Chapter 9: Helping Hands

 

Fallen

Laughter rang out dully. It was a strange echo that bounced off the walls and yet didn't have a sharp ring to it. Maybe it had something to do with the way these Greco-Romans constructed the stone or if it had all to do with the steamy pool we soaked in.

Our circle of Rus had gone on to investigate our next destination in the campaign to stall the invasion, occupation, and uprising of Bulgars, Serbs, and Croats. Oddly, they insisted that I relax with the majority of irregulars.

A number of these men had provided places for me to visit. The taverns, the beach, a walk outside of the city, and a few insisted I get a 'porni' for myself. It took me a moment to realize what that had meant and some how I didn't feel in the mood to sow my oats at all. 

The vision of the mother and child had still stuck with me. I didn't want to think about having an unknown child brought up in this war-torn empire.

Instead of any of those suggestions, I took up the offer by the irregulars, and went to cleanse and soak in a bathing complex. It reminded me of the saunas the Rus and Polska only in a much larger scale.

Officials and important figures were in attendance in some parts of the housing. The irregulars were directed to another. I had no idea why I had been singled out for a private section.

Up to my waist, I watched from the hot pool the companionship of greater and lesser men converse with each other. Their languages far from being understood by me, but their gestures, reactions, and responding pitches in their voices told me much of what they talked over in varying degrees of topics.

Secluded, I wandered my ice-blue gaze across to the serving men and women of the bathing complex. Some engaged with their own conversations. Others were ignored. A few had more interactions that I would have thought be best behind closed doors.

By my shoulder was a sound of wet-padding steps. I turn to see a platter with a single cup placed down by me. Leaning my back against the pool's edge, I scoot my elbow back to hook around the platter, and lift up the cup for the service.

I don't bother to look. Hearing the pouring sound for a moment is enough to know my cup had been filled. The platter is lifted and I return my arm back in front of me to inspect the content of my dish. Purple haze with a transparent body. Grainules settled in the bottom.

No idea what it was. I drank it down in one gulp anyways.

In minutes, I felt the light headed effects. It became stronger until I could swear I had been floating instead of standing still against the wall. Before it became more than disembodiment, I dragged myself out of the pool and walked to where I could change into something more appropriate when I go out.

Some men were talking more heatedly as I dressed. I turned to look at these men. All at once, they went quiet, but still conversed. I could feel myself bobbing my head down. It didn't occur to me that I might have been drugged for some reason.

A hand grabbed my arm and I had been pulled away from where I stood gaping at the men. The irregulars took me over to where they were enjoying themselves. They let me lay down by their pool and watched me, poking fun, and playing a bit of a game with my hands as if I were a puppet.

The world was tilting again and again as I watched them do this, but I couldn't complain. They seemed happy at my expense.

It didn't take long for one of the irregulars to put on a sour face when one of those other men from before came over. Quickly, as one, all of the men watching over me came out and stood around me.

It was all I recalled before blacking out...

The table and all of its dishes from the feast are tilting on its axis again and again.

I lift my head up from the wooden surface. Gradually, I feel the presence of crumbs on my cheek and begin to pinch or scrub them off. Many of the men in the Hammerhus hall are stirring or already awake.

There is no sign of Alaf or Gunhelle. Likely, they have retreated someplace more private for my sister to perform her congenital duties. That is a sobering thought.

Stepping out and pushing away from the table, I head out of the hall, escaping to find some fresh air. It is late in the morning, maybe close to noon, and I can see clearly the distant ships preparing to be reintroduced to the Scanian waves. Quickly, I make my way back inside to see if any of our crew remained.

Before I finish my scan of the hall, my attention drifts, feeling a hand set down on my shoulder. I am met with the grim face of Alaf.

"Stay. All the Jarls are summoned to gather at Helsingborg." Then he passes me to find a horn or two of mead for himself. It takes me a moment to realize I'll be in Hammerhus's retinue. 

Over the next few hours, I simply sit, listen, watch, and wait. I'm still stewing over what I have learned about my sisters, but there is nothing I can do while I am here.

I think Gunhelle figured that one out and came up to me. "Come with me," I hear and follow.

Around the back of the great hall are piles of branches. There is no order to them than all laid and overlapping each other on the earth.

"Our household has been working on shipbuilding," as she says this, I watch her kneel down to begin picking up the many discarded cuttings. "Will you help me clear this away?"

"Yes," simple reply with a better response of kneeling with her. We labor in collecting and moving away the many branches from the base of the hall down the slope towards the line of stumps among the trails leading out to the coast. I catch on that the trail is where they dragged the logs.

The collection is deposited in a pen away from the hall. It will be used to fuel the fires inside or some other convenient utility. The reason it is away from the hall and not closer is because of the chances it rains. When it rains, there is a possibility of the heat later on causing the thick foliage to grow hot and possibly burn. The chances are low. It is still not a chance to take.

Afterwards, "Hremod, when was the last time you washed?" She stares down at my hip and raises her ocean-blues up to meet my ice-blues with a combined face of concern and disgust. "I can smell you from here and it is not pleasant."

"What?"

"You stink."

I look away from her, feeling ashamed that my sister had to be the one to tell me that and having to deal with probably last night too. "Alright. I'll wash up after this."

"Good. I'll go fetch the buckets and boil the waters awhile."

"What?" I am not sure what she is talking about here.

There is an exasperated look on her. "Can you say something other than, 'What,' once in your life?" She shakes her head, "Alaf has a tub. It is very nice and relaxing to sit in and I am sure you will enjoy your scrubbing when the water is hot." She gives me a smile, shakes her head one more time, and nods a bow to me before running off. As she passes, I feel her hands grip my arm, a few pats along the length of my leaner muscle, and on she goes. 

My gaze trails after her with me unable to protest. There is not good reason to without bringing back that skeptic look she had on me last night. For now, I continue to picking at the ground for all of the branches, stems, and tiniest of twigs I can find to delay my return to the hall.

I can feel myself rise in anxiety. Is the tub in a public viewing? Am I going to be attended when I unclothe? Will someone be helping me wash? Are they going to discover what I am before I can plea my case?

Across the hall, up the stairs, and further up along the furthest doorway is my sister waving for me to come up. The men are all companioning around the table once more and I account for Alaf displaying a chart of some sort in front of his inner circle. Likely, they are preparing for the departure.

My feet drag up the steps. Dismayed, I turn to see my sister watching and awaiting me impatiently with the crossing of her arms and tapping of those feet.

"Hurry up or the water will cool." No point delaying the inevitable and I hustle. Inside, I see the large tub. It is certainly designed for a large man like Alaf. 

My walks out and closes the door. Quickly, I tear the shawl, jacket, and shirt over my head in a series of tugging pulls. The clothed wrap around my chest is dislodged and thrown on the pile on the floor. My boots, one being hopped on while the other is up in the air between my hands gets yanked off.

I fall from that and land hard on my ass. Instantly, I reach for the other boot and throw it at the pile in a tantrum. Unbinding my waist, I slip out of the pants, kicking it off, and wiggling foot to let the dangling hose fall onto the outfit pile. I stretch out and pluck it violently off of my foot.

Slipping into the tub was painful. It burned, but it also soothed away the stress and tension that had built up in me over the last week. 

Maybe months? I know that Vloros had been ordering someone to wash and nourish me while I had been comatose. At least, I think he gave that task to someone. What if it was him?

"Oh? What if it was?" Splashing, I freak out at the Shade appearing over my head. "Hey, don't waste the hot water. It feels good on us."

"What are you?"

It clucks its tongue, "You. Us. I already explained that."

"Shut up. Tell me what is happening."

It backs its head away and blinks in confusion. "Wait. You want me to shut up and talk?" A dark hand waves at me, "Those two don't work very well together."

"What is happening to me? Have I gone mad?"

A soft ring of laughter bursts out of it for a second. "Oh nono. I've seen you get mad," it shakes its head and walks around to face me at the tub's foot. "There is nothing happening to you. It has happened. Done."

"What?"

"I am going to make a deal with you. For every day you go without saying, 'What,' I will strip the changes I've done from your body." A beaming bright smile, something that is blinding from that dark body, shines off of its teeth at me.

I take in consideration my next words and say, "Okay."

"Good. Keep that in mind and watch what you say around others." After that bit of obvious advice, it jumps into the tub with me, and disappears. I am sitting up in complete bewilderment of what that had been all about.

Then the door opens with my sister walking on in. My body dunks down into the tub, crossing my arms around my chest and shoulders, watching with bright blue scared eyes over the rim of the tub, and awaiting Gunhelle's next course.

She comes up to the tub. "Sit up. I'll get your back," she says this softly with a rag waving in her hand above me. Again, I can't really protest.

I rise up enough and curl forwards for my back and shoulders to be on display. The feeling of her hand running on down the ball of my shoulder and around the nap of my neck is delightful, but I am far too panicked to enjoy it thoroughly, and I think she can tell from how tense I've become.

"Hremod, settle down. There is nothing there that I have not already seen before." I'm given a shove forwards, my height causing the dirty blonde roots of my bangs to dip against my raised knees, and slipping a bit under. I catch myself on the side of the tub before I can be fully submerged.

Sitting back up, I suddenly feel her hand on my shoulder and on my arm. My sister comes around to face me, but is looking down, then up in my face, and back into the water. I begin to hyperventilate. Turning to the door, I wonder if I can run out fast enough to not be caught, but I would have to wrest my arm from Gunhelle first.

"Hremod, I said settle down," softer, but closer and more determined. She is fighting with something, I am fairly certain what it is, but I don't know how she is handling this situation. Apparently, she has been convinced enough that I am her brother... Despite not being a brother anymore.

There is no way I cannot calm down. I'm stiff limb, gripping the side of the tub more so to hold something, braced for whatever might come my way, and becoming light headed from how deeply and quickly I vent my anxiety.

Gunhelle steps into the tub, fully clothed, and grabs me around the shoulders. She pulls me up into her arms and holds me. "Calm down... Calm down... Calm down..." she repeats again and again. Her embrace and soothing voice brings me down a notch.

When I stop breathing so hard, I notice the sound of my hiccuping, a sob that must have started from the moment she grabbed my arm and looked at me so seriously. Had I been crying? Why have I been crying so much recently?

"Is everything alright?" Alaf appears at the open door.

Gunhelle turns on her husband and barks, "Close the DAMN door!" This causes me to look over and I can't tell if the Hammerhus jarl is stunned at her woman demanding of him or me being held like a sorrowful child by my elder sister. Either way, he closes the door behind him and leans his back into it. I don't think he is pleased by any of the two possible instigators.

"Hremod?" He stares down at me, then turns to his wife, and back to me. Then he barks a laugh. I have no idea what he finds so amusing about this display. That laughter stalls, he looks at me again, and laughs all the harder with a knee slap.

"What do you find so funny about my-" Gunhelle looks at me, "-my brother."

Alaf keeps laughing, points down, swallows, and shakes his pointing finger at me. "T- Trickster!" Then laughs enough to snort. He pats his chest and traces a pattern over his sternum. I make it out to be an 'S' at first, but then he retraces it differently the other way. It clicks in my and my sister's seems to have connected with me in understanding.

He draws the ouroboros. A snake eating its own tail. The sign of Lokkemand.

If this had been any other jarl, I would have been put to death by a slow torture until I forced myself to confess my wrongs. Luckily, I suppose, Alaf and his family are heavy believers of the Old Norse faith. His whole house name is dedicated in respect to Mjolnir. I think it had something to do with his family origins being on the fields farming before the fall of House Flod.

It mattered a lot right now. His beliefs, however wrong they maybe, saved me a lot of trouble. I still dressed as a man and I know that my sister understood the reasoning.

"At least you don't smell anymore," she comments to me with a sharp jab of her elbow at my side. I glare down at her and she gives me a funny smirk before walking over to her husband.

Alaf, being jarl, didn't give me the privacy to get dressed, but at least did not comment or laugh any as I clothed myself. In fact, he seemed to be still amused by the whole situation. As if my circumstances has opened up a whole new stage of entertainment for him. He lives on an island, so, I suppose he gets bored.

"Hremod," I look away from Alaf and to my sister, "I will be with you both to contest anyone who doubts you as my brother." Both? What did she mean by that?

I had been about to say, 'What,' but instead my mouth hangs open and I close it. My silence, I think, had been taken as acceptance and understanding by my sister and her husband when they both nodded to one another. I didn't understand. Maybe it didn't matter if I did. They knew what to do, questioning them would possibly upset their idea, and I needed trusted family and friends now more than ever.

A part of me wanted to tell them all that had happened. I didn't. There was something in my mind suggesting I feign ignorance over how any of my changes had transpired and the journey that brought me here. It would be simple if I played that my voyage took me from point to point without incident.

We three left the room to head back into the hall. It had been decided that I continue to help my sister in all things rather than stick around the men. There is a chance others could find something out while they become brazen in their cups.

This also meant that when night came, I would be sleeping with my sister, not out in the hall along the feasting table with all the housecarls. I don't think I really minded, Alaf kind of did, but he could go one night without his wife before we set sail to Helsingborg...

Across the table is Calibri. The hall is bright and jovial in delight of the middle-aged woman filling their cups and speaking with them in a sultry manner. I'm sitting with my fist tucked into my cheek like I've been done listening to the former Captain talking about his plan to take the dromon ship before the storm hits.

This is in Varna, back where it all began, and just before this curse had been inflicted on me.

"Whoa now, I told you that I am not a curse," the Shade speaks from a seat next to Calibri.

I stare at it for a moment, recalling what Alaf had revealed, Lokkemand. This thought caused the Shade to stiffen and glare at me. Did I hit it on the nose or what?

"Don't. Forget that name and continue being a good Christi-," I smile at it and think of the entire lore following after the Trickster. That he is a Jotunn, a giant, something that I am even called and is sometimes mistaken for a God because of his mixed influence with the Old Norse pantheon.

The whole entire world becomes darkness.

I'm curled in a ball on the ground. I don't know when or where this happened. In fact, this is not familiar at all. The Shade kneels down to me and lays a hand on my naked shoulder.

"I'm not who you think I am. This is no trick," the Shade looks off at a doorway. It opens and a massive man strides in. I can feel myself curl tighter into a ball before being yanked up in the air. I have long hair again and the pain of his pull brings tears to my eyes.

It is slow going, but I'm dragged by my head out of the dark room into the open air and clear field. There are people everywhere. I can see that my body is exposed and I feel incredibly vulnerable to these men. They wear clothes and dress in a fashion like we, the Danes, would. Their speech is not Danish. It is Norwegian.

I'm panicking. My fingers dig into the earth to try clawing away. I don't care if my scalp is ripped from my head as long that I get away. Images of my sisters, those who've died, pop into my head. More than ever I want to go back into the darkness and hide inside with the Shade.

It looks out of the door and watches me be dragged up onto a dais. I am tied to it. A large man holding a bearded ax is directed to my right. He lifts up the blade and hacks down into the flesh, bone, and stone I lay on with a crunch. My right wrist ends in a bloody stump. I am too shocked to scream at first.

I begin screaming when he moves to my left to repeat the process over. I stop when he finishes with my feet as well. I don't know if I have any more breath left in my lungs to cry out.

"Forget. Forget it. Forget all of it and find peace," the Shade, wanting to run out to me, stays inside of the dark room. It is sobbing as it cries out to me, "Kris please! Forget that name!"

Another darkness is settling over me. A cold one that leaves me thirsting and desperate...

"HREMOD! HREMOD! WAKE UP!" My sister is screaming my name at the top of her lungs at me. I can feel hands all over me, from my shoulders, head, wrists and arms, legs and ankles, and even more holding me down by my stomach and chest. I am not in the bed anymore. On the floor from the looks of it.

"Wha-," I stop myself. That didn't count, right? Closing my eyes for a moment, I account myself for what might have happened. Had I been thrashing once more in my sleep or did I attack someone? Is my sister well?

I open my eyes to look up into the ocean-blues of Gunhelle. She appears fine, with the exception of the misery seen on her face as she stares at me, but overall without marks. I think the men on me have concluded that I've regained my senses as their constraining hands lose the pinning tension.

"I'm sorry sister..." I speak slowly, but loud enough for her to hear me.

"Alaf, we need him here now. We can't wait for the sail." No idea what is being talked about here. I turn to search the faces for my sister's husband among those holding me down.

"Go and bring Harthsweyn. Tell him to bring his runes," I find his face above my head. Funny, he was hiding right above my nose the whole time.

I am let go to be allowed up. Not really feeling like standing, I scoot back to sit my back against the bed, looking up at my sister and Alaf holding each other. There are soft sounds coming from Gunhelle's buried face like muffled crying. What had I done? What was it that had to take this many people to hold me down?

In a short while, a man well past his prime, but I can't say he is old yet, stands before the jarl. There are whispers exchanged between the two and the stormy-grey eyes of the man come settling onto me. I suppose this is Harthsweyn, the Rune-priest. He doesn't look mysterious or anything. Normal tunic and pants, a build like any other, peppered beard, and a start on a widows-peak on his scalp.

He crouches down next to me and takes a closer look over my head and face. Then he looks back over his shoulder at Alaf, "Are you sure? She doesn't look like one." Alaf nods his head sharply and I see my sister do the same. One what? What the Hell are they talking about?

Harthsweyn sighs and takes a seat next to me. He scoots back and sits shoulder to, well, arm. He doesn't reach my height. Not many do and he comments on this, "You're a tall one."

Without another comment, he grabs a bundle of something, cups it between his hands, and I can hear the rattling. Runes. His legs spread and he drops the scattering pieces across the floor.

A few of them fall into a knotted hole that neither of us had seen until now. "Oh fuck." Places his fingers tenderly on the ones that remain. He looks over at the jarl and holds up two fingers. "Two."

"Two?" From Harthsweyn, to Alaf, and then to my sister before coming back to the rune-casting man. "Two means wh- How do you mean?"

A finger of his drags one rune after another in a line in front of his crotch. "These symbolize an animal, a God, weather, or an item. Together, they mean something else." He tapes those in front of him. "This means, 'Two.' It could mean two days, two events, two people, two wars, or two solutions." His hand is held up to forestall anything anyone might say. "Two, not to be mistaken as a number, but that her ailment will be solved by two."

I don't know how rune-casting works. It always made me think of fortune telling or a way for a seer to play guessing games with people. This is exactly how it feels. Far to vague for me to grasp what is meant and not having a clue what kind of problem I might be having when no one is talking to me.

"Two days," the jarl speaks, "It will take two days to reach Helsingborg."

"Two events," my sister speaks up, "The war and my brother's return." How does this help me and whatever problem they are talking about?

"It might also all come in two's too. Remember to keep that in mind," the rune-caster mentions before getting up. "I'll be going back after I find those bastards down there." He's likely referring to the runes that fell through the floor.

"I can't imagine having two brothers," my sister mentions with a grin directed down at me, "This one is already a hand full."

"Everyone out," the jarl commands, "We set sail tomorrow."

I'm not too sure I want to return to sleep. Not after having a dream like that last one. I felt it. I actually felt the pain come through my limbs. Maybe it was the men holding me down harshly, but it felt very much like I had been cut to pieces.

Gunhelle meets me sitting down on the floor and reaches her arms around my neck to bring me down into a hug. "Don't worry," she whispers up to my ear, "We will protect you."

I am confused at what happened still. Unable to help it, I ask, "Did I do something wrong?" I feel my sister stiffen for a brief moment. Her face rubs into the side of my arm as she shakes her head no.

"You were violent. Fighting... Something," she pulls her face away, "but you were not fighting it in a dream. It was here. Real," her body parts fully from me and I watch her bring a palm up to her face and eye. "Then I saw it. I saw everything," then she looks up at me. "I saw you fighting for your life before they dismembered you. I was awake and I saw it."

The warmth in my cheeks drain as I hear this. Maybe there is more to fortune telling than I originally realized...