reached the park that housed their chalet. Plenty of time to grill Mum about demis before they got home.
“So... if you avoid demis, how did you meet Dad?”
OK, so maybe she wasn’t totally leaving that topic behind.
“I don’t want to talk about that now, Freya. Maybe when you’re older.” Danae’s voice was tight and she increased her pace.
“But Mum-”
“I mean it, Freya. Now, what do you know about the descendants of Woden? Since there’s clearly one in this town, give me a rundown on them.”
“Oh, Mum.” Freya looked away, towards the succession of empty holiday parks that lined this road. They’d be busy in summer, but now they were desolate.
“Now, please.” Mum’s face was set in hard lines. It was clear she wasn’t going to discuss Freya’s Dad anytime soon.
“OK, but I seriously think we need to know how to meet demis, Mum, not just how to recognise and avoid them. I mean, since there’s apparently so many out there, we can’t keep running all the time.”
“I suppose you will meet other demis one day. Maybe you have already at school. There’s no need to rush things though. And as I’ve told you earlier, most of them don’t know what they are. It’s the ones with more recent ancestry who have more obvious features. And there are some odd societies who keep themselves to themselves. But I hope you don’t meet any of them. They tend to inbreeding.”
“If that’s what I think it is, I really don’t want to know, Mum.”
“You don’t. So, Wodenites. Go.”
As Freya recited the sum total of her knowledge of Wodenites - the descendants of Woden, or Odin - she considered the reason they were out together today. This trip reminded her of why she missed Dad so much. If Dad had taken her out, they’d be making sandcastles on the shore, or eating chips somewhere. In contrast, Mum always wanted to teach her just a little more. There never seemed to be time for fun. Even more so now that Mum’s job was the family’s only income.
To be fair, practical theology was always been Freya’s most interesting home lesson. When she was younger Freya had had to memorise endless lists of gods, goddesses, minor deities and sundry supernatural beings, as well as their attributes. Once she remembered those lists by heart, Mum led them into long discussions of what attributes might indicate that a person was descended from which god or goddess. As they were doing now, they then went out looking for examples. Freya could handle bookwork if she had to, but practical was so much more interesting.
Sometimes, especially as she got older, it was embarrassing to be seen out with her mother, especially when Mum gave people odd stares. But at the same time, she learnt to pick out the descendants of all the Greek deities like Dad, the Norse ones like Mum, the Celtic ones, Indian subcontinental deities (although she had a hard time keeping those straight, there were so many), and all sorts of varieties in between. Because of course, humans being human - or partly human at least - there was no reason for someone descended from one set of deities to marry only other similar descendants. The resulting polyglot was confusing.
“Why aren’t we home-schooled, anyway, Mum? I mean, we spend so much time learning stuff with you. We hardly ever get time to be like normal kids. If we were home-schooled, we might have time for regular stuff.”
“You know why you have to go to school, Freya. First, I have to work, or we don’t eat. Second, we live in this world with other people. Not all of them are demis like us, not even most - or at least not in a meaningful way. You have to know how to get along with other types of people so you can make your way in the world. Now, name the five most common crosses of deity and their identifying traits.”
Freya sighed, and recited the requested list. There was the mini-golf place. They’d be home soon.
“Yes, but is that the same everywhere?” she asked once she’d finished the list.
“No, it depends on which country you’re in, and which city or town, too,” said Danae. So, remind me what we have in this town.”
“Hardly a town by the time we get out here, Mum. But it’s mostly trolls, kobolds, and assorted water demis. In the last town there was a were-pack, and they tend to drive everyone else away. Like they drove us away.”
Her mother grimaced, but didn’t disagree. The move that took them to the cliff-top house had not been a pleasant one.
“Are weres always like that pack?” asked Freya.
“We avoid them for a reason. When we can.”
“But didn’t you tell us that were-packs were supposed to be about family and order and that sort of thing. Why don’t they want to include others?”
“Sometimes they do. Usually, other weres. As demis, we aren’t part of their family structure. Now, how do you identify a troll-descendant without talking to them?”
Subject closed. As usual. Even after their hurried departure from a cheap apartment in a town to the north, her mother had not been prepared to discuss details of weres. As she listed the ways to identify if someone had troll in their DNA (usually running an estate or with inherited wealth, often unpleasant, usually engaged in subjecting others to online harassment - nothing that would overtly make them any different to anyone else) Freya wondered what Mum was hiding. If anything, her mother’s avoidance of the subject made Freya more interested. If only there was an easy way of getting real information on non-mundane subjects. Sure, the internet abounded with stories about weres. However, most of it was pure fantasy as far as Freya could tell.
Take that myth about werewolves only coming out on full moon nights. Freya knew through bitter experience that werewolves were out and about at all times of the month. Freya thought perhaps they should have known that werewolves inhabited that town. It was right there in the name, Wolverton, and in the 24-hour, 7-days a week gym with a large signboard outside stating ‘Wolf’s Gym’. The large wilderness reserve around it also made it perfect for werewolves.
“So, if wolves like hierarchies, I guess that’s why they were in the police.”
“Yes. Most of the army is made up of weres too. People who like to know where they stand in relationship to each other.”
“People who don’t mind being told what to do?”
Freya’s Mum laughed.
“Yes. Not like you. Or me.”
Freya nodded in emphatic agreement. While she was usually quiet about it, she did not like being told what to do.
I didn’t realise Mum noticed that.
“So, since the werewolves were the bosses of the police in Wolverton, they must like hierarchy too, right?”
“That’s right. I’m sure they must have had some heritage from a law-loving deity too. Iambe, perhaps, or Athena. Some deity without a sense of humour, certainly.”
“You know, Mum, even though we lost our house after that, I’m glad we moved from Wolverton.” Freya leaped over a puddle that spanned the road, ice riming its edges. It might be spring, but it hadn’t got warmer, yet. Her mother picked her way around the edge more circumspectly.
“Me too, Freya. Having them visit the house every week with a different excuse was draining. And when after all that, they said the house was contravening all sorts of bylaws and we had to move out - well. It was a blessing that your father found the clifftop house.”
Rather than argue with the authorities, the family had moved on to yet another town, another new school, a new job for Freya’s mother.
“How do you manage to f
ind jobs, every time we move, Mum?” Freya swatted idly at the skeletons of teasels by the roadside.
“It’s not so bad when you have essential skills. There’s always a need for people who can grow plants as if by magic.” Danae grinned at Freya, acknowledging that her skill with plants was actual magic. “And of course, my resume is filled with people who give glowing references, because once I’m in the door, people see results. You have to remember that a lot of it is attitude. Turning up at the door of a polytunnel complex doesn’t do any good on its own. Learning to pull off the right attitude at the right time can be the difference between being run off the property with dogs on your heels, and being offered a job on the spot. I prefer the latter, so I learnt. Of course, having the skills and power to back up the attitude once you have the job is important too. If you’re lucky and end up with the power, you might be able to do that too. I think Tammy has something similar, but not quite the same as mine. You - well, I just don’t know what you’ve got, yet.”
Freya felt let down. Just when Mum was finally telling her useful things about demi powers, and she had nothing to offer about Freya’s own powers. When would she ever learn how her powers worked - or even what they were? At this rate, she’d end up knowing all about werewolves and trolls and nothing about herself. Mum looked at her with a faint smile and gave her long braided hair a gentle tug.
“That’s partly why you need to stick with school - sooner or later, you’ll find something that calls your power. You just don’t know what it’s going to be. So, let’s get back to the lesson. Tell me what you know about cofgodas and tresgu, and tomorrow we’ll go for another walk and see if we can spot anyone descended from one of those.”
“Oh, Mum, I can’t remember what cof-whatever are. Have I even learnt about them yet? And would we ever see one around here?”
“It sounds like you need more lessons at home.”
“No, I don’t, Mum! I have school homework to do, too.”
I never have enough time to do the things I want to do.
“Oh, well, we’ll have to be moving on from this town soon. It’s not long till the beaches start drawing summer crowds, and we can’t stay on at the chalet then. I’ve lined up somewhere cheaper for us to move to, further north.”
“Do we have to move?”
“Yes. Sorry Freya, no arguments, please.”
Freya drooped. While their precarious existence in the chalet wasn’t ideal by a long way, she had begun to hope that maybe this time, they could stay in one town, not move on from places grown familiar and therefore loved.
“Never mind, Freya, perhaps there’ll be some kids you can be friends with in our next town.”
“How can I make friends with anyone? I never have any time, either I’m at school, working, or I’m at home, working. Or I’m looking for something to eat.”
“Talk to people at school, Freya. I’m not there, I can’t do it for you.”
Freya kicked viciously as a stone on the road, and missed. The rest of the walk home was silent.
CHAPTER TEN
SUMMER
They went north before the summer crowds arrived. One town further up the coast, so that Freya’s Mum could keep her current job. Another house near the sea, but not on a cliff this time. The new house was in a run-down part of town, graffiti on many walls, litter blowing in the streets. It was too far to get to their old school, so Freya and Tammy had to change schools. There had been arguments before they moved.
“But why? I can walk to school,” said Tammy in an aggrieved tone.
“It’s over an hour on foot and we don’t have a car,” said Danae.
“Children in developing countries walk that far all the time,” said Tammy.
“You complain when you have to walk ten minutes,” observed Freya.
“I could catch a bus,” said Tammy.
“With what money?” asked Danae, putting her hands on her hips.
“I could get money.”
“With a job?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m not going to have you doing anything illegal, and that’s all there is for someone your age around here, at least out of harvest season. You’ll go to the local school.” Danae turned away from Tammy. Case closed. Tammy exited the room with a huff. But Freya couldn’t leave the subject yet.
“But Mum, I don’t want to leave here. Why do summer visitors get to move in, and we have to move out?” she said.
How do I feed Mr Fluffbum if I have to move away from Lio’s beach?
“Summer visitors will be paying more than us.” Danae’s lips pressed tightly together, as though she wanted to say more but was stopping herself.
“Can’t we pay more, too?”
“No. Not with your father gone.”
Freya hesitated, then asked in a small voice;
“Can’t Dad come back? I miss him.”
Danae’s eyes seemed to flame for a moment; she took a deep breath in through her nostrils. Freya stepped back, uncertain what to make of this reaction. Danae started speaking in an intense, upset voice that Freya recognised from her mother’s telephone arguments with her Dad.
“Your father will not be coming back. I told him when he left that if he was going to another woman, he could consider himself no longer part of the family. He’s spent the last three years having an affair under my nose, and I am not standing for it any longer. So no. I’m sorry you miss him, but he should have thought of his family before he went wandering.”
Freya opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. There was nothing she could think of to say, the hurt from her mother’s words spiralling into an amorphous ache in her stomach.
It was hard to settle into a new school. Few of their clothes had been rescued from the clifftop house, and they had no money for new ones. Freya found herself dressed in second-hand clothes from thrift shops once again - which she didn’t mind, except that the kids at the new school often recognised the clothes and teased her about wearing their cousin’s cast-offs.
Freya’s Mum spent more time drilling her daughters on plant recognition than on deity recognition, in the short period between her getting home and darkness falling. That puzzled Freya until she and her sister were sent out on their own to forage what they could from the countryside outside their town. With only one income, food was even less abundant than usual. Anything edible they could find added to their meals. In the weekends, Freya was pressed into helping her mother set up a new garden in the thin strips of soil around their new house. Somehow, nothing Freya planted managed to grow. Perhaps it was merely that her plantings were on the shadier, drier side of the small yard. Maybe it was something more.
“How come my plants never look like yours, Mum? I planted beans right next to your row, and none of mine have appeared.”
“Perhaps some mice found yours.”
And got full before they got to Mum’s row? Sure.
“But why is it always my plants that die?”
“I don’t know, Freya. Maybe your demi abilities aren’t plant-focused. You may have some other talent you haven’t identified yet.”
“But we need food. Everyone needs food. So why can’t I grow it?”
“How about you and Tammy go out foraging? There’s probably some hawthorns ripe by now.”
Freya went, feeling inadequate. What sort of descendant of a harvest and fertility goddess couldn’t grow food?
If only we didn’t keep moving, I might be able to get a part-time job to pay for a phone, thought Freya. Then I could use the phone to identify food plants, and I wouldn’t keep nearly poisoning us all. And we’d be less hungry, too.
Of course, what with all the extra-curricular schooling her mother put her through, she didn’t have much time for a job as well as school, even if jobs for young teens were available in their latest insignificant town. While the subjects she studied at home tended to be more interesting than those at regular school, that interest was offset by the hours her mother kept her at it.
“Mum, I think I’ll scream if I have to recite how to overcome frost giants once more. I know how to do it if I have to, OK? And it’s not like we even have frost giants here. They’ve all moved north, or out to Iceland, or wherever. I don’t need to know how to defeat a frost giant.”
“You’ll be happy when you come up against one and know what to do, though.”
“Can’t I learn how to make a cornucopia, instead? That would be more useful, Mum. We could use more food around the place.”
A horn of plenty would be awesome. No foraging required.
“I’ve told you before, I don’t have any Greek or Roman heritage. A cornucopia isn’t going to work for me. So, I can’t teach you how to make one. Your father might have known how, but he never told me if he did. Since he’s not here, we have to get food the hard way, by growing it ourselves or picking it. Now, since you mention Iceland and you know all about frost giants, tell me about the huldufólk.”
It seemed Freya was stuck with reciting Icelandic folklore this afternoon. She sighed dramatically, but complied. She probably shouldn’t have reminded her mother of her father’s heritage, however indirectly. Anything to do with her father, or his Greek heritage, made her mother grumpy. At least lessons meant she escaped the persistent drizzle outside. It did mean staying in the mouldy-smelling living room, however. Sometimes there were no good options. She sighed.
“Huldufólk are usually hidden. Some people call them elves, but others think elves and huldufólk are different. We don’t care which is which unless they are causing problems with humans...”
“And why does it matter which is which, Freya?”
“Umm. Some of them are good at growing things, I can’t recall which. Oh, that’s right, elves are smaller. I’ve seen a picture somewhere of a cat on some elf houses!” She stroked Mr Fluffbum, who was curled up beside her. He started purring.