by Saga Berg
The line moved.
Viggo signed another picture, smiled at another girl and tapped his fingers against the desk. He didn’t seem to care that everyone was looking at him, but he’d always been good at blocking out attention. After signing another picture, he dropped the pen onto the table and flexed his hand. Before he grabbed it again, his hand went up to his neckline. Svala’s heart stopped beating for a few seconds as he grabbed for a tie that wasn’t there. When realization hit him, he smiled to himself and let his hand fall down over his chest.
Svala’s heart beat faster.
That had been their sign when he needed her to rescue him out of a social situation. He’d touch the bow of his tie, as if adjusting it, or let his hand smooth over the length of it. Whenever he did that, Svala would come and request his attention elsewhere, thus getting him out of the situation without being rude. It had been especially useful in their life before last when Viggo had run for office and their attendance to dull functions and fund-raising events had seen no end.
Svala smiled. Even if he didn’t recognize her, there was still hope. He remembered something.
Two hours later, they reached the end of the line. Svala urged her friends to go ahead so she could jot down a message on her hand: “Please nod if you recognize me. I’m worried about you.”
Sarah stood in front of Viggo when Svala faced the table. She’d forgotten her speech and stared at Viggo with wide eyes. When he handed her the picture she yelped, but didn’t move along. A security guard nudged her and told her to step aside for the next girl, Megan.
Svala faced Amanda Jones, Viggo’s new girlfriend. Up close she was even more stunning. Her smile however, less honest than it had appeared further back in the line. Svala handed Amanda the promotional picture. Amanda signed it and offered Svala the same trained smile she’d given the other girls. Beside Svala, Megan lingered with Viggo.
“Move along, miss.” The security guard shoved Megan to the side.
One step to the left and Svala finally faced him. She met his calm blue eyes, but his smile didn’t differ from the one he’d offered all the girls before her. She handed him the picture, and her hand trembled while it hovered in the air in front of him.
Viggo looked at her hand, paused for a moment to read, then sighed annoyed and grabbed the picture with some force. She pulled back her hand and waited while he signed the photograph. Slower than before? She couldn’t tell, she was too nervous, too anxious to get his nod of recognition.
The pen ended in a perfect ‘m’. He slid the picture across the table, rather than picking it up and handing it to her, like he had with everyone else. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t even offer her the mandatory smile or the nod she expected. Instead, he leaned back and waited for her to pick up the picture. She waited. He looked past her out over the crowded mall, like he still sought someone out there.
“Miss.” A security guard put his hand on her arm. “Move along.”
Chapter 7
10th Century
Birka
“Don’t lift your elbow.” Trym positioned himself behind her and angled her elbow to the ground.
The autumn leaves in the forest rustled when the wind passed through. From the hill at the top of the forest they could see the ocean and better part of Birka. The air was fresh back in this century, the scents of the earth much more present.
Svala’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the target ahead, a circle carved into a large tree. Her thick blonde braid fell over her shoulder, her fingers cramped around the bow. “Like this?”
“Better.” Trym stepped back. “Now focus.”
She drew the bow string and released the arrow. It hurled through the air and missed the target by several feet before disappearing into the bushes. Svala moaned and lowered her bow. “I’m never going to hit it.”
“Not with that attitude.” Trym agreed. He walked up to her, grabbed another handmade arrow from the leather pouch and handed it to her. “Again. And focus.”
She didn’t accept the arrow. “I'm focusing, but I don’t see the point to this.”
“The point is to focus, and get better.”
“But we’re not supposed to hurt anyone. Shouldn’t I learn to focus by doing something else?”
“You have to be able to defend yourself. You have to learn independence. But if you don’t learn how to hit the target you will increase the risk of killing your perpetrator, and that would be bad.” He offered her the arrow once more.
Svala accepted it with a sigh. “It’s not like I’ll carry this bow and arrow around everywhere I go. Wouldn’t it be more useful to learn how to throw a knife?”
Trym smiled, an evident gleam in his eyes. “Good thinking. One does not have to rule out the other. We’ll practice that next week.”
“Great,” she muttered and positioned the arrow against the bow.
Her next attempt missed the target as well. She wanted to throw the bow on the ground, but figured Trym would not approve of such an outburst. Instead, she turned to him, her patience running out. “You told me I’d get to be with Viggo if I joined the Loissifar.”
“Liosálfar,” Trym corrected.
She took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, annoyed with Trym’s calm. “So, where is he?”
“I told you it would take time. You have to learn how to be patient. You have to accept waiting. And most importantly, you have to put the balance before everything. Even your love for Viggo.”
Svala pressed her lips together. Three months had passed already, and all she’d done was train on how to focus and be patient.
“But how long will I have to wait?”
“Until you fulfill your assignment.”
“Which is what exactly?”
He smiled but didn’t answer her question. Later she learned her first assignment had been patience, a lesson she relearned with each and every life. In some lives patience came easier, in others it felt like she’d never learned it at all, like she was still standing on that hill, missing the target.
Chapter 8
Present Time
Washington D.C.
Trym and Svala went back to Washington empty handed and resigned. They didn’t hear from Viggo or Alva and The High Council gave them nothing to go on. They weren’t supposed to question The High Council, but even Trym grew impatient by their silence. He didn’t say it out loud, but Svala knew him and she could tell he was worried.
Three weeks later
“Shut up, it’s about to start!” Sarah aimed the remote at the TV and blared the volume.
Jen and Megan continued talking over the theme song bursting out of the speakers. Sarah glared at them with an exaggerated sigh, and Jen paused in mid-conversation to smirk, and threw a pillow at her. It flew across the living room and hit Sarah straight in the face with a muffled thud. The precision made Megan double over laughing. Sarah threw the pillow back at them with a scowl.
They sat in Svala’s and Trym’s living room. The live interview with Viggo Storm was about to air. After the announcement in the last episode of Interview that Viggo Storm would be the next week’s guest in the studio the girls counted the days, and lately, the hours.
The show started. Svala leaned forward in her arm chair and bit her nails. Jen and Megan continued their conversation throughout the intro, but as Viggo’s face filled up the screen they both fell quiet. The intro music faded into the background. Megan leaned against the armrest and clutched her hands over her lips. Sarah edged so far out on her seat, if she inched any further she would fall off.
Viggo’s blue eyes met the four girls in the living room and Svala’s friends whimpered. The camera shifted and the interviewer’s bleached smile and tanned face met them instead. David Mathews had once been a teen movie star himself, but turned to entertainment journalism after a long list of bad casting choices followed by an even longer list of nasty reviews. Now, in his thirties, David Mathews w
as more famous as a host than he had ever been as a movie star.
Mathews gestured toward Viggo. “I would like to welcome Mr. Viggo Storm to the show.”
The studio audience’s loud applauds and whistles thundered through the speakers in their small living room, and Sarah lowered the volume. The camera focused on Viggo. He rubbed his left thigh with the palm of his hand in a nervous gesture, still smiling. While the audience cheered, the camera cut to the interviewer. He shifted his gaze between Viggo and the audience, strained amusement all over his face.
“You’re quite the popular guy.” His comment made the audience scream louder.
Mathews shook his head and struggled to keep a straight face. Viggo shrugged, like he didn’t know what to do about the commotion. He was uncomfortable but hid it well.
“Okay, settle down.” Mathews raised his hand toward his audience until the cheers subsided.
Silent expectation replaced the noisy admiration. Mathews wiped the amused smile off his face and turned to his guest. “Welcome, Viggo. It’s nice to have you here.”
“Thanks, David. It’s nice to be here.”
The audience roared again. Mathews shook his head and lifted his hand to his lips, to hide the smile, then motioned for the audience to stop cheering. When they continued screaming, he nodded to his crew behind the scene. The camera cut to Viggo, then to both of them. The cheers subsided.
Mathews leaned back in his seat. “That’s some welcome. I imagine it hasn’t always been like this.”
“No, not quite.”
Mathews studied Viggo with interest before he continued. “It’s remarkable. A year ago, no one knew who you were and now this.” He motioned to the audience. ”How does that feel?”
“A bit strange, I’ll admit.”
“I bet it does.” Mathews consulted his notes. “You were a high school student when they discovered you, and now you’re here, a big movie star. How would you say your life has changed?”
Viggo smiled. “Where do I start?”
Before running for office in the nineties, he trained to meet the media. In comparison, this was nothing. The whole interview meant to boost his popularity, not question his motives.
“My life has changed dramatically, of course. People recognize me on the street and I receive a lot more mail than I did before.”
The audience laughed.
“But as a person, I haven’t changed all that much. I’m still me.” He massaged the end of his ring finger where his wedding band used to be.
Svala touched her own finger and held her breath. He had to give her something, any sign that he hadn’t forgotten her. But he released his finger and ran a hand through his hair, his blue eyes revealing nothing.
Mathews flipped through his notes. “I have some questions from our viewers. Let’s see, there is one that came up a lot… There it is. Are your eyes really that blue or do you wear contacts?”
Mathews asked a series of similar questions and Viggo answered with ease and confidence. To Megan and Jen’s annoyance, Sarah guessed the answers out loud before Viggo spoke. She read everything she could find on Viggo and to her defense she nailed most of the answers. It was unsettling to have another girl know this much about her eternal.
“Could you just shut it?” Jen spat and threw another pillow Sarah’s way.
Sarah caught it in mid-air, eyes narrowed, but as Mathews continued reading his viewer questions, she returned to the TV.
“Now, this is one we're all curious to find out. Are you currently dating Amanda Jones?”
Svala held her breath.
Viggo avoided the camera and reached out for a sip of water. He leaned back, his gaze never settling. “Yes.”
Sarah snorted. Svala’s stomach dropped and her body went cold. Why was he dating another girl. They weren’t allowed to do that.
The studio audience silenced with obvious disappointment. Mathews fingered his ear piece and leaned forward, eyes narrow. “I’m getting information there might be another girl in your life as well.”
Viggo’s brows drew together.
“Someone who made a lasting impression?” Mathews hinted.
Viggo slowly shook his head and shrugged. Svala eased closer to the screen. What was this guy up to?
“Okay, let’s refresh your memory.” Mathews nodded to his crew. “Mark, run the tape.”
The big screen behind Viggo and Mathews, previously showing the Interview logotype, shifted to the scene from Viggo’s first TV appearance. The footage filled the screen in their living room.
In the scene, Viggo walked over a tiled terrace, up to a large pool where he stopped, and removed his shirt. The studio audience roared, drowning out his first line. He stood by the pool with his back to the camera, looking at the girl floating on a red air mattress. The image froze and zoomed in on Viggo’s shoulder blade, and his tattoo. The initial blurred image cleared up, and her name filled up the entire screen.
Svala couldn’t breathe. The camera cut to Viggo in the studio. The color drained from his face.
Mathews leaned forward. “Who’s Freja?”
Chapter 9
1965
Hampton
In 1965, Svala and Viggo lived in a large white Costal house on the beach in Hampton. They had been together for six years.
One Saturday morning, while Viggo was downstairs in his studio painting, Svala woke up nauseous. She sat by the edge of their large wicker framed bed, staring down at the walnut hardware floor for a few seconds before she had to make an acute run to the bathroom. She stumbled out of bed and ran the last few feet. Hunched over the toilet seat, sitting on the cold black and white tiles, she convulsed and emptied her stomach. When she leaned back to gather herself vertigo replaced the nausea and she clutched the seat with both hands, inhaling in one slow breath.
She only had one glass of wine the night before and hadn’t eaten anything unusual. When her balance returned, she moved over to the sink and splashed her face with cold water. A pale reflection met her in the mirror and long strands of blonde hair fell over her shoulders. She collected them into a ponytail and reached for her toothbrush.
Downstairs in their kitchen, Viggo had left a half-full pot of coffee for her. The kitchen, which combined with the living room, showed no trace of the sixties, neither did the rest of the house. The house’s entire interior was inspired by 1920’s designer Syrie Maugham; primarily white surfaces with accents of color. It reminded them both of a time when they had both been happier, before the war, before that lesson of patience turned into actual torture.
A faint scent of fried eggs and bacon lingered in the air, mixing with java. The combination re-triggered her nausea. She grabbed the back of the white, scalloped-patterned couch in the living room and fought her repulsion. A few slow breaths and she straightened up, heading for the coffee. She didn’t make it past the kitchen island before she had to run to the downstairs bathroom and repeat her morning activity.
She skipped the coffee, grabbed her calendar and went out to the porch facing the ocean. They’d painted the porch white as soon as they moved in and bought white wicker furniture with navy blue cushions. Wrapping her cream colored cardigan tightly around her she sat down in the large wicker armchair, opened the book and started counting. Backwards, then forward. Once, twice, then two more times to be sure. She paused and gazed out over the ocean. The waves slowly rolled onto the beach, creating that soothing ripple she and Viggo associated with their hometown Birka. Staring out into the distance, she didn’t notice Viggo walk out onto the porch.
“You don’t want breakfast?” he asked.
She flinched at the sound of his voice. He wiped his hands on his jeans; leaving stains of cerulean on the washed-out denim. His white tank top was smeared with paint in various colors, his hair, slightly longer than usual, stood on end. He walked up to her.
“I’ll wait.” She closed her calendar. “How’s it going?”
“I don’t know. I
thought you could take a look.” He knelt down in front of her and leaned in for a kiss, careful not to stain her clothes.
Her hands entangled his soft hair and she lingered on his lips before easing back. “Give me a minute.”
The breeze from the ocean brought a faint scent of algae over the porch. She fought the repellence it provoked.
Viggo gazed out over the ocean, his arm against her lap, Svala’s hand still in his hair. “Alva called this morning. She told me Haldur and Ingrid reunited. They’re in sync with us. I thought we could invite them here.”
She closed her eyes, swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, that would be great.” Despite her efforts, her voice came out strained.
His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head and smiled.
His face tensed, his eyes searching hers. She reached out and caressed his cheek.
“It’s nothing. I’m just nauseous. It’ll pass.”
His blue eyes filled with concern. She grabbed his chin and leaned in for another kiss. “I want to see your painting,” she whispered against his lips.
***
Two weeks later, Svala went to the doctor for a checkup.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Storm. You’re pregnant!”
She stared at him from where she sat on the hard gurney. The white sterile room appeared smaller, like the walls were closing in on her. This had to be some kind of a cruel joke.
“That’s impossible. I can’t get pregnant. I’m...” She stopped herself and the doctor waited for her continue. “Sterile,” she managed.
He removed his stethoscope and placed it on his desk. “Well, congratulations all the more then, because you are indeed pregnant.”
Thoughts crowded her head when she drove back to the house. As far as she knew, no other Liosálfar had given birth to a child before. Every Liosálfar she’d ever met was born mortal, like herself. Even Trym and Alva. She didn’t think it possible with all the things to consider. What would happen to the child when they started over? Would it disappear, or worse, would it be left behind? What happened if they started over while she was still pregnant? Would she end up a fourteen-year old pregnant virgin or would the fetus disappear?