Arvid shook her head. She didn’t feel like laughing—quite the contrary. Yes, it was just like Loke to leave her in the dark, and the thought made her angry. At the same time this information solved a series of puzzles, which she had been thinking about for a long time. Loke was born a giant; that’s why he liked the cold and preferred cold-resistant forms, and that’s why Old Jördisch was his mother tongue. He was Naal’s son; that’s why he didn’t treat her like a Queen. She was a part of his family. Now his strong desire to reclaim Isvirndjellen’s lost lands suddenly made sense.
“I didn’t mean to shock you,” Byleist said, still grinning. “You would think he would have given you such basic information, after you’ve been on the road with him for three weeks.”
“What if I told you that I had already lived under his roof for three months before that?”
“Really?” laughed Byleist. “And you managed to hold out for so long?”
Now Arvid had to smile. “I’m pretty good at handling chaos, you know?”
“That’s Loke’s good fortune,” said Byleist, now serious again. “You know, I just wanted to tell you that you ought not worry too much. The situation with Asgard may sound scary, but I’m sure we will find a solution. Reclaiming this land is of fundamental importance for all of Jökutnjamargr.”
“But why? The Ice Wastes are huge.”
“We have more than enough space, but you may have noticed that it’s quite cold.”
“I thought all giants are resistant to the cold.”
“Our food, however, is not,” said Byleist. “The number of places that are suitable for underground fields is very limited. We are completely dependent on trade with the dwarves, because we ourselves have very little fertile land. Not that we lack raw materials for trading, but the dependence on the dwarves makes us vulnerable. In recent years, more and more of the dwarven houses have decided to turn to the humans. Thus, there are always winters in which our people have to make do with the bare minimum of food and are plagued by hunger. We are constantly seeking new and better trade relations, but its construction often proves difficult.”
Arvid looked at him, concerned. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” She felt helpless. It had to be horrible to be responsible for so many lives and not be able to provide them with sufficient food. Arvid would have liked to make constructive suggestions, but she had none, and so she went on silently beside the dark-haired giant.
When they reached the hallway outside Arvid’s quarters Byleist finally stopped and went into a crouch before Arvid.
“I’ll let you know when there’s news,” he said. “If you wish to speak to me or my brother, you simply need to tell your servants. Otherwise, you may of course move freely in all of Sölunnir—your clothing shows that you are a high guest.”
Arvid smiled uncertainly and bowed her head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Byleist rose again, but before he turned away entirely, he stopped again. “Oh, another thing,” he said, “You shouldn’t start addressing Loke with ‘Your Highness’. He once moved a servant out to the fields because he wouldn’t stop.”
Arvid laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t think I could bring myself to do so after all this time.”
The next morning Arvid was more than surprised when there was a knock at the door to her quarters and Loke entered. He still had the shape of a giant and was accompanied by an old man with white hair and long gray robes. Behind them followed a human servant, who was carrying a small wooden casket. Desrei, who was just about to comb Arvid’s hair, froze.
“You can continue afterwards,” Arvid said to her.
“Yes, my lady.” Desrei hastily jumped up from her chair, bowed to the visitors and retreated to the back of the room, where Mardun was standing.
Arvid got up as well, eager to see what Loke’s visit was about.
“I come with a matter of great importance,” Loke started. “This,” he pointed to his companion, “is the Njorkma, Sölunnir’s master of living runes and guardian of ancient traditions.”
The Njorkma nodded at her and bowed slightly.
Arvid also bowed her head in greeting. “I’m honored. What brings you to me?”
“My concern,” Loke replied in the Njorkma’s place. “He’s here to witness my proposal and your answer.”
Arvid looked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Loke sank down on one knee before her and held out his hand, which Arvid took after a brief hesitation. Even in this position, he was still taller than her.
“Arvid from the house of Bergen, daughter of Carl,” he said, eyes fixed on her, “please tell me who I am.”
Arvid’s confusion grew. What reply did he expect from her? She stared into Loke’s gray giant eyes and finally said, “You are… Loke. Loke of Isvirndjellen. You are Farbaute’s son and a god of Asgard. Is this what…?”
Loke nodded. “You know my name, and you know my origin,” he said. “I know your name and origin and I’d like to ask you a question. Arvid, will you create a band of life with me? Are you willing to share the pain of its creation and join me on the last of all ways, no matter when I choose to take it?”
Arvid looked at Loke helplessly and didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t even sure what the question meant at all. A band of life? Then suddenly it occurred to her that Byleist had mentioned this in the Council the day before, and her eyes widened.
“Is this… a marriage proposal?” she whispered.
Loke looked at her intently. “Yes, it is.”
“But your mother…”
“She agreed,” Loke interrupted impatiently. “What’s your answer?”
Arvid’s swallowed and forced a deep breath. “Yes,” she finally managed to say. Her voice was so quiet that the word was barely audible. As if to reassure herself in her decision, she nodded and repeated loudly, “Yes—my answer is yes.”
“Good,” Loke said contentedly. He squeezed her hand and then waved at the servant with the wooden casket. “As a sign of our engagement you are to wear these hair beads.” He opened the casket, in which three shiny green beads were embedded in white fabric. Loke took them out and carefully placed them in Arvid’s palm, one after another.
“They stand for life, loyalty and death,” he said. “The tradition states that the beads are braided into the bride’s hair. However, since you’re not a giantess and your hair still doesn’t have the right texture, the Njorkma has determined that the beads may be passed like this. Your servants will be able to help you with braiding.”
“Thank you,” Arvid said, overwhelmed. Although she knew that Loke did not return her feelings and her marriage would just be a way to protect her life, her heart was beating rapidly. She looked at him and felt a warm feeling of happiness that would not disappear even when he released her hand again and rose.
With a questioning look he turned to the Njorkma, who nodded at him. “The engagement is hereby valid,” he said. “I will immediately begin the preparations.”
“You have ten days,” said Loke. “We can’t wait any longer.”
The Njorkma bowed his head. “Very well.”
Loke turned to Arvid, who had to put her head back to look at him. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at the thirtieth hour. So that our connection is also accepted beyond our borders, it’s of utmost importance that the old traditions are respected and their rules are strictly adhered to. There will be a lot to explain.”
“Of course,” said Arvid, now with more composure, but still with a pounding heart.
“See you tomorrow then,” Loke said.
The Njorkma bowed his head in her direction, then the two left her quarters, together with the excited-looking servant.
Arvid stared at the closing door and could not believe it. Of course, the possibility of marr
iage had been discussed in the Council, but Naal had made very clear that none of her children would ever marry a human. And yet Loke had obviously managed to persuade his mother.
The thought was overwhelming, and a strong sense of relief came over her. She wouldn’t have to spend years amid icy mountains, fearing for her life. She would stay here in Sölunnir, perhaps even near Loke—at least if the Council was right and Asgard wouldn’t risk a war with the giants.
As Arvid turned around she was met by a strange sight. Mardun stood frozen in a corner and looked at her in shock. Desrei, on the other hand, was beaming and seemed to almost burst with excitement.
Arvid slowly sank into the nearest chair. “Mardun, I think I’ll need a cup of wine now,” she said. “All this was… very sudden.”
“At once, my lady,” said Mardun. He awoke from his rigid stance and disappeared through the door with rapid steps, while Desrei approached her cautiously.
“Forgive me, my lady,” she said, “May I… take a look at the beads?”
Arvid lifted her head and smiled. “You’ll have to help me with braiding anyway,” she said. She opened her hand and looked at the three shiny beads in it. They were a little larger than hazelnuts, had small holes and were decorated with strange silver symbols that she couldn’t decipher. They were not runes.
“They’re beautiful,” breathed Desrei almost reverently. “Oh, my lady, that’s just wonderful. Loke is the most beautiful giant I’ve ever seen.”
Now Arvid had to laugh, and it was very liberating. It was touching that Desrei was so happy for her, perhaps more than Arvid herself, but this wasn’t surprising. Her servant didn’t know about the real reasons for her marriage and the conflict with Asgard. On top of that Desrei had grown up here. The giants, their world and their traditions were familiar to her.
Arvid, on the other hand, was relieved, but also very insecure. What would happen now? She knew nothing about the local traditions and weddings among giants.
Shortly thereafter Mardun returned with the wine, which Arvid accepted gratefully.
“It’s hardly been an hour and the fortress is all topsy-turvy,” Mardun said. “Weddings between humans and giants are very rare. I don’t think that a member of a royal family has ever married a human.”
“Loke has always enjoyed breaking the rules,” Arvid said. “I would imagine that he wants to affront some of the giants, or am I wrong?”
Mardun nodded. “Yes, my lady, he will. Many of the older generations despise the humans. Quite a few would wish to take back Jördendheim by force.”
“Not the younger giants, though,” Desrei said confidently, “and not the dwarves. We have our country and the humans have Jördendheim, and that’s how it is. Who wants war? Even the constant conflicts between Isvirndjellen and Borkh get to me.”
Desrei had quickly brought three strands of Arvid’s hair to the right thickness. She carefully rubbed and combed them against the direction of hair growth. In the meantime Arvid tried to learn more about the traditions of the giants.
Mardun explained to her that a marriage was closed over two days. It was connected to a precisely prescribed ceremony in which the living rune spell was cast, the so-called band of life. It was forged by the Njorkma and his female counterpart called Njema, but Mardun confessed that he himself had never been present in the Hall of Runes.
“Too bad I’m not going to be there,” Desrei sighed sadly. “Normally, I’m not into celebrations, but this one…”
“It’s something very special,” Mardun agreed. “A human goddess as part of Isvirndjellen’s royal family—something like this has never happened before.”
“Why can’t you be there?” said Arvid. “I would be delighted if you were there. Don’t I have something to say in that? It’s also my wedding.”
“We can’t, my lady,” said Desrei, looking slightly embarrassed. “We are only servants and… There is so much work to do for us.”
After the servant had worked in the three hair beads, Arvid looked at the finished work in the mirror. The sight was odd and probably needed some getting used to. The three strands of hair had become matted skeins, which actually resembled the hair of the giants, but were not as compact. It looked kind of shaggy, but Mardun assured her that the hair would become more dense over time.
Mardun was right about the reactions in the fortress. When Arvid was picked up by Loke the next day and they made their way to the Hall of Runes, everyone’s eyes followed them, be they giants, servants or visitors. Loke himself now wore three green beads in his hair, so their engagement was clearly noticeable even to those who had dismissed the news as rumors.
The Hall of Runes was huge, the ceiling probably around eight to ten meters high, and the first thing that caught Arvid’s eye was a large black stone block in the middle of the room. It must have been a good three meters high and of the same length and width. There was a base at its foot, to which a number of low steps led up. From there further small steps led diagonally upward on each side. Directly above the altar, high up on the ceiling, there was a huge, snow-white star lamp that radiated an unusually bright light.
“The Njorkma will join us as soon as he has time,” Loke said now. He remained near the altar and turned to Arvid. “We’re a little early.”
Arvid nodded and looked around further, but there wasn’t much to see. The room was bare, the floor smooth and unadorned. On the side opposite the door through which they had entered, the ground was slightly raised and formed a kind of pedestal with another, much smaller door.
“Why is it called Hall of Runes?” Arvid asked eventually. “I don’t see any runes here.”
“That’s not it,” Loke said. “In this place the living runes are forged.”
Arvid nodded thoughtfully. “What is the difference from a normal rune spell?”
“Living runes connect to a soul,” said Loke. “Their full effect only unfolds if the wearer has witnessed their creation entirely. ‘From the first grain to the last drop’, so they say.”
“And how exactly are these runes made? I don’t suppose that they are written in ink.”
“No,” said Loke, “though the dust of colorless soul gems is used, too. It’s not processed to ink though, but placed under the skin of the wearer.”
Arvid paused. “Under the skin?” she asked with a sudden touch of terror. “Do you mean… under the skin in the sense of… I mean, under… under the skin of the body?”
Loke’s eyes glinted in amusement. “What other skin could I mean?”
Arvid swallowed. “And how is that done?”
“With a knife. Normally on the left arm.”
Arvid stared at him in shock and involuntarily felt for her arm. “You… you’re just pulling my leg, right?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Loke said with a grin. “Do you already regret having said yes?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. But before she could say anything, the door on the podium was opened noisily and the old Njorkma stepped out.
In the following hours Arvid was showered with an abundance of information, although the Njorkma claimed to mention only the most important things. He explained the process of the ceremony, who would be there and who had to be standing where and when. She should learn a song and several texts that she would have to say at certain points of the ceremony. Arvid had no idea how she would remember all these things.
“You need not worry,” said the Njorkma soothingly when he noticed Arvid’s insecure face. “During the ceremony you’ll always be told what to do. The only thing you have to pay close attention to is the beginning of the forging of the band. It’s very important that the first line is quoted simultaneously and correctly by both partners.”
“I’ll remember that,” whispered Arvid.
The Njorkma smiled encouragingl
y. “The actual forging of the band won’t take very long. Remember to be careful when you step down afterwards. You might experience dizziness.”
“What kind of clothes do you suggest?” said Loke to the old giant. “For Arvid the traditional wedding garments are not warm enough. She could catch a cold.”
The Njorkma nodded thoughtfully. “You are right. Well, I’ll have to consult my books to find out what elements of the clothing may not be modified to comply with the traditions.”
“Do it immediately,” demanded Loke. “The tailor will need a few days.”
“Naturally.” The Njorkma bowed his head. “I’ll get back to you today. Then there’s only your wedding wishes left.”
“What kind of wedding wishes would that be?” asked Arvid.
“You may wish something from me,” Loke replied, “and I cannot refuse. But you also have to grant me a wish. It’s an ancient tradition.”
“No matter what?” said Arvid.
“More or less.”
Arvid was silent.
“If you need time to think, I will return tomorrow morning,” suggested the Njorkma.
“No,” Arvid parried hastily. “I already know my wish.”
Loke looked at her expectantly.
“I want you to invite all human servants who are expendable to our wedding,” she said firmly.
Loke frowned, but to Arvid’s surprise, he neither got angry nor tried to dissuade her. He just exchanged a quick look with the Njorkma and then asked, “Are you sure that you want this to be your wish?”
Arvid nodded. “Yes,” she said firmly.
“Very well then,” sighed Loke. It wasn’t hard to see what he thought of her wish. Arvid suddenly wondered how Loke’s mother would react when she found out about it. She would be furious, but absurdly enough, the thought filled Arvid with a sense of satisfaction. Her mouth twisted into a smile.
Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) Page 40