It was still early morning. People slowly began to come out of their homes, and occasionally she could see a wagon. As Arvid approached the center of the city, the loud clattering of hooves and the sounds of numerous wagon wheels were heard. More and more people with boxes, baskets and bundles filled the street. Arvid remembered that it was the third day of the week—thus only a small market would be held today.
She managed to cross the center before it got too crowded and the merchants began to set up their stalls. She rode up the narrow street, through which she often had gone down to the market together with Thoke. Soon after she reached her destination: Falla’s house.
At least what remained of it. Arvid brought her horse to a stop and looked in disbelief at what had once been her temporary home. Much of the lower stone walls had collapsed. The front part of the second floor was tilted forward; the majority of the wooden joists bent upwards. Not only the walls, but also the roof had large holes. The whole construction was only kept in place by a still new-looking, thick wooden beam, which had been erected hastily in place of the destroyed wall.
For a moment Arvid sat in the saddle motionlessly. What was she supposed to do now? This was the only place in Black Castle she could go, and Thoke and Falla were the only people she knew. She had automatically assumed that the two would help her, although Falla certainly wouldn’t have been happy that Arvid left Horalf’s farm—even without knowing the circumstances.
Finally, she broke away, turned her horse and rode back toward the market. She was tired, cold and knew she had to find a place to stay, at least until the third day of the month. As the first half-built stalls and busy merchants came in sight, Arvid suddenly remembered that she actually had money. There was one problem though: She had no idea what the coins were worth. Every second person who noticed that would probably try to rip her off, and she would do well to use it as sparingly as possible.
At the edge of the marketplace, she slid out of the saddle. She soothingly stroked her horse’s neck, then she collected all the coins from her pocket and looked at them more closely. In order to keep people from seeing what she was doing, she deliberately stayed close to the wall and behind her mount.
She counted twelve silver coins, three of reddish brown color. Twenty-eight of them were deep black, but clearly made of metal. They all bore the image of something that looked like a chapel. Around it illegible runes were engraved.
Arvid took two black coins and one each of the silver and copper-colored ones. The rest she stowed again, took her horse by the bridle and walked slowly out into the marketplace. She let her eyes wander over the crowd. The air was already filled with the sound of countless steps, voices, shouts and laughter, the rattle of chains, clack of hooves and many other things that united into a rushing noise.
Finally she spotted a man with a reddish beard, who looked as if he could help her. In her world, she would have thought him to be about forty. In contrast to the busy merchants, he leaned relaxed against the wall of a board partition with horses and smoked a pipe.
Slowly Arvid approached him. “Excuse me, may I ask you something?” she said.
The man looked at her questioningly. “Yes?”
Arvid held out a black coin. “I’ll give you this coin, if you tell me what I can buy for the other ones here.” She put the remaining coins on her palm one after another.
The man took his pipe from his mouth and looked plenty surprised. Clearly he had expected something different, but after some hesitation he took the black coin Arvid had offered him. Then he reached into a basket on a stack of boxes next to him and revealed two pale apples.
“I’m fruit seller,” he said, handing her the fruits. “That’s what I would sell you.” Then he pointed to the copper-colored coin. “For a copper coin you could buy about two dozen apples or a loaf of bread. Three loaves for the silver coin. Should you ever be so lucky to own a gold coin, it’s about seventy silver coins.”
“How much would I have to pay for a bed and a place for my horse?”
“One night?” asked the man thoughtfully. “Well, it varies, but I think… at least four silver coins.”
Arvid thanked him and held out the leftover black coin, but the man made a dismissive gesture.
“You bought two apples from me,” he said with a grin. “The rest is free.”
Several hours later, Arvid had found a room. She had tried to negotiate the price, but the matron had insisted on ten silver coins for two nights. The price also included a space and food for her horse, but Arvid would have to buy something to eat once her supplies had run out. Besides, she didn’t have enough money for another night, and this fact made her worry. She had no idea if the conversation with Noldir would help her in any way.
The next day Arvid did nothing more than rest from the strain of the past weeks. Only now that she had slept properly and the darkness inside her slowly released her did she notice how much the time on Horalf’s farm had gotten to her. She thought of Gyda and Hagen and hoped that they were all right.
In the afternoon she visited all the city gates in hopes of meeting Nod, but there was no trace of the young woman. Falla’s destroyed house was still empty and deserted and the handful of people who she randomly asked about Thoke and the old woman couldn’t help her either. There was not a single familiar face to be seen, and Arvid felt even more alone and isolated than before.
While she wandered through the streets of the city, she agonized over how she could convince the gods at her hearing. It was difficult to find good arguments. Whenever she thought more about it, she felt diffuse anger flaring up, and all rational thoughts seemed to become hostile insinuations. Then the best she could think of was that the gods were to blame for her situation and just had to help her, if they had just a spark of decency. But that was probably not the case.
In the evening Arvid took out the case she got from Aeldjarn and tried to write down the rune spell he had shown her for the first time, without any success. She wasn’t able to move the quill, even though she now felt recovered and concentrated. When Arvid tried to create sparks of light, she had the impression something was happening though. It was not sparks, but there was something. It looked as if blurred, bright spots appeared in the air before her, but disappeared again after a moment. Or did she just imagine it? With an effort she tried to make out details, but soon her eyes began to water and she couldn’t see a thing.
In the evening of the next day she tried again. This time she was sure that the light phenomena were not an illusion. They looked like a matte yet shimmering white fog that glowed briefly and then disappeared. Arvid kept trying until she finally felt overwhelmed by a leaden fatigue.
Actually, she had wanted to think about what to say at her hearing with Noldir the next day, but she could not concentrate anymore. Her head was full of confused thoughts and images that made no sense, and so she soon fell asleep.
As it turned out, the matron was not very reliable. Arvid had asked her to wake her at the thirtieth hour, but when she came into the parlor, a man told her that the thirty-third hour had already begun. Arvid had just enough time to down a quick breakfast, then she grabbed the bag with her last money and the letter and left the hostel on the double.
The entrance of the town hall was almost empty, but still Arvid felt disoriented. An elderly woman who was reading the notices in a corner told her that the western hall was to the left and the large clock had already passed the thirty-fifth hour.
Arvid thanked her and quickly walked down the long corridor. At its end, she saw a large wooden door, in front of which she saw two armed men with swords and snow-white tabards. Their faces were half-covered by silvery-gray, round helmets. They stared at Arvid suspiciously when she approached.
“I’m Arvid,” she said breathlessly. “Is this the western hall?”
The two guards looked at each ot
her, then the taller of the two said, “Arvid, daughter of Carl?”
“Yes,” Arvid said impatiently. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small envelope. “I am to report for a hearing.” She held out the letter for them, but they made no move to take it.
“Greetings, Arvid, daughter of Carl,” said one of the men stiffly and opened the door. “The gentlemen are expecting you.”
Arvid entered with a thumping heart. The room was not nearly as large as the word hall had suggested, but all the more magnificent. The floor was of shiny polished stone and had a checkerboard pattern. The walls were lined with massive stone pillars, between which woven crests hung. Although there were a number of high windows surrounded with paintings, the room was additionally lit by star lamps. They hung from the ceiling in a long line, were bigger than pumpkins and radiated a cool, bluish light. Still, it was dim. Right in the middle of the room stood a massive wooden desk. Behind it a white-bearded man sat in a high chair.
As the door fell shut behind Arvid, she was suddenly surrounded by silence. After some hesitation, she started walking in the direction of the desk. Her footsteps echoed through the hall almost disturbingly loudly. At the walls to her left and right she saw guards in white tabards. There were so many, Arvid started to feel uncomfortable.
She had almost reached the desk when the bearded man got up from his chair and raised his hand. He was wearing an ornate, dark blue cloak and a long robe of the same color. On his chest were emblazoned two large, shield-shaped brooches, between which hung several stone-studded gold necklaces. The man’s eyes were of a flashy, orange color that Arvid had never before seen on a human.
“Greetings, Arvid, daughter of Carl,” the man said loudly. His voice was hoarse and a little too high to sound pleasant. “I’m Noldir, son of Noldir.”
“Greetings,” Arvid said with a nod. So this was the man who had sent her to Horalf’s farm and thought it to be an appropriate place for her.
“Take a seat,” Noldir said, pointing at the plain wooden chair that had been set up a few steps away from the table. “Do you need a translator?”
“No,” Arvid said, sitting down as ordered.
“Very well,” replied Noldir and signaled a young man behind the table, obviously the interpreter, that he could leave.
“What concerns lead you to me?” asked Noldir and sat down in his chair with a groan.
Arvid took a deep breath and tried to stay as calm as possible, but given the many guards it was not an easy task.
“As I wrote in my letter, I would like to complain,” she said.
“Complain?” Noldir asked, frowning. “What do you wish to complain about?”
“About the kind of help Asgard provided after I came to this world. It does not meet my needs.”
Noldir raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You speak of the fact that we have secured you a home on Horalf’s farm, work, food and financial compensation for this…” he pushed aside some papers on the table in front of him, “Falla? Is this what you wish to complain about?” He looked up at Arvid.
“Yes, that’s correct,” said Arvid. After what she had experienced the past few weeks, she had to pull herself together, to stay polite. “I appreciate your efforts, but on a farm I’ll never be able to find out how and why I came here.”
Noldir leaned forward and looked at her intently. “Do you realize that you received Asgard’s help unbidden and without being asked for anything in return?” he asked warily. “It was a gift and a sign of Asgard’s generosity. Do you always complain about gifts?”
Arvid did not answer immediately, because she was too busy trying to keep her anger under control. She clung to the arms of her chair and leaned forward as well, her eyes fixed on Noldir.
“Do you know why I’m here?” she asked deliberately quietly, “I’ll tell you. I’m here because you, and by you I mean Asgard’s gods, have created these moronic world transitions. You’re the only reason I’m here; because of you I’ve lost everything I had—my home, my family, everything.”
Noldir looked at her aghast, but Arvid was unimpressed and continued, “So tell me… If I burned down your house and gave you a kennel instead, unsolicited and without expecting anything in return… wouldn’t this also be a noble demonstration of my generosity?”
Arvid watched as Noldir’s face darkened with rage. But before he could say anything, the silence was suddenly broken by a laugh. It came from the darkness behind Noldir, and Arvid realized that someone else was here besides her, the translator and the guards. In a chair, almost entirely hidden in a niche, she could see the shape of a long-haired man. He was sitting crossways, legs placed on the armrests and apparently holding an open book.
With a jerk Noldir turned around to him. “Do you have anything to say on the matter?” he asked. It sounded polite, but it was hard to overlook he was seething with anger.
“No, no, go on,” the long-haired man replied, amused.
Noldir turned back to Arvid and noisily sucked in the air. “This comparison is absolutely ridiculous,” he said, visibly upset. He rose from his chair and slowly came around the table. “While it may be true that it was the gods who once created the world transitions, this happened centuries ago.”
“And you think that makes it better?” Arvid asked sharply.
“We have learned from our mistakes. If we could close the world transitions safely, we would do it, but unfortunately this is not possible.”
“That doesn’t change anything about the fact that I’m stuck here—because of you!”
“We are not to blame for your being here!” Noldir cried harshly. “The only one to blame is yourself!”
“Oh really? So you think that I voluntarily jumped through this portal, simply because I felt like it?”
“No, I don’t! It was stupidity and foolishness that brought you here.”
“Stupidity and foolishness?” Arvid said incredulously. “I had no idea what this transition was!”
“Exactly,” Noldir said triumphantly. “A phenomenon you don’t know, and yet you decide to approach it. You were even warned by one of us. It was more than obvious that the transition is dangerous, but that didn’t stop you from standing next to it. A bristle pig would have behaved smarter than you!”
Arvid stared at him in disbelief. Had he just compared her to a bristle pig? Noldir was even more arrogant and condescending than she had feared. After his last remark she had to pull herself together with all her might in order to sit still.
“We have a harmless light phenomenon, which looks almost the same,” she said angrily. “You have not the faintest idea of my world!”
“And obviously you have none of this world!” shouted Noldir. He had stopped right in front of her chair and glared at her with narrowed eyes. “We don’t deluge any fool with gold, who was stupid enough to approach a world transition. What do you expect? Should we build you a castle?”
Arvid felt her composure beginning to crumble. Slowly she rose from her chair and looked in Noldir’s strange red eyes, but he didn’t move from the spot either. Between them was a tension that was almost physically perceptible.
“All I expect is the appropriate help to find a way back,” she blurted out. She was a bit smaller than Noldir and would have felt uncomfortable being so close to him, if she hadn’t been so angry. “Every year, people come to this world because they fall through your transitions. Most of them die somewhere out there! I am one of the few who had the luck of being found in time, and you find it appropriate to send me as a maid on a cursed farm! You are playing with spells you obviously can’t control, and then blame those that had the misfortune to fall victim to them!”
Noldir became redder and redder. From the corner of her eye Arvid saw two of the guards coming closer.
“You probably don’t realize that you�
��re facing a god!” thundered Noldir. His shoulders were shaking with anger, and his face was contorted into a furious grimace. “You would do well to face the superior forces with the necessary respect, or instead of a farm a prison will soon be waiting for you!”
“It would easy for you to help me, but you don’t!” shouted Arvid. “You call yourselves gods, but you are nothing but arrogant, narrow-minded tyrants!” She immediately knew that she had gone too far. She only had to look at Noldir to realize that her final accusation had been the last straw. It felt almost like a déjà vu. She watched in horror as Noldir struck out to slap her, but suddenly everything around her seemed to move in slow motion. She could not flinch, because she was still right in front of her chair, so she ducked and took two hasty steps to the side. Then everything normalized again and Noldir’s hand hit nothing but air.
The bearded god stumbled a step forward and gasped in surprise. For a moment he looked at Arvid in confusion, but then determination spread on his face. Arvid saw with sudden horror that several of the guards came storming at her, but before she or Noldir could do anything, something unexpected happened.
“Stop!” it boomed through the room.
The guards stopped in one fell swoop. All heads, including Arvid’s, turned in the direction from which the voice had come. Arvid realized that the long-haired man in the corner had stood up from his chair and slowly approached.
“Why do you interfere?” hissed Noldir. “We’re only wasting our time. This woman has no respect. The only thing she deserves is a punishment for all the insults.”
“You don’t seem to have the situation under control, Noldir,” the long-haired man said sharply. “You may withdraw.”
Noldir seemed speechless for a moment. His cheeks were still bright red and stood in hard contrast to his white beard. He was furious; at the same time he seemed to be extremely insecure after the other man’s intervention.
Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) Page 10