While the yard looked dirty, the buildings were solidly built. The house and barn were made of dark wood and had high roofs with shingles, under which star lamps were attached. The walls of the stable were built of light calcified stone, which was probably the reason they couldn’t withstand the quake. Up close, the property did not seem that small, yet its inhabitants were likely to be counted on one hand.
Slightly behind Horalf stood a boy who would have been about fifteen years old in the Light World. He had dark blond, short hair and looked blankly at the floor.
The third man stared at Arvid.
His watery blue eyes and the way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. He was red-haired like Horalf, but larger. Most of his weight gathered around his middle. Arvid stifled the impulse to look away. This man looked like someone who was used to being bowed to, and the realization woke a strong feeling of spite in her.
“So you are Arvid,” Horalf said at that moment.
Arvid turned to him. Horalf had the same watery blue eyes as the other man.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said with a forced smile.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, but he did not sound overly pleased. “Actually, I had hoped I could give you a grace period today, but as you see, we are in urgent need of help.” He jerked his head over to the remnants of the collapsed barn, from which the wind carried hay and straw. “Of course you’ll need a meal first.”
“Excuse me, Horalf,” Gjell intervened, “but Jan and I will have to return to Black Castle as soon as possible. Who knows what the earthquake has done there. May we ask for a pitcher of beer before we leave?”
“Of course,” Horalf said. “The maidservant is in the kitchen, she will gladly serve you.”
Arvid went along with Gjell and Jan. In the large, dark kitchen, she met a young woman with a long, blond braid and a pale face. She bowed slightly and greeted them in such a low voice Arvid couldn’t understand what exactly she said.
They sat down on fur-draped chairs that were arranged around a huge wooden table. The young woman brought them bread, a kind of meat pie, and jugs with a dark, almost black beer. She didn’t sit down herself, though, but went back to her corner by the window and began to peel large, earthy tubers.
The pie tasted excellent. Jan also praised the beer, but Arvid had to force it down. The flavor was slightly sweet, but at the same time very bitter. She would have preferred a jug of water or milk, but she didn’t want to complain on the first day.
Gjell and Jan stood up as soon as they had finished eating and wished her good luck. Although Arvid barely knew the two, their departure filled her with a feeling of being left behind. She was in a place she didn’t want to be in, but she knew she mustn’t let herself get overwhelmed by sadness. She had to pull herself together and look ahead.
She finished her meal and then cleared the leftovers and the empty jugs on the table. “Thank you for the food,” she said to the young woman, but she just nodded silently and quickly looked away. Arvid hesitated. “I’m Arvid,” she continued carefully, “I’ll help out on the farm for a while. Have you lived here for long?”
The woman paused in her work and fleetingly looked at Arvid. “Yes,” she said softly. “My name is Gyda.”
Arvid nodded and decided to leave Gyda alone. Somehow she looked ill.
When she came back outside, Horalf was curt and not very friendly. She learned that the man with the unpleasant stare was Horalf’s son Egil. The boy’s name was Hagen, but he didn’t seem to belong to the family. He stared at the ground and muttered a barely audible greeting.
While the men began to clear away the stones lying around the woolly pigs, Arvid was to walk along the circle of protection and check if everything was still intact. She did as she was told. She then helped the men to pile up two large stacks of firewood, which were also collapsed by the quake.
For the rest of the evening Arvid helped Gyda in the house. She was to brush the shoes, change the bedsheets, wash the old ones and hang them in a special drying room with a fireplace. When it was finally time for dinner, Arvid was so exhausted that she almost dozed off.
She ate with Hagen and Gyda in a small side room of the kitchen that only had a tiny window and looked more like a storeroom than a proper room. Arvid felt more and more uncomfortable.
“The men don’t want to be disturbed while eating,” Gyda whispered when Arvid asked her about it. “They call when they need something.” She told Arvid that it was better if she behaved as quietly as possible, as long as the two men didn’t address her directly or give her work to do. Gyda’s words filled Arvid with anger and disbelief. Since she could barely keep her eyes open, she didn’t say anything, though. She was just glad when she finally could lie down to sleep.
The next morning Gyda woke her early. Arvid was still so tired, it seemed to her as if her arms and legs were made of lead. Her back hurt, because the bed was narrow and hard, and something under the straw was constantly pressing against her shoulder. Gyda brought her a pair of shoes and two old, repeatedly patched dresses. It was poor equipment, but it was better than nothing.
“Come down to the kitchen when you’re done,” said Gyda quietly. “And careful on the stairs. If the landlord is awakened by the creaking, he gets very angry.”
Arvid nodded sleepily. As Gyda left, Arvid dressed slowly. She had automatically taken one of the new dresses, even though the blue one she got from Falla was still fine. The new dress was brown and fitted pretty well. The shoes were in order, too, even if they were a little too big.
When she came into the kitchen, Gyda was preparing breakfast, which apparently consisted of some kind of porridge and dried fruits. Again Arvid noticed how skinny and pale the young woman was. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the skin was so pale and translucent that little bluish veins were visible.
“Hagen’s outside feeding the pigs,” she told Arvid flatly. “I’ll soon have breakfast ready, but you better go and do the laundry right away, otherwise we won’t get done with today’s field before dinner.”
“What field?”
“There are a total of twelve,” said Gyda, without looking up from her work. “Today we take number four. We have to harvest the graycorms.”
Arvid nodded and remembered the tubers Gyda had peeled the night before. Although she was hungry, she went outside to fold the laundry. It was not easy to do so alone, since the sheets were rather big. There were so many that Arvid could not help wondering what Horalf needed them for. When she was finally done, her back hurt even more and she was so hungry she felt nauseous.
When she came back into the kitchen, Horalf and Egil were sitting at the table eating breakfast. Gyda poured them warm milk. Arvid wished them a good morning, but while Egil at least briefly nodded and looked her up and down, Horalf didn’t even look up. Gyda put the jug down and hastily pulled Arvid with her into the next room, where they had eaten the night before.
“You can’t just stand in the kitchen,” she whispered. “You have no business there while the men are eating.”
“Are we slaves here or what?” said Arvid. “What’s all this fuss about? Do you constantly have to hide when you’re not needed?”
“By the gods, be quiet!” hissed Gyda, scared. “They can hear you.”
“So what? Do you like to be treated like that?”
Although Arvid hardly thought it possible, Gyda turned even paler. “Please,” she whispered, now almost desperate. “Please be quiet. They can hear you.”
For a few seconds, Arvid looked stunned at Gyda, not knowing what to make of it all. In the eyes of the young maidservant she saw nothing but fear. Finally, she sat down at the table and wordlessly began to ladle a portion of the thick porridge into a bowl. It was completely silent; only the voices of Horalf and Egil could be heard, dampened by the boards of the wall.
“Gyda, what’s going on?” said Arvid after a while, now deliberately quietly, so as not to frighten her even more.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said the maid.
Arvid sighed. “What are you so afraid of? Aren’t you even allowed to speak?”
Gyda said nothing. She pressed her lips together into a thin, bloodless line and stiffly poked around in her porridge with her spoon. Arvid waited a moment, but soon realized that Gyda would not answer.
“Do they beat you?” whispered Arvid.
Gyda fixed on her bowl even more urgently, shaking her head. Arvid wasn’t able to make heads nor tails of her reaction and decided to leave it alone for the moment.
Finally, she heard Horalf and Egil leave the kitchen. Shortly afterwards the door to the small chamber was reopened and Hagen came in. His hair and his clothes were soaking wet. Obviously, it had started raining. The boy was as pale as Gyda, and like Gyda, constantly avoiding Arvid’s eyes.
“Hurry up with your breakfast,” Gyda said to him in a normal voice, but still depressed and monotonous. “You know that number four always takes longer.”
Hagen mumbled something and took the porridge. Gyda left the chamber, and Arvid followed her after brief hesitation.
“You should get your cloak,” said Gyda, “and there’s a hat in the chest in your room, which will help against the rain.”
Shortly after they left the house to begin with the day’s work. The rain had subsided and had become a light drizzle, but a biting, cold wind blew, so it was far from pleasant to linger outside. The ground was muddy and soft. The path to the fields was not long, but Arvid’s feet and ankles were soon covered in thick mud.
“The fields are divided into pieces,” said Gyda. “The work never stops; there is a field for each day. After the last one we return to the first.”
“And what do we have to do?” asked Arvid.
“Harvest tubers,” Gyda said joylessly. “All the white ones you can see.”
Each field was surrounded by a knee-high stone wall. As they approached, Arvid saw why: The top of the wall was covered with shimmering runes. Gyda told her that it was a rune spell that warmed the ground. This way the plants flourished most of the year.
The work was tedious. After only a few hours, Arvid’s back felt as if it would break soon. They looked for ripe tubers, cut them off and put them in baskets that Hagen carried back to the farm. It was monotonous but extremely exhausting work, and the constant bending over got to Arvid.
Around noon Hagen brought bread and sausage. They sat down on the corner of a wall and ate. Arvid’s back ached almost unbearably. She was wet and cold and could not help wondering whether every day would be like this.
“What do Horalf and Egil do?” she asked. “Don’t they help with the work?”
“Sometimes when we’re in a rush,” said Gyda. “They manage the farm and stand for the slaughtering.”
“And what exactly do they do when managing the farm?”
Gyda shrugged. “That’s none of my business.”
When they returned in the evening, Gyda set about preparing the food. Arvid washed their clothes, cleaned their shoes and put everything out to dry. After dinner, she was so exhausted and tired that she fell asleep as soon as she had fallen onto her bed.
Each day was like the rest, and every day they worked on a new field. It was easier when the weather was dry, although the work was tedious and exhausting. The pain in Arvid’s back wouldn’t go away, and after dinner she always went straight to bed. It suddenly seemed to her as if her life only consisted of work, eating and sleeping. In the few quiet moments she had, she let herself fall into the soft, numbing darkness that seemed to have taken root inside her.
Arvid rarely saw Horalf and Egil, usually only briefly in the morning and again in the evening, but it was because the two landlords didn’t want to see them. With each passing day Arvid’s anger at the two men grew. Time after time she had to tell herself with all her might, that she wouldn’t be here for long, that she was just waiting for the answer from Asgard and would then immediately get out of here. Nevertheless, it became increasingly difficult to suppress her anger, especially when she realized that Gyda and Hagen actually were abused.
Horalf was always harsh and unfriendly, but the rough work he left to Egil, whose behavior got worse with each passing day. Again and again he violently grabbed Gyda by the arm and shook her, pushed her to the side or up the stairs. Several times he tore Hagen’s hair so violently he cried out in pain and Arvid hardly managed to stop herself from slashing at the burly man.
Toward Arvid, Egil showed more restraint. She assumed that it was because of her strenuous attempts to act strong and confident. His menacing demeanor awoke defiance and a strong protective instinct in her. She remained rigid and cold and refused to retreat even an inch or to bow her head.
On bathing day Arvid helped Gyda fill a large tub in the annex with ice-cold water from a nearby stream. It was exhausting, but for some reason Gyda seemed to be in good spirits—at least by her standards.
“It’s good you’re here,” she said softly. “Otherwise, it always takes a lot longer and I get behind with work. Besides…” She broke off, turned around quickly and began to undress. “I bathe first, then the water is not as cold.”
“Besides?” Arvid asked. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Gyda said quietly and took off her clothes. Arvid saw that her upper arms and shoulders were covered with blue, green and yellow spots.
“Oh,” Gyda suddenly exclaimed. “I forgot the towels.” She began to feel for her shoes with her foot, but Arvid cut her off.
“I’ll go get them,” she said quickly.
Arvid hurried over to the main building, ran up the stairs, down the corridor and past a couple of doors. Gyda’s chamber was right next to hers. The towels were already on the bed, so Arvid only had to take them and make her way back. As she passed the kitchen door, she suddenly heard muffled voices and stopped.
“But bathing day used to be your favorite day,” Horalf was saying. A snort followed.
“Not anymore,” came Egil’s voice, “since this snake of a woman is in the house.”
“Snake?” asked Horalf. “She is no trouble. And she is stronger than Gyda.”
“Yes, snake!” Egil said sharply. “A poisonous snake, to be exact. I tell you, she’s not like Linna or Alsa… or Gyda, if you want. She looks at me as if she could kill me with her gaze.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You think so? The brat will cause us trouble, believe me. We should have refused Asgard’s request.”
“I don’t want any quarrel with the gods, Egil. Besides, you forget that even Gyda was unruly and cocky when she first came here. She has learned her place. The new one will learn hers, too.”
“Oh, believe me, I’d love to show her where that is,” said Egil, “my own way. She’s pretty and toned, not as bony as Gyda. But I’m not stupid. Something’s fishy.”
“Bullshit!”
“I have sharp instincts like a wolf, and my instinct tells me that something about this woman is fishy, you hear?”
“Stop it already!” Horalf cried imperiously. “No more of this nonsense.”
There was a brief pause, then Egil said, “You’ll see.”
A chair was moved, then Arvid heard steps and realized with horror that the men would probably leave the kitchen any moment. She grabbed her towels and slipped into the pantry at the end of the hall. It took only a moment before the kitchen door was opened and Egil’s bulky figure appeared. The stairs creaked loudly as he went upstairs, and Arvid hurried to leave the house and get back to Gyda.
Her heart was pounding like crazy when she came into the bathing room. She didn’t have to see
the bruises on Gyda’s thighs to know what was happening on this farm. The realization shocked her so much that she couldn’t say a word. She silently helped Gyda dry off, and then took a bath in the icy water herself. But deep inside her she felt the darkness beginning to stir. Suddenly it was no longer soothing and quiet but seething and boiling, a mixture of anger, pain and determined hardness.
It happened after more than three weeks. Arvid came back after a long day in the drying room, when she heard a clang and clatter from the kitchen, then the loud rumble of a chair.
“You stupid brat!” she heard Egil and entered the kitchen just in time to see how he slapped Gyda upside the head. Gyda didn’t make a noise. She only backed away in the farthest corner of the kitchen anxiously and began to tremble all over.
The sight was simply too much. Arvid could feel how the seething darkness awoke in her and engulfed doubt, fear and every sensible thought. She walked toward Egil and pushed him aside so roughly, he crashed into a chair and stumbled.
“Keep your hands off her!” she shouted at him.
For a moment, Egil seemed puzzled, then anger darkened his face. Arvid realized with sudden clarity that he would hit her too, and she couldn’t physically oppose him in the least.
But there was no fear.
Arvid perceived Egil’s movements so clearly and distinctly, as if they were in slow motion. She watched as he raised his arm to strike, saw the rage in his eyes. Arvid despised this man with all her heart. Inside she felt nothing but darkness and the satisfying knowledge that he could not touch her. She took a step back, then the strange spectacle was over.
Egil’s arm swept into the air. He was thrown forward by his own weight, lost his balance and stumbled, and would have fallen had he not clung to the table at the last moment. Bellowing, he pushed himself up. Arvid had to use all her willpower to resist the impulse to punch or kick him. She knew Egil would show no more restraint if she did. Not even the mysterious darkness might help her then.
Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) Page 8