by Arthur Slade
"Goodnight," we replied.
"See ya in the morning," Michael said to us as he guided Grandpa to his room.
Sarah looked across at me, then at Mordur. She yawned suddenly — a yawn that looked completely fake — and got up. "Well, I think I'll hit the sack, too. Nighty-night." A second later, Mordur and I were alone.
The fire was dying, making the lights on the Christmas tree glow all the brighter. Mordur knelt down, grabbed a poker and pushed the logs around so the flames grew higher. "This will burn down in a minute. I will stay until then."
"Good," I said, a little too quickly.
Mordur gave me a look. "Good? Why?"
"Uh ... well ... " I couldn't get my words in any logical order. "I just don't feel sleepy yet."
Mordur hadn't stopped looking at me. "Red hair is good luck."
"What?" I nervously ran my hand through my hair.
"It was a saying my father said. He maybe made it up. He believed every time he met a woman with red hair it was a good luck day."
"Did he have a thing for redheads?"
Mordur nodded. "Yes. He and I had a lot in common."
It took a while for this to sink in. "So am I good luck to you?"
"We will see," he said. "I have not met too much girls from outside Iceland who know the old myths as well as you."
"How many girls do you know from other countries?"
"Just you." Mordur poked at the logs. Sparks flew up, but the flames were dying. "I wish this all was not happening right now," he said, his voice turning serious. "I wish I knew what my father wrote on those calf skins." He stared grimly at the embers.
"I'm sure Grandpa will figure out your dad's letter," I said softly. "And if he can't there must be someone in town who can read French."
"I hope so." Mordur didn't sound hopeful. "This day has made me wonder about how my father died. He drowned while fishing. Just another Icelander stolen by the ocean, out trying to earn a couple kroners while work on the farm was slow. But there was something — how do you say? — spooky? — about it. Heim, another fisherman, said he saw a figure rise out of the water and pull my father down into the waves."
"Really? What do you think it was?"
"He said it was like a man, but covered with hair. No one else spotted the thing. They just saw my father standing at the edge of the boat in a stormy sea. Then gone. I thought Heim was making up the story. Heim likes his bottle, he is a great big drunk kind of guy. But now I do not know. Maybe the story was true."
We watched the flames die down until they were just red embers. Mordur poked at the logs again. One broke in half, burned brightly for a moment then faded. "You know that female shape shifter? My father spoke me about her just before he went to work on the fishing boat. He said he wanted me to think about the story. When he got back I was to tell him whether I thought it was true."
"Why would he do that?"
"I did not know. I thought he was just having fun, he liked to make the jokes. Now, I wonder if it was a test. If I said I believed the shape shifter was real, he might have spoken me what he was writing about."
Even though I wanted to be wide awake for this time with Mordur, my eyelids wouldn't co-operate. I kept talking, hoping it would keep my energy up. "You know, it's weird, but Grandpa told us that our great grandfather killed a shape shifter. Now we find out that Uncle Thordy's dad killed one, too. It's like this valley is cursed."
"It is," Mordur said softly. He got up onto his haunches, felt his side.
"How are your ribs?" I asked.
"Better. Just bruises. Nothing worth complaint." The last ember grew dark. "I should go home." Mordur checked that the chain-link curtain on the fireplace was closed tightly.
I went with him to the porch, flicked on the outside light. His house was only about fifty yards away, visible through a small window. It was calm out now, though it hadn't stopped snowing.
"Will you be alright there? Your place looks so small."
He smirked. "Are you worried for me, Angie?"
"Well ... yes, of course."
He scratched at his temple, like he was thinking real hard. "Does that mean you like me?"
"I ... uh. Well ... " My tongue was tied in triple knots. "I — I don't really know you. But I like you."
He grinned. "I know. And I hope all this bad time goes away, soon. Maybe even tomorrow. You are not here for long. It would be good to talk more. You could speak to me about what it is like to live in America."
"That would be nice." My heart had sped up and butterflies were fluttering inside my stomach. "Really nice."
"Well, I go. And do not be worried about me." He pulled the spearhead his father had made from his pocket. "This will protect me," he joked. "Good night, Angie."
He walked out into the fresh, thick snow. I watched until he disappeared into his house and the light came on.
23.
I went to my room and threw myself down on top of my cot. "So let me get this straight," I said to Sarah, who was still up reading, "Mordur's not related to us? He's the son of the hired man? So ... "
"So you can kiss him," Sarah finished.
"Hey, wait a minute, that's not what I was figuring out," I said, though it was exactly what I was figuring out.
"Well, if you did think that, you wouldn't be alone." She fluffed her hair, acting like some kind of model. "Lucky for you, I'm already taken."
I huffed out a sigh. The coffee was still zigging around my system and everything else that happened was zagging through my brain. "This has been the weirdest day of my life," I announced. My body was drained. I felt immensely tired and yet I couldn't do much but sit up in bed and stare at the wall, wrapping the comforter tightly around me. I wanted to collapse into sleep, but it was impossible.
Mordur seemed different than any other boy I'd met. Exotic, I guess. I wanted to find out more about him. It must have been hard growing up with his mother living somewhere else and not wanting to spend time with him. And to not have a dad anymore.
"So what do you think it is?" Sarah asked, startling me.
I was so busy daydreaming I'd forgotten she was in the room. It took me a moment to figure out what her question was about. "I don't know," I answered slowly. "Something that's very smart."
"What if I said I believe Uncle Thordy?"
Just a few hours ago I would have called her crazy. But now, I simply asked her why.
"Did you see when it was coming up the ladder into the loft? Its head ... it was animal-like, but there was something human about it. You said it seemed very smart — smart enough to climb a ladder and lift up a trapdoor. Smart enough to get into the barn and steal a sheep. And the way it moved was unlike anything I'd ever seen. But it wasn't much bigger than that boy. Just very, very strong."
"Onni had a mark near his eye. Almost like he'd been hit with a fire poker."
Sarah nodded. She didn't seem surprised by this information. "Do you remember the story Grandpa told us on the plane?"
"About Great Grandpa and the bear?"
"Why do you think he told us that story?"
"I don't know. To scare us. To pass the time."
"All good reasons. But he really believed it. He told it with such conviction, like he was seeing it through his father's eyes. I have a theory, Angie. I think we're all connected to our ancestors. We share the same genes, the same dreams, and often the same lives. Think of Grettir the Strong. I've actually had dreams about him. How many battles did he have against evil in his life?"
"He fought a lot of ghosts and things. And people too, don't forget. He was an outlaw."
"Yes, but he's remembered for being a hero. We have ... the essence ... of each of our ancestors, somewhere in our muscles, in our minds, and perhaps most importantly in our spirit. And sometimes that stuff just comes out."
"Like when you yelled those Icelandic words back in the croft house?" I said.
"Yes, it was partly what I read, but partly what was passed down to me, like one
of our ancestors had been in a situation like that and knew what to say. What do you think?"
I'm about two steps from freaking out, is what I wanted to say. That only two days ago I was safe at home in North Dakota.
Sort of safe. Back at home I'd had the nightmares.
"We are connected to our ancestors," I answered. The hair on the back of my neck slowly stood up. I described the dreams I'd had about the wolf.
She listened silently, nodded. "I've had dreams like that too; seeing things before they happened. I once dreamed Michael was going to break his arm on a school trip. I even felt it crack. I convinced him to pretend he was sick and stay home. One of his classmates ended up breaking his arm at a tour of a metal factory. Kind of weird, but so what? So you and I seem to be a little psychic, does it mean this wolf-thing is real?"
"My gut tells me one thing," I said, "but my brain tells me this is all our imagination." I laid back against my pillow. "There's still something bothering me: the quarrel Mordur and Uncle Thordy had about us going to the croft house. Why did Uncle Thordy let us go if he believed this creature was out there?"
Sarah sat completely still for a moment, almost like she was meditating. "Do you think we were bait? He's had a year and a half to really learn how to hate this wolf-thing. Maybe he thought he could get rid of it."
"But to risk our lives — "
My words were cut off by the smashing of glass and a fearful cry from Grandpa's room.
24.
Sarah and I sat frozen. Something heavy bashed against the wall, shaking the house. Grandpa yelled again, more a cry of anger than fear this time. Deep, loud growling, all too familiar, floated under our door. Then came the sound of a struggle followed by a sharp yelp.
"Grandpa!" I yelled, running out the bedroom and down the hall. I pushed my way inside his room, Sarah one step behind me.
The lights were out and it was freezing because the window had been smashed. Glass glittered on the floor, catching moonlight. I couldn't see Grandpa.
Michael charged in, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "What happened?"
Sarah clicked the light switch. The shade on the ceiling was partially broken, but the bulb flickered with enough light to show that Grandpa was in the corner, crumpled against the wall. I rushed up to him. Something pierced my right heel, but I ignored it. "Grandpa," I whispered, leaning down, touching his cold face.
"Afi," Sarah said from beside me.
He was out cold. His left cheek had two criss-crossing lines of scratches that looked like claw marks. Thankfully they weren't deep. Lying beside him was a small letter opener, blackened by blood. I pointed it out to Sarah. We surveyed the room. The desk was broken, along with the lamp beside it. Shredded paper had been scattered across the floor.
Grandpa opened his eyes. It took a moment for him to recognize us. "I got him," he wheezed, "Loki's offspring is fast, but I got the big beast. Right in the chest." He was clutching one of the calf-skin pages. It had been torn almost in half. A chunk had been bitten out of the top.
"Let's move him to the living room," Sarah said. I took one arm, Sarah another, and Michael grabbed his feet. We lifted Grandpa and he felt unnaturally light. We carried him down the hallway and Michael kicked at Uncle Thordy's door as we passed. We didn't pause to see if he was awake. We laid Grandpa on the couch.
He sighed. There were several tears in his pyjamas revealing cuts in his skin, but none seemed life-threatening and he'd stopped bleeding. His breath was ragged. Michael pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and we covered him.
"I could only read some of Einar's warning," Grandpa said hoarsely.
It dawned on me that he meant the writing on the calf skin.
"Einar knew. He knew. He said there are two of Loki's children in this valley. One was called Skoll, the Scarred One. The wolf who ate the sun. He liked to kill his victims slowly, by poking one claw behind their ear."
Grandpa gasped suddenly and pressed a hand against his chest. He looked at Sarah and me. "I know what Odin said to Baldur," he whispered. His eyes slid closed.
Sarah put her hand on Grandpa Thursten's arm and shook him gently, but he remained unconscious. "We've got to take him into Hvammstangi, to the hospital. Go get Uncle Thordy."
I went to his room and pounded on the door. "Uncle Thordy, wake up!"
I hit the door again. "Grandpa's been hurt. Wake — "
The door opened on its own. A chilly breeze ran across my skin. I reached around for the light switch, flicked it on. The room stunk like rotten meat, such a strong stench I had to cough. The bed was made. The window was open.
How could he live in such a gross smelling room?
I ran back to the living room yelling, "He's gone, Uncle Thordy's gone!"
"I'm going to call the police," Michael said. "This is getting too damn weird." He went into the kitchen and scrambled around, looking for a phone book.
I knelt down. My foot was aching. I lifted it, found a dark stain on my sock. A shard of glass stuck out near the heel. I gritted my teeth, pulled out the glass and tossed it in the garbage. I found tissue in the kitchen and stuck it down my sock to mop up the bleeding. I'd have to do a better job later. I sat beside Grandpa and squeezed his hand. It was cold.
"Who's this Skoll Grandpa was talking about?" I asked Sarah.
"He said Skoll was the wolf who ate the sun. Maybe its the same wolf who appears in the myths during the final battle."
"I dreamed about a wolf eating the sun," I said. "What's that mean?"
"I don't know." Sarah shook her head. "I just don't know at all."
"Well, what did Grandpa mean about knowing what Odin said to Baldur?"
"It was the great secret of the Norse Myths. At Baldur's funeral, just before they were going to light the ship on fire, Odin whispered a secret to Baldur, but no one knows what it was."
"Why would Grandpa say that?"
Sarah's eyes were wet. It took her a moment to finally say, "Because he believes he's going to die."
"No," I whispered, tightening my grip on Grandpa's hand, feeling him there, very much there but getting colder, and somehow farther away.
25.
"They're going to try and send an ambulance," Michael said as he came into the room. "The logga — the police, or whatever they call them — are coming too. If they can plough through all that snow. I guess the storm was twice as bad around Hvammstangi. The main highway is blocked."
"What if no one makes it here?" I asked. Grandpa's hand was like ice now. "I don't know much about first aid."
"If Grandpa gets worse, we'll have to phone back and get advice." Michael knelt down next to the couch. "The woman on the phone said it's just important to keep him warm."
Sarah had her palm on Grandpa's forehead. Grandpa's eyes were closed, his face solemn. "He doesn't seem to be waking up. He has a heck of a fever, but at least he's breathing. That's a good sign."
"What if he's in a coma?" I asked. I tucked Grandpa's hand under the blanket, then went to the end of the couch and covered his feet. "What are we going to do?"
"What can we do?" Michael asked. "Should I look for Uncle Thordy?"
"Go outside?" Sarah shook her head. "We don't know what's out there. We're safest right where we are."
"What about Mordur?" I said. "We can't just leave him alone."
I went to the kitchen window, scraped at the ice and peeped through the clear spot. "The light's still on, so I guess he's awake," I said on my way back to the living room.
"We could phone him," Sarah suggested.
"He doesn't have a phone, remember?" I said.
Michael stood, his hands balled up into fists like he was gearing up for a fight. "Someone will have to go over there. But one of us has to look after Grandpa."
"How do we decide who stays?" Sarah asked.
"Rock, paper, scissors," I said. It was a hand game we'd played since we were kids, often using it to decide who would ask our parents for extra ice cream money. We held out o
ur hands. Mine was shaking slightly, even though I tried to hold it still. "On the count of three, loser stays."
Sarah counted aloud. On three, both Michael and I put our hands out flat, meaning we chose paper. Sarah made a fist.
"Paper covers stone," Michael said. "I guess you'll have to stay, sis."
"We don't have time for a best out of three, do we?" she asked. She hugged both of us quickly. "For good luck," she explained. "Now hurry back."
We threw on our winter clothes and jammed our feet into our boots. I went back to the kitchen and found a large flashlight in the cupboard, heavy enough that it could be used as a weapon.
Sarah had pulled a chair up beside Grandpa and was holding one of his hands in both of hers, concentrating as if she were praying. She didn't look up as I passed her.
Michael grabbed the axe from inside the closet and hefted it in his hands. "Let's go," he said and we stepped out into the open. It was still snowing lightly, but the air was calm. Despite that, we had a tough time slogging through the snow banks, sinking up to our knees, and higher. The tires on Uncle Thordy's vehicle were completely buried, and they were big tires. I had a sick feeling that it would be ages before an ambulance or cops got here. We were too far from town and if the roads were clogged up anything like Uncle Thordy's driveway, they'd be completely impassable.
The moonlight seemed to be growing dimmer and dimmer, as if somewhere in the heavens something were taking bites out of it. I thought of the wolf who chased the moon through the sky. Too many of my dreams were becoming reality.
Mordur's outside light served as our guiding beacon. When we got to the house we discovered the door partly open, a small bank of snow already building up against it. The light from inside the house revealed tracks that were quickly being filled in.
I yanked on the door and it got jammed in the snow, but there was just enough room to stumble inside. "Mordur!" I shouted. What I saw pulled me up short. A pitcher had been shattered on the floor, shards of glass scattered across the tile. The table was knocked over, along with a stack of books. One wall was a bookshelf, more books were lying beside it. "Mordur!" I cried, running into the bedroom. I flicked on a light switch but nothing happened. I pointed my flashlight around, saw an unmade bed. The tiny room was empty.