15 Chapter 15

Finna entered Freydis's room, carrying in her gnarled hands two wooden bowls upon a tray.

Freydis looked at the tray that was placed before her. One of the bowls was full of berries which were stashed in the frozen store-room and taken out of it to thaw, and the other of thick yellow cream. Berries and cream have always been the one thing she could keep down when she didn't feel well, and Thorvard knew it. In the years when they were still a boy and a girl and cream was costly, he would sneak into the buttery and bring her the favorite foods secretly.

This solved her doubts - he intends to keep her alive. But why?

Freydis knew that deep down, he always had a shred of cowardice. When they went out to hunt together, often he was the one who could not stand against the frightened, pleading, pain-misted look of the fallen deer, and let others give the final blow.

And last night, thought Freydis, she had been the deer.

She did not like that thought at all.

She took the spoon in her hand and began to eat.

Later Dalla, the golden-haired girl she remembered from the night before, came as well. Freydis looked at her in resentment. She possessed the freshness of a flower that had just spread out its petals.

"I came to see how you are doing," said the kind girl.

Freydis narrowed her eyes derisively. This was the last thing she needed. "You cannot understand," she said curtly.

"I believe you are wrong," Dalla said softly. She was a maid, and her soft lips have never yet been kissed by a man, so Dalla could not truly, realistically imagine the closeness of a strong, foreign male body, hairy and with strange odors. But such forced, violent closeness seemed terrible to her.

Freydis lifted up her head, and from her lips escaped a truth she refused to acknowledge for years.

"There had never been anyone but Thorvard."

"I am sorry," the girl said quietly.

Why did she say this? Greatly despising herself, Freydis lowered her voice to a threatening whisper, and her eyes sparkled with the remainder of the strength still left to her:

"If you tell anyone what I said just now, I swear to you, I will tear out your tongue even if it's the last thing I ever do!"

"I would never think of doing such a thing," Dalla said urgently, got up, and disappeared with great alacrity.

After the girl left, Freydis sat motionless for a long time, looking and not seeing at the outline of the dark logs the walls were built from. Yes, last night was an evil mockery of that first night she and her beloved had shared so long ago. Years before that, when he was just a boy and her love for him but just beginning, she could hardly move or speak in his presence. He was so tall and strong and handsome, and his low, powerful voice made her shiver with excitement. She admired him and felt despair when she thought he might never feel for her anything close to what she felt for him - until one day, she noticed a furtive look that made her heart triumph. Ever since, she was determined to make him court her, and soon succeeded.

She remembered the first time when she ran her fingers through the mane of his long, dark, thick hair. "Your hair is longer than mine," she told him then with a mischievous smile. "You need to braid it, so that it will not get in your way when you hunt or train." That was the first time when she braided his hair. She relished the task, though it took her a while to comb out all the tangles.

There is still no trace of grey in his hair, she was surprised by a sudden thought, and it is still as thick as when he was a lad. But who braids it for him now?

There was one summer night when the sky darkened only slightly, and she went deep into the woods, to wash in a narrow, clear stream. There she noticed his outline - he was hiding behind the bushes. Her heart hammered violently while she attempted to guess whether he would dare to reveal himself to her, and what on earth she will do if he does. They were very young, both completely inexperienced, and she felt how her limbs are arrested under his ardent gaze, which secretly caressed her naked skin. But she took her time and lingered in the water, allowing the cool flow wash over her. Later, she stretched on the grassy bank by the stream for a long time before she put her clothes back on. Her body burned that night in a way she never felt before, and it was sweet torture to know he is looking at her all the while, yet be obliged to pretend she does not notice. Finally, she donned her clothes and he was gone, and she returned home with her spirit victorious.

Not much time passed since that night and until their marriage. They were both barely old enough to marry, yet felt they can wait no longer.

"Now you are mine, my love," she whispered in the mist of ecstasy that made her nearly mute.

"Now and forever," he said.

The magic of her memories is now forever altered, she thought with grief as she gathered her knees close to her body, put her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. Her body was an ugly, tainted vessel, as if poison and not blood coursed through her veins.

Dalla returned soon after, holding by the hand a girl of three years old, with dark eyes full of wonder. Freydis felt as if a blow knocked all the air out of her lungs. The last time she had seen her daughter was two years ago.

"This is Sygni," Dalla supplied an unnecessary explanation. "Your daughter. She wished to see you."

Freydis looked at the girl, recognizing with pain the mingling of her features and Thorvard's dark colors. Sygni returned her a curious, shy look, and hid behind the skirts of Dalla, whom she knew and loved.

A strong feeling of loss constricted Freydis's throat and prevented her from uttering a word. She could not even become a worthy mother.

To her surprise, a minute or two later Sygni left her place of hiding, approached her, and placed in her mother's palm a little, soft and warm hand.

"You see," Dalla said softly, "you do have something to live for."

Even the birth of their daughter did not succeed in bridging the gap between her and Thorvard. Even the sweet bonds of motherhood could not pull her heart away from its desires. She did not prevent Thorvard from taking Sygni away to Norway. She felt sorry for it now. Her daughter knows her no longer, and it is doubtful she will know her in the future - certainly not if it depends on Thorvard.

… "You need never have allowed her to meet Sygni!" Thorvard broke out in anger at Dalla when he found out what she did.

"Sygni is her daughter," Dalla said with such simple humility that he lowered his voice.

"She gave up on her," said Thorvard, his chest heaving with emotion. "She threw away as worthless everything that was supposed to be dearest to her. I do not understand why she chose this path, but it will be better for Sygni to grow up without such a mother."

"Perhaps she regrets," Dalla made a suggestion that caused Thorvard to snort in derision.

"You do not know Freydis," he said. "Regret is not a feeling she often harbors."

But little Sygni, when no one noticed her, slipped into the room of the foreign, odd woman, to whom she felt inexplicably attracted. She pressed her cheek against the woman's limp hand, allowed her to caress her hair in a short, hesitant stroke of weak fingers, and ran away.