by S. T. Bende
“Everything okay up there?”
“Couldn’t be better. Why do you ask?” Tyr tore his eyes away from the tree line and looked directly at me. A fresh coat of sweat broke out across my forehead, and I wiped my face on my sleeve. With any luck he’d think I was tired from my run… since a lady did not glisten at the mere sight of her almost-date.
“You just look so serious,” I offered.
“Usually do.” He shrugged. “Which way were you headed?”
“Um… I was following the Woodside Trail—it’s another mile over this hill, then it loops back toward campus.”
“No.” Tyr’s voice was firm.
“No, it doesn’t loop back?” I questioned.
“No, you’re not going that way. We’ll take the Sequoia Trail back.” Tyr pointed to his right.
The hairs at the back of my neck prickled. “We? I’m sorry. Did I invite you to run with me?” I tried to keep my tone playful, but I didn’t like the way Tyr told me what to do. Or the way he seemed to assume I’d just do what he said. Did girls just blindly follow orders where he came from?
Actually, they probably did. He just oozed the kind of raw power that all but screamed Thou shalt do whatever I command. And thou shalt be extremely happy about it.
“Apologies, prinsessa. May I join you for a run?” Tyr raised one eyebrow.
“Well, now you’re just mocking me. I’ll jog alone, thank you very much. Toodles.” I marched up the hill and bumped Tyr’s arm as I passed him. The contact sent a wave of heat along my side.
“Mia.” Tyr’s tone was low. “I told you not to go that way.”
I whirled around, planting one hand firmly on my hip. “You don’t get to tell me what trail to take.”
“I do when it’s for your own good. Let’s go.” Tyr jogged thirty feet along the ridge then turned around. “You coming?”
“My own good? Excuse me, who exactly do you think you are?”
“You don’t want to know.” Tyr met my stare as I sized him up.
“Maybe I don’t.”
“You just have to trust me, Mia.”
I played with the thin gold band I wore on my pointer finger, an heirloom my Meemaw gave me when I graduated high school. On the one hand, I didn’t like being told what to do, especially by someone who was pretty much a stranger, and without any kind of an explanation, or so much as a ‘please.’ But the truth was, I did want to run with Tyr. And that bothered me. Because I was in the middle of proving a very important point about my independence to a man who seemed to have an unfortunately backwards attitude about women—or maybe he just had a backwards attitude about me. Either way, caving at this particular moment seemed like a giant fail for the sisterhood, not to mention a landslide for my personal self-esteem.
But dang it, he’d seemed like a pretty decent guy the other night—one I wanted to get to know better. Plus, he looked really, really good in those shorts.
I raised my chin in a futile attempt to feign control. “Fine. I’ll let you run with me. And we’ll go your way… today. But Wednesday I’m taking the Woodside Trail. And you’re not coming with me.”
“It’s a public trail. And I’m usually in the forest about this time.”
“Well, next time I won’t be so agreeable. This is a one-off, buddy. Don’t get used to ordering me around.”
“Whatever you say, prinsessa.” Tyr took off at a slow lope, and I ran after him.
“Why do you care so much what trail I take, anyway?” We hung a left at the big rock and followed the sign pointing to the Sequoia Trail.
“It’s not safe.”
“You’re worried about me?” I shot him a grin as we rounded the corner.
“You don’t have the greatest sense of self-preservation.” He looked down at me.
“Okay, now you’re just being rude.”
“A hiker was nearly attacked on the Woodside Trail last week. The rangers only just took down the signs warning about a possibly rabid animal. Didn’t your roommates tell you?”
“No.” My arm throbbed at the phantom animal bite, and I shivered. Maybe my imagination hadn’t been so off after all.
“Well, they should have. It’s not safe for anyone to be up there. Especially not someone who runs as slow as you do.”
My head whipped up, evil eye at the ready, but Tyr grinned back at me.
“Oh, it’s on.” I lowered my head and pushed off the balls of my feet. Using all the force I could muster, I barreled through the thick grove of trees. Tyr’s easy laugh sounded beside me as he kept my pace. I pumped my arms and pounded the dirt, cold air whipping my face as I moved. My eyes darted to the side. Dang it. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. “Well, it’s easy to run fast when your legs are seven feet long,” I muttered.
“Mmm. Tell yourself whatever you need to hear.”
“Rude.” Realizing my chances of outrunning the Swedish giant were nil, I slowed to a normal pace. Tyr matched my stride.
“Speaking of rude, I’m sorry about the other night,” he offered after a moment of silence. “About taking off like that.”
“You definitely know how to make a dramatic exit. Everything okay?”
“Not really. But there’s not a lot I can do right now.”
“Want to talk about it?” I asked.
“No.”
That was clear.
“I didn’t do something to offend you, did I?” You know, because you never finished asking me out. I stared at the twigs beneath my feet as I ran.
“What? No. Nothing like that. I just had some… some personal stuff I needed to deal with.” Tyr didn’t offer anything more, and despite my excellent opening, he didn’t ask any follow-up questions about any perfectly good first-date suggestions. With a silent sigh, I tabled my disappointment and resolved to live in the moment. Running through ancient redwoods with a superhero clone was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime experience… even if it did require bludgeoning my instinct to analyze Tyr’s intentions and predict his future behavior. Old habits died hard with me.
We fell into a companionable silence as we made our way through the forest. The only sounds were the morning birds, the occasional falling pinecone, and our soft footsteps. After another mile, we reached the end of the trail. Tyr continued onto the pavement, and I followed.
“You and Brynn live this way.” He nodded.
“Yep. Where’s your place?” I jogged beside him.
“I’ll run you home.” That didn’t answer my question, but his smile made me forget what I’d asked. The early morning sun filtered through the trees to hit the planes of his face, illuminating his spectacular features in an almost ethereal way. A light sheen lined his brow, and his eyes sparkled against softly tanned skin. His hood was still pulled over his hair, and I wondered if he had bed head underneath that fabric. Stop, Mia. No need to put Tyr and bed in the same sentence. Nothing was going to happen between us. Not even dinner.
“Turn right up here.”
“I know where you are.” Tyr jogged the three blocks to my house, and I tagged alongside him. He was probably being nice to me because he felt bad about the other night, but I didn’t care. It was good to have company.
Especially such attractive company.
“Here we are.” I stopped when we got to the front of the little house. Tyr slowed next to me.
“It’s nice.” He kept his eyes on mine.
“Thanks for crashing my run. Even though you were bossy about it.”
Tyr adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt with a chuckle. “Do you run every day?”
“Most weekdays. I swim alternate days, and I take weekends off.”
“That’s quite an exercise plan. You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“I try not to,” I answered honestly.
“Hmm. Are you going to run in the forest again?”
“I’m planning to.” The corners of my eyes crinkled. “Unless a certain bossy-pants is thinking of interfering with my trail run again.”
“So you mentioned.” I reached up to adjust my ponytail. “Maybe you should come keep tabs on me again, to make sure I follow your approved routes.”
Tyr’s eyes widened a smidge. A half-smile broke out across his spectacular face as he took a step backwards. “Maybe I should. Six-thirty Wednesday morning. This yard. I’ll be the one in the hoodie.”
My breath hitched. Tyr wanted to see me again. Was he just obsessively controlling and wanted to make sure I did what he wanted? Or was he archaically chivalrous, and wanted to make sure I didn’t get hurt? Or, and this was a big or, did he actually want to spend time with me? I didn’t want to get my hopes up unnecessarily, but if I had any chance at a shot with this guy, I sure as the dickens didn’t want to miss it.
“I’ll be here,” I squeaked.
“Great. See you then.” Tyr opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something more, but instead he turned on one heel and raced down the street. He rounded the corner before I could even say goodbye.
We were seriously going to have to work on that boy’s manners.
CHAPTER FOUR
MY FIRST OFFICIAL COLLEGE class was one of my general education classes—an Art History course called World Myth in Art. According to the syllabus, we’d start the year with northern European paintings. Though my knowledge of the art world was practically nonexistent, I had Charlotte in class with me. Between her parents’ gallery and her internship, Charlotte was already an expert.
We slid into the front row just as class began. Our professor was a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, with light brown hair and eyes that lit up as she went over her outline.
“Okay, class.” Professor Kopp looked up from the podium and clicked her remote at the projector. “We’re starting our semester with the art and artists of Scandinavia. The pieces in this unit are based in Norse mythology, and while you don’t need to have a comprehensive understanding of mythological hierarchy to appreciate the art, it does help to have a basic overview. So let’s go over some of the basics. Who’s familiar with Norse mythology?” Arms shot up all over the room, including Charlotte’s.
“Beyond the Thor movie?”
Several kids dropped their raised hands.
“Okay. Scandinavia is made up of four of the world’s northernmost countries, and that latitude results in long, dark winters. Culturally this has translated to darker folk tales, filled with terrifying monsters and heroic warriors. You’ll see this reflected in the region’s artwork. For example, this.”
Professor Kopp clicked, and a new slide popped up.
“The Ride to Asgard, by Peter Nicolai Arbo. A Norwegian painter who lived from 1831 to 1892.”
“That’s dark,” Charlotte whispered, as she clicked away on her laptop.
“No kidding.” I stared at the painting. A herd of muddy brown horses ascended from a charred battlefield. The animals and their riders were so monotone, they almost blended together, save for a few blond female riders in the front line. Some carried dead bodies over their mounts, while black birds that looked like ravens swooped over the field. Artistically, it may have been a masterpiece. But it wasn’t something I’d put out for company. It positively reeked of despair.
“The Ride to Asgard depicts a group of valkyries returning to Valhalla. Do those words mean anything to anyone here?” Professor Kopp asked.
Charlotte stopped her fiendish typing to raise her hand.
“Yes?” Professor Kopp nodded. “Miss…”
“Takayama. Charlotte Takayama,” my roommate said.
“Go ahead, Miss Takayama.”
“Asgard is the home of the Norse gods and the most revered of the nine realms of Norse mythology, on par with Christianity’s version of Heaven. Odin is the head of Asgard. Valkyries are Odin’s warrior goddesses. They fly winged horses over Earth, and bring fallen soldiers back to a place called Valhalla. It’s Odin’s personal hall, and it’s a massive structure big enough to house hundreds of fighters. The valkyries train the fallen soldiers to defend Asgard at Ragnarok, the mythological Norse apocalypse.”
I blinked at Charlotte. Was all of that in the reading?
“Very good.” Professor Kopp smiled. “So in Peter Arbo’s painting, these warrior goddesses—valkyries—bring the dead soldiers back to Asgard, the realm of the gods. Those who lived dishonorably might go to Niflheim or Helheim—the Norse equivalent of Hell. Interestingly, the Norse hell is a world of primordial ice, which is reflected in many of the culture’s most significant paintings. Now, Scandinavian paintings tend to idolize the upper echelon of their pantheon—Odin the ruler; Thor, God of Thunder; Freya, Goddess of Love; Loki, the Trickster. Ull, God of Winter…”
“Speaking of Scandinavians, was that Tyr who dropped you off at the crack of dawn this morning?” Charlotte whispered. “A little early in the semester for the walk of shame, though I have to admire your taste.”
“What? No!” I hissed. “He barged in on my run, so we finished our workout together. That’s it.”
“Finished your workout together, eh?” Charlotte snickered. “That’s what they called it at your prep school?”
“Yeah, no. It really was just a workout. But we’re running together again on Wednesday.”
“Really?” One of Charlotte’s perfectly groomed eyebrows shot up. “Did he explain why he took off the other night?”
“Not specifically.” I frowned.
“Well, maybe he will next time.” Charlotte reached over and squeezed my hand. “That’s exciting.”
“I know. And kind of terrifying.” My stomach was so jumpy after our encounter, I’d barely been able to scarf down a piece of dry toast before class.
“It doesn’t have to be.” Charlotte kept her voice low. She stared at our professor, typing as the teacher spoke. When Professor Kopp paused to look through her textbook, Charlotte turned to me. “Just try to have fun with it. You’re only a freshman once.”
I bit back a smile. “You really need to meet my brother.”
Professor Kopp brought up a new slide. “Now as Charlotte said, the valkyries from Arbo’s painting were charged with training humans to defend Asgard at Ragnarok, the final battle between good and evil. Henry Fuseli depicted Ragnarok in Thor Fighting the World Serpent. It ends badly for Thor the Thunder God—Asgard and most of its residents are destroyed, and the world is born anew. Notice the dark colors, the harsh lines, the feeling of desolation Fuseli manages to convey in this painting?”
“All I’m seeing is a giant naked god,” Charlotte whispered. My fingers grazed my lips, covering my smile.
“Let’s finish up with one of my favorites—Danish artist Lorenz Frölich’s Tor og Loki. Created in the late 1800s, it shows Thor and the trickster god, Loki, traveling in bridal regalia to a realm called Jotunheim to recover Thor’s magical hammer, Mjölnir. One of Jotunheim’s frost giants captured the hammer, and refused to give it back unless he could have Freya, the Goddess of Love, as a bride. Freya refused, so Thor and Loki put on dresses and rode Thor’s goat-driven chariot down to the icy realm to reclaim Thor’s prize.” Professor Kopp smiled at the image on the screen. “Who says Vikings didn’t have a sense of humor?”
“I’m still thinking about the naked god.” Charlotte leaned back in her seat.
“Okay, that’s it for today. Read ahead two chapters, and we’ll dive into art depicting Muspelheim and Jotunheim—realms of the fire and frost giants—during our next class. You won’t want to miss it.”
I slid my notebook into my bag while Charlotte powered down her laptop. When she zipped the computer into its case, I stood. “Fire giants and frost giants? They had some dark stories, didn’t they?”
“That’s only the beginning.” Charlotte shook her head.
“How do you know about Norse mythology?” I stepped out of the row and headed toward the classroom door.
“We did a unit on it in my AP class last year. They have some
particularly fun myths—and some disturbingly strange ones.”
“You’ll have to fill me in.” We walked toward the entrance of the humanities building. “My grandpa’s part Norwegian but he never told me about the myths. And we only studied the Greek ones at Tottenham.”
“Would you like to go over notes this week? We can talk about the paintings from the reading, and I’ll tell you the stories about the fire and frost giants.” Charlotte shuddered. “Crazy stuff.”
“Sounds great.” I smiled. “I’ve got my Calc II lecture this afternoon, but I’ll see you at home later.”
“Have fun.” Charlotte waved as she walked toward the student union.
I did a little happy dance and headed to the library to see if I could check out a text on Norse mythology. I had no intention of being caught off guard in class, and preparation begat excellence. My lips pulled back in a smile. This experience was everything I’d worked for. I was officially a college student. My first class was under my belt, and in a few hours, I’d be attending my first lecture in my major. I might have felt way out of my element with art and gods, but I’d be happy as a clam in saltwater in a math class. Roman numerals and Greek letters, cut-and-dry answers… I sighed. If everything about life could be as simple as calculus, my world would be just perfect.
****
“Hei hei everybody.” The voice sounded familiar. I glanced at the back of the Calc II discussion room on Tuesday morning, and saw Brynn’s friend Henrik walking up the aisle. He threw his backpack on the table at the front and scribbled his name on the whiteboard in a hasty scrawl. “I’m Henrik Andersson. I’m a grad student in the Biomechanical Engineering department, and I’ll be your TA for our breakout section this semester. This is my e-mail address, and these are my office hours. Use them.”
To my right, Brynn was positively bursting with excitement.
“Did you know he was the TA for our section?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back. Her freshly painted purple nails dug into her forearms where she squeezed herself, quite possibly to keep from bouncing up and down.