Loki's Daughters

by Delle Jacobs

  Now the Vikings were here, and had taken all that from her, and the only thing she had left was her herbs. Restlessness overwhelmed her. But outside, there were Vikings, and as soon as she set foot beyond the door, she knew she could count on Ronan's amorous assault.

  "They're coming again," said Birgit in a resigned voice.

  Arienh heard the sounds that Birgit's more attuned ears had picked up first.

  Liam ran to the door, which stood ajar to let in the late afternoon warmth. "Mama, they're carrying sacks. Lots of them."

  Birgit stuck her shuttle through the warp threads. "Well, I suppose we should go find out what has him so excited."

  Arienh set aside her bundles of horsetails, and they went to stand with Liam at the door. It was a strange sight. The two men each carried two large sacks over their shoulders, yet they moved as lightly as if they carried nothing at all. They were strong men, true, but almost any man would have lumbered up the hill under such a large load. They not only walked sprightly, but grinned widely while doing it.

  Without asking permission, Ronan swaggered in, followed by Egil, and the two men deposited their sacks on the packed earth floor. They stood aside.

  "For you, Arienh," Ronan said, proudly presenting the sacks.

  Puzzled, Arienh frowned. She did not mean to accept their gifts, but her curiosity demanded satisfaction. "What is it?"

  "Look and see."

  For a moment, Arienh eyed him with anticipation, but saw he did not intend to tell her. Irritated, she reached for the closest bulging sack and with a flourish, roughly whipped off the binding cord of a sack, suddenly noticing it felt oddly like it contained nothing.

  "Don't!" Ronan cried as the sack slipped from her hand and fell.

  The bag toppled over with a whoosh and hit the floor. Little white puffs billowed out, flying into the air like giant snowflakes of a spring snowstorm.

  Feathers. Feathers everywhere, floating, flying, landing in hair, on eyelids, clinging to nostrils. On the floor, in the soup. Drifting to singe and stink in the fire. On clothes and benches. And covering Ronan's dark hair.

  Egil groaned. Birgit squealed.

  "Mama, look. Feathers! It looks like it's snowing! Why did they bring feathers, Mama?" Liam danced about, snatching at feathers that whooshed away faster than he could move.

  "I'm sure I don't know, Liam." Birgit pursed her lips tightly.

  "Feathers?" Arienh asked. Was this a joke? They did like to joke. But what was funny about feathers all over the house?

  "Not just feathers," said Ronan. Horror sagged from his face into disappointment. "Down."

  "Down? All right, it's down. But why? Whatever am I going to do with this mess?"

  "It's down," Ronan said again. "You're supposed to-never mind. I'll help you clean it up."

  "Nay, I'll do it." Arienh reached for a likely looking handful of the stuff, only to have it scatter away as she touched it. She grabbed again, but caught only a few feathers.

  "Not that way. You have to move slowly," said Ronan. Frustration oozed in his voice.

  She had really hurt him this time. But why? Why had he given her feathers? Why were they so important?

  Birgit's face puckered up like a dried apple in her determination not to laugh. Arienh wished she'd leave.

  "Ah, maybe we should go for a walk," Birgit suggested.

  With a grumble, Arienh nodded and spit a feather from her lips as she watched Liam and Egil rush after Birgit out the door.

  Egil almost had to jump out of the way before Birgit slammed the door shut and burst out laughing.

  "That isn't nice, Birgit," he said, but he couldn't help grinning. He'd never seen solemn Birgit laugh before.

  At that, her giggles rose to shrieks. "Tell me you didn't want to laugh. Tell me it isn't funny."

  Egil chuckled, enchanted by mirth he had not seen before. "All right, it's funny."

  "Why did he give her feathers, Egil?" asked Liam, looking up at him in confusion.

  "It is down, Liam, not just feathers. And it is more precious than gold."

  "It is?" Liam's eyes bulged. Greedy little rascal.

  "Aye. It is very dangerous to collect it. It comes from the abandoned nests of seabirds on the high sea cliffs. A man must dangle on a rope over the edge to take it."

  "But why?" Birgit asked. "What can she do with it?"

  "Make a blanket."

  "A blanket?" Birgit giggled wildly. "Oh, I do not believe it. How could anybody weave those little things? No one could spin them."

  Egil laughed again. It was such fun to see her so merry. Even more fun to see her confusion. "Nay, they are not woven. But you have feather pillows. I have seen them."

  Birgit frowned as her puzzlement deepened. "Aye, but-"

  "Ah, I see you really do not know what to do with it. Then I suppose your sister does not, either. It is much used in the north, and makes the warmest blankets, so I think Ronan did not realize you would not know. It is done much the same way as the pillows, with the down in between two pieces of cloth."

  That didn't seem to help much, and he suddenly realized she was imagining a giant pillow. "But it is tied together in many places so that it lies flat instead of round, but puffy. It is said the King of the Franks has his bed filled with down, and it is softer than floating on water."

  "And how would you know about the Frankish King's bed?"

  "When we were younger, Ronan decided we were going to get rich by collecting down and selling it to kings."

  "But you didn't?"

  "Nay, one time of hanging over a cliff was enough to keep me from ever going back."

  "Were you scared?" Liam asked.

  Never so terrified in my life. "Aye. Just looking down at the waves crashing on the rocks makes me sick. It is not a way I would choose to die."

  "But you went with him this time, didn't you?" Birgit said, and a warm smile lit her face. "If it is so dangerous, why did he do it?"

  "Well, he loves her. And a man sometimes does foolish things to win a girl's love."

  Birgit's beautiful pale eyes studied his with a curious wonder. "And I suppose a man sometimes does foolish things for his brother."

  "Sometimes. Look, Liam, do you see my mother and father down by their cottage? Will you run and tell my mother we need her help?"

  "Why?" asked the boy.

  "Because she knows what to do with the down."

  With a gleeful shriek, the boy sped down the path, his brassy curls bobbing. His hair was much like his mother's with its tight, springy curls, but was much lighter than her fiery red hair. He loved her hair. Never had it looked so wonderful as it did now, with a brilliant sun shining through it, and hundreds of colors dancing in the strands. He thought of lacing his fingers through it and drawing her into a kiss.

  But he only thought of it. He did not even reach out to touch her hand, lest he frighten her. Though he had his brother's aggressive impulses, Birgit was not like her sister, and could not be taken in such a way.

  Now, she laughed so naturally, trustingly, beside him as they walked, as if suddenly something inside her had broken loose and begun to sparkle. Time. She still needed time. He would give her all she needed.

  "What kind of cloth?" she asked.

  "What kind? I don't know. Just cloth."

  "Nay, just cloth will not do. The wool is too springy. It gives too much. The feathers could poke right through it."

  "They could?"

  "It would have to be a tight, firm weave. Very tight. Linen, maybe, or nettle."

  "Mm. I had not thought of that."

  Her pale eyes held an odd, scheming look. He had seen it once before when he had watched her decide to let Liam go with him to fish.

  "Nay," Birgit said, her eyes still focused intently on him. "Men do not often think of such things. But we do not have anything that will do."

  "There is silk. And the Moors have something they call cotton."

  "Cotton? What is that?"

  He shrugged.
"I've never seen it. But it is not heavy, and they say it is nice when the weather is very warm. It is even more costly than silk."

  "Well, we don't have that either. And we have no flax crop. That leaves nettle. It usually must be retted, but if we could find last year's stands, it may have been retted naturally by the weather. My mother used to gather it this time of year."

  "Then, could you weave it?"

  "I don't think so. My loom is too coarse for the fine weave we would need. Mother had a very fine loom, once."

  He stopped her, taking her arm in his hand. "But Ronan wants to build you a new loom for the weaving gallery. He could build it if you could tell him what you wanted. He is a very good carpenter. He built his longship."

  Her pale green eyes danced with excitement. "He could? Oh, but I don't know where to find the nettles. I do not get out much because I am always weaving, so I do not know those things."

  "But someone must. I will tell everyone, and we can look for the nettles as we do other things. I was going to take Liam very early tomorrow to show him how to hunt water birds. We could look then."

  Birgit bounced about and grabbed his arms. "Oh, would you? Oh, it would be wonderful. Then for once I could do something for her instead of- she is always doing things for me, I mean. Oh, please, would you?"

  Egil felt his heart wrench in his chest. He had never seen her like this, jumping excitedly about, just like Liam did. He had never seen her excited about anything. And maybe this would be the gift he could give her that melt the ice away from her soul. "Of course."

  "You promise?"

  "I promise." And he laughed and gave her a quick hug.

  A pink flush colored her face, and Birgit regained her composure. He was sorry to see it end. But it was a start.

  Egil quickly explained to Wynne as she arrived with Gunnar and Liam, and they hurried back to the cottage.

  In silence, they picked feathers, from the dirt floor, the oak table, even from the porridge that simmered over the hearth fire. It seemed they had been picking up feathers for hours.

  The scrambling sound at the door caused Arienh to look up from her misery. Wynne stepped into the cottage, her mouth agape at the remaining mess. The older woman wrinkled her nose, and Arienh realized she had become accustomed to the acrid smell of burnt feathers that still permeated the cottage air.

  Behind Wynne trooped Egil, Liam, Birgit and Gunnar. Without a word, all plucked feathers from incongruous places and deposited them in the sack.

  "I see you have been cliff-hanging, Ronan," said his mother as she plucked a feather out of her son's hair. "And rather successfully. But it appears you did not think to clear the way before you."

  "It was my fault," he admitted sadly. "I thought everyone knew about down."

  "Everyone in the north. But then, the winter nights are so bitterly cold there that it is a necessity. Here, it is only for the very wealthy. No one else knows much about it."

  "I'm sure it is a wonderful gift," Arienh said remorsefully, yet not even knowing for what it was she felt regret. "But truthfully, I do not know quite what to do with it."

  "I would say you do not know what to do with it at all," replied Ronan.

  She nodded, feeling very sheepish.

  Wynne scowled at him. "That is not her fault. It is yours because you did not tell her. I have told all of you, you cannot assume that everyone here thinks the same or knows the same things that you do. This is a different place, and if you would live in it, you must take the time to learn about it."

  "It is not his fault," Arienh insisted. "It was a nice thing to do. I'm sure."

  "Of course. Now, let us talk about making a down blanket."

  Arienh eagerly listened as Wynne tied back her hair in a Norse knot and began her explanation. Only lone bits of fluff still lodged in odd places, but Arienh was determined to retrieve every one. She tried to avoid Ronan's glances and the terrible disappointment on his face. And her cheeks burned with humiliation when she learned from Egil the extent to which Ronan had gone to provide her with his gift.

  "Well, now I understand how it's done." Arienh said. "I had some very strange ideas at first."

  Birgit laughed. "So did I. I tried to picture weaving those little tiny feathers. I am going to weave the cloth," Birgit announced proudly. "It will be nettle. And Ronan will build me my loom, for he has already promised."

  "Of course I will," said Ronan. "You have only to tell me what you want."

  "Nettle?" Arienh asked. "But we have none."

  "Egil is going to find what has rotted over the winter. Mother used to do that, and I remember how."

  "But it will take so much."

  Egil smiled. "Everyone will look. We will find it, do not worry."

  "It will be fun, Arienh. And just think of the fine cloth I will be able to make."

  Arienh saw something different in the dancing light green eyes where nothing but sadness had been for so long. Birgit was laughing again. If only it could be that way forever. But if only for now, it was a gift more precious than any he could have ever given her. And he did not even know he had given it.

  "It is truly a wonderful gift, Ronan," she said. "I am sorry I ruined it for you."

  Slowly a smile spread from the small crinkling at the corners of his mouth. She did not resist him when he wrapped his arms around her, giving her an affectionate hug.

  "Nay, you did not ruin it. I'm glad you like it." Then he snuggled his lips in close to her ear. "-Wife," he whispered, and took a nibble at her earlobe.

  She didn't resist that either. But she felt a crimson blush rise in her cheeks when she saw the raised eyebrows on everyone but Liam.

  And Liam just grinned.

  ***

  "Smells like burnt feathers," said Mildread, her nostrils flaring.

  Birgit giggled. Arienh narrowed her eyes at her sister, hoping her frown would be enough to earn her silence. But Elli and Selma giggled too. So then, the story was out.

  Arienh stirred the fire in her hearth, seeking a bit more warmth for the gathered women on this chilly night. And it was better than giving credence to their jokes.

  The Vikings would be drinking their mead and telling their wild tales. The children were all safely out of earshot and bedded down in Selma's cottage, with her older cousin watching them. Old Ferris was no problem since he probably wouldn’t be coming back, and Arienh had seen that Father Hewil was kept busy by sending him off to try to cajole Ferris out of his pout This was women's business, after all.

  Anticipation hung in the air as heavy as smoke. Arienh rose to her feet. "Well, what did you learn, Mildread?"

  "That they are not so big after all."

  "You didn't."

  Mildread laughed. "Nay, I tease you, Arienh. I have not tried Olav out, even though I think he would fit just fine. But that could be more because he doesn't trust me. I am having to work on that."

  "But did you ask him about the other things?"

  "Aye. It is true, they do foster fatherless boys, if they have good possibilities. He says sometimes a man feels he has more claim on a nephew than the mother does. He told me that story you already know about Ronan."

  Silence hung thickly in the small cottage.

  "And he thinks Egil plans to take Liam, eventually."

  "But they don't always do it," Birgit said hopefully.

  "Well, I suppose not. Apparently a man must be willing. They take it very seriously. Like Selma took her cousins."

  "But what about Grandfather and Birgit?" Elli asked, her brow furrowed like the newly plowed fields. "Are they safe?"

  "Well, I could not tell, exactly. He said he knows it is done. I didn't understand exactly, but it sounded like it was something an old man might choose to do when he felt his time had come. But I have been thinking, Elli. We have hidden the truth about Birgit, but we cannot hide Old Ferris's age, and they have not done anything to him."

  "But maybe it is only something they do when times are hard," Arienh countered
. That was not enough surety for her.

  "Aye," said Elli. "Maybe they will not do anything until they are sure they have us where they want us. Then it will be too late for us to object. I do not think they will be patient with us much longer, anyway."

  "We have to know," Selma said in a very quiet voice.

  Arienh nodded. Selma also loved Old Ferris, for all his bilious nature, for he was her father's uncle, and had taken her in when she was very young and had lost her parents, then her two little cousins as well, until Selma had grown old enough to provide for them, herself. And Selma was cousin to Arienh and Birgit on her mother's side. Young as she was, Selma had suffered as much as any of them from the raiders. Yet she had the softest heart.

  "Your Olav is much too serious, Mildread," Selma proclaimed. "I do not trust him."

  "Nay, it is because he is so serious that I think he may be trusted," Mildread countered. "He may not believe as we do, but he is very strong in what he does believe. I think he is an honest man. And a hard worker."

  "Swings an axe well," Selma agreed with a grin, batting her thick lashes. "With his jerkin off, too, Mildread?"

  "That has nothing to do with it. Even if he does have a fine back."

  A chuckle rippled through the clutch of women.

  "Mildread would like a hard worker," said one.

  "She deserves one, for a change," said another.

  Mildread shook her head. "But that is not the point. It is his honesty that counts here."

  "Nay, what we need is more information to compare," Selma said, flouncing her long curls. "I will see what I can learn from Tanni. He is very friendly, not so suspicious or serious. And not quite so big."

  Arienh didn't like the way the discussion was going. She had never thought Mildread would show interest in the Vikings. Certainly not Selma. Yet she could see why. These big men were purely masculine, and as attractive as any Celt she had ever seen. And no man could work harder than they. But surely they all remembered the pain the Vikings had brought to them, and would not look at their kind with anything but disdain.