us, ordinary men and women, hard work is the only thing that helps.” She stood up from her bench. “Look around you. Everything you can see has been built with blood and sweat.”
The man didn’t break his eyes from the woman.
“And yet it can all be gone, swept away by the smallest current in river of the destiny.”
“As is this game.” She hit her fist in the middle of the board, flying pieces all over the table and the yard. “That is a current for your games and plots! Do what you wish but you can’t take away my honor and I rather die than listen any more of your trickery.”
The man cast a slow look on the pieces lying here and there. Suddenly he started to laugh. It was a deep, eerie voice and Jofrid took an instinctive step backwards. Then she lifted her head and stood still, chin up with pride and defiance.
“Who is coming?” a villager shouted out suddenly.
On the hilltop next to the village appeared a large group of people. They came with the wind and their silent wailing carried to the ears of the villagers. It carried an ominous tune and as it reached them, the sun disappeared entirely behind the black shadow engulfing it. Jofrid yelled over the wind:
“Men to the defense, women and children run away to the woods. Elders go and guide them!”
She turned back to the table, but the man had disappeared. There was only the board left on the table and glass pieces littered here and there. The edge of the board flapped in the wind and the air was filled with a damp stench. Jofrid turned her back on the table and started to act.
The one-eyed old man walked towards the shore. Far behind him a column of smoke could be seen rising high into the air. He didn’t bother to turn and look at it, but rather continued with a stern gait forward to the shoreline, where he was being waited for. A woman, as gray as the sea that was billowing behind her, was standing where the earth and water met with a restless rhythm. She was a rare beauty, equally desirable and hideous at the same time. Her hair was long and gray as was her gown that reached all the way to the water. Around her dangled a cold mist that made her features unclear even in the bright daylight. Her white, milky eyes were watching without seeing and would have made the most lovesick of men to step backwards. The old man did not, however, but rather boomed with a voice full of discontent.
“The mistress of Helheim, where is Baldr? He who is fairest of all the gods.”
“Your son is where he is, under my gray roof. In the house of the dead.”
“But today is the day of the dead. All the rest of your slaves got a chance, why not my son? He who has come to your domain through trickery and injustice.”
The woman smiled with a cold demeanor.
“With trickery it is that you got your day, you fooled me to do it. But I have been true to my word, as our earlier agreement bounds Baldr to my house until the world ends. For over this the fate has no power, not even you, who are the greatest of us, can do anything about it.” In her stern voice was a dose of mockery. “I hope you are happy with the new members in the halls of heroes. For all the crippled and oathbreakers who now got an honorable death.”
His reply was like a thunder raging.
“This is not the end! I didn’t even get the shipbuilder, even though his woman lost the game. He belongs to me now.”
“He went into the woods of Bothvar, where every day is the day of the dead. But I blessed him, if for nothing but to irritate you and he went through, where no-one but the Master himself has gone alone.” A grim smile wavered around her figures. “But don’t worry, my blessing has not been good for mortal men.”
The man and woman stared at each other and that stare was not lacking in hate or scorn. In the eastern sky, above the sea, the gathering stormclouds looked black and menacing against the afternoon sun.
This story intersects with a longer one, that has been told in my novel Fargoer. You can find it easily through my www-pages https://fargoer.com/
Explanation of viking sagas and historical elements that have been used in this story can be found at https://www.fargoer.com/day-of-the-dead.html
You can always send feedback directly to me with email. My email address is info(at)fargoer.com
Thank you!
Day Of The Dead - A Viking Tale Page 4