Starlight Aurate
Just a fallen star
Well, it's been a while since I've posted anything and especially since 1 week ago was the 3rd anniversary of Drowning, I really feel like I should post something. I don't have anything special or Drowning-related written, but I was encouraged to post my Yuletide fic for the public, so here it is! I had written this for Firebrand for the 2016 Yuletide. It is heavily influenced by Sami culture, so if you come across any of the odd words, it likely comes from there. Also, this submission is too long for one post, so it will be submitted in two parts.
"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." E E Cummings
I hope you enjoy!
Anders shifted his thick fur coat a little as the sun warmed his shoulders. The ground was still coated with a thick layer of snow, but as the sun broke through the cloud, he could feel the cold slowly melt away and warmth seep through his frost-bitten skin. He raised his grey eyes to where the village elder stood. Stooped, leaning on a staff for support, covered with a large coat, and with grey eyebrows so thick that Anders couldn’t see his eyes, the old man stood pensively before the crowd, completely unresponsive to the booming voice of the man next to him.
The teenaged boy swallowed uncomfortably as his father, the chief and head of their tribe, talked on about their culture and tradition. Every few months, Anders’ father would gather their clan and hold a referendum to talk about the current affairs of their village. They usually didn’t last that long—with only a few hundred people in a secluded village nestled deep in the Norden Mountains, everyone in the clan knew whether or not everyone had enough to eat or had managed to stay warm.
But this time was slightly different. In spite of the recent warmth, Anders felt goosebumps crawl up his skin and his heart beat viciously beneath his breast as his father talked about how, to become a chief, a boy must first become a man. Anders’ father stuck out a long, fur-covered arm and pointed a thick, meaty finger at his son as he boomed, “And this year, my eldest son, Anders, will prove himself to our clan! It won’t be easy, but I know that he can do it. This has been a cold winter, and I know it will only get colder, which means that the herds of Mamoswine will soon be passing near our village. My son will soon turn sixteen, bring us back a Mamoswine for our Yearly Offering, and the Yuletide celebrations will begin!”
At his words, the villagers erupted into cheers and those around Anders started patting his back and cheering him on. Wiping the sweat away from his forehead, Anders put on a big smile as people ushered him to the front, next to his dad. Anders always felt small next to his father, but now it seemed that Lars was a mountain of a man and his son was barely a molehill. Keeping the smile plastered to his face, the blonde-haired boy gazed at the eager crowd as his dad put his arm around him and got the crowd to pick up their cheers.
But Anders couldn’t feel the same way the crowd was acting; he couldn’t make his smile genuine. Standing at the front of his village, he felt a deep unsettlement within him.
Doesn’t matter, he told himself. Most other guys in the village would kill for this opportunity. I’m going to do it, I’m going to succeed, and I’ll thank my dad for getting me through it. And he focused on these thoughts.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Hefting the axe in his left hand and holding his shield in his right, Anders took a swung at the wooden pole before him. He concentrated on his form, on trying to hit the right mark exactly, on making sure his footing was even in the powdery snow—anything to try and keep down the nauseous feeling growing in his stomach. When he heard laughter and calls, he ignored them, pretending to be so focused on what he was doing that he was deaf to everything else. But once his friends starting calling his name, he let out a shaky sigh, put on a smile, and turned around to see a group of teenage guys walking towards him.
“Sven! Roald! Ole! What are you all up to?”
Anders’ friends greeted him with pats on the back and laughter as they came over to him. Ole’s grey fur hat was pushed so far forward that Anders wasn’t sure how he could see. “We came to watch the great Anders Larsson in action! Getting ready to fight the Mamoswine soon?”
Hoisting his axe over his shoulder, Anders said in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, “Yeah, well, that’s the plan!”
Sven eyed him with a slanted smile. “Are you scared, Larsson? Mamoswine aren’t easy to take down.”
Roald shoved his friend. “Come on, he’s the chieftain’s son! He’s been training his whole life for this, he’s not allowed to be scared.”
“I know,” Sven replied, his iron-grey eyes glinting like steel. “He can’t be scared, he’s worked so hard for this. But I’m just trying to get him to live in reality. Are you scared?”
Fighting the nausea that was rising in his stomach, Anders shrugged. “Of course not. Besides, it doesn’t matter if I’m scared or not—I gotta fight that Mamoswine and take it down, one way or another.”
Roald’s freckled face lifted upwards in sly smile. “And then Aili is going to be all over you, isn’t she?”
Anders felt as though a brick of lead dropped into the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t even thought about what might happen after he defeated the Mamoswine—if he defeated it. But Roald was right—once Anders had his claim to manhood, he was going to be married to Aili Ailoneieda that spring.
The teenage boys laughed at the expression on Anders’ face. “Come on, this isn’t that bad,” Ole told him. “You could do a LOT worse than Aili. At least she’s really pretty.”
“Quiet, though,” Sven muttered.
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t really seem to talk to anyone. And at least she comes from a good family.”
Anders turned back to the post and raised his axe to swing at it again, desperate to keep the thoughts of marriage from his mind. He would be getting married. Married? He couldn’t get married! He had hardly even spoken to girls. A number of the village boys and girls would get together, out of sight from their parents’ eyes, before being married off to whoever their parents chose. But Anders had never even kissed a girl. There had been a few over the years who had caught his eye, but he was far too nervous and uncomfortable to ever speak to them himself.
Anders continued to practice, swinging his axe at the wooden stake, raising his shield, nimbly jumping out of the way of imaginary attacks. He knew it didn’t do nearly as much good as practicing against a living opponent would, but at the moment he was desperate to do anything to keep his mind busy. He could dimly hear his friends talking, occasionally calling over to him, or laughing about something, but he paid them little heed. Before long, they left, and Anders stood alone in the snow, staring at the mutilated wooden pole before him.
Anders walked back to his home, his hands clammy from nervousness and his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach as he contemplated what lay ahead. He had hoped to find some reprieve from the burdensome thoughts once he reached home, but his father offered no consolation. As soon as Anders walked through the door, his father called excitedly over to him, told him how proud he was of his son and how he looked forward to passing on the title of chieftain.
The only one worse than Anders’ father was his mother. She smiled sweetly at him as he sat down, her icy blue eyes glowing with approval. Giving him a hug, she said, “Anders, we’re so proud of you! I know you might be nervous, but remember that your father and I love you.” Straightening up, she looked glowingly at him. “Oh, it’ll be so good to have you starting your own family soon! Just to think—my own son is getting married in a few months! I can still remember trying to teach you how to walk.” She chuckled to herself and shook her head as she mused, “You were so bad at it. It only took little Niko here seven months before he could walk on his own, but it took you nearly two whole years! And little Anja took just over a year.”
At the mention of his sister, Anders’ stomach churned in guilt. But the blonde-haired woman merely kept talking while Anders cringed, trying and failing to hide his embarrassment and ever-growing anxiety. His parents were acting as if he had already beaten the Mamoswine, as if his survival and chieftainship were assured and as though he was practically married. Fixing a smile to his face, Anders tried to accept his parents’ words, reminding himself that he ought to be grateful to have parents who were so proud and excited for him.
That night, as he lay with his parents and two-year-old brother underneath their thick fur blankets, Anders tried to force his unease down and make sleep come. His body was exhausted, but he couldn’t calm his mind. The thought of fighting a Mamoswine in two days was enough to make his stomach so queasy that he wanted to throw up, and even if he made it through that, he was going to be married. His life would be tied to that of a woman he had hardly met. He would have to spend his days and nights with her, make decisions with her, start a family with her—he didn’t even know her. When his parents and Aili’s parents got them together to announce their betrothal, he had exchanged a few short words with her. She was pretty, sure, with thick red hair that went to her waist, and a few scattered freckles on her snow-white cheeks. But she would hardly look at him; the few glances he got were of chilly blue eyes filled with fear and uncertainty, giving Anders the impression that she did not want him at all.
There had been one point, about a year ago, where he had told his mother that he did not think he was ready to marry yet. At the time, his mother had laughed it off and said that he would be ready as soon as he had reached his manhood. But Anders found that hard to believe; what if he didn’t love the girl? Was he supposed to make himself fall in love? And what if she didn’t like him—what if she hated him? And even if they liked each other, Anders felt as though didn’t know how to do half of the things that he needed to know. He could get food and make a shelter, but he had no idea how to go about raising a family. And then came the responsibilities of bearing chieftainship…
Anders had told his dad a few months ago that he didn’t think he wanted to be the chief of their clan; he had a hard time speaking in front of people, wasn’t very good at making decisions—especially not ones that would affect everyone—and he especially wasn’t ready to fight a Mamoswine. Couldn’t Anders just herd Sawsbuck like most of the other villagers? Could someone else could become the chief? Could Niko do it, once he got old enough?
That did not sit well with Lars. After Anders had confided his feelings to his father, Lars had flown into a rage. He yelled at his son for his ingratitude; Anders had been chosen by the gods to be born beneath the chieftain and his wife, and it was his duty to take up the title and provide for his village. Thinking that he would be better off as a commoner was blasphemy—the gods knew what they were doing, and they had made Anders Lars’ son for a reason. Anders should be proud, he should be excited. Above all, he should be grateful that he was born into a well-off family, and wasn’t responsible for herding the Sawsbuck or farming the land. Anders’ parents and leaders hadn’t raised him for combat just so he could live like a peasant. But if he really hated his life that much, he might as well start his own life as a Sawsbuck herder then and wait for Niko to take his place—maybe Niko wouldn’t lose his younger sister.
At the thought of Anja, Anders couldn’t take it anymore.
Slipping out from under the blankets, he stood up, went to the opening of their little home, and ran outside.
The air was bitterly cold. The moon shone, full and bright, casting ghostly rays over the white mountaintops and onto the silvery snow. Anders ran through the village, past the pens of Sawsbuck and Deerling, and up the mountain slope to where the screes were. They were visible only as snow-covered mounds on the mountain slope, but at this point, Anders knew exactly which one was meant to be Anja’s.
Sprinting past the graves of his ancestors, Anders stopped before a tiny little mound. Reaching out a shaking hand, Anders brushed past some of the snow, exposing one of the grey rocks of the scree.
He broke.
A choking sob escaped from him, and his throat constrained as tears poured from his eyes. He fell to his knees, face in his hands, whispering, “I’m sorry, Anja, I’m so sorry…” Looking up, he gazed at the little snow-covered mound before him. It was an empty mound; they never found Anja. Anders had been found lying in the snow in the woods not far from the village. Once he had been revived, he had broken down sobbing and told his family how Anja had suddenly disappeared. He looked for her as long as he could, refusing to go home without his little sister. But the cold got the better of him, and sitting down for a moment’s rest eventually left him unable to get back up. Anders would never forget the looks on his parents’ faces when he told them what had happened—it was the only time in his life he had seen his father filled with fear and grief. Had Anders not been in such poor physical condition at the time, he probably would have been punished much worse. As it was, his parents waited until he recovered and kept him on a tighter schedule; time spent with friends would instead be spent doing whatever chores or tasks his parents could come up with. His mother barely talked to him for three weeks; his father wouldn’t even look at him. Anders would lie in bed every night for months, feeling shame and guilt grow in his heart and thinking of what he should have done, of what he could have done better, of how everything would be if Anja was with him…
As he knelt before Anja’s burial scree, he lifted his face from his hands and gazed at the little mound, its snowy cover twinkling in the starlight. The cold pierced his lungs and clawed his throat as he took in deep, shaking breaths.
“I’m sorry Anja,” he choked. “I never meant for you to get lost, I never meant for Mom and Dad to get so hurt by all of this. They were so upset with me, I didn’t know what to think or do—and—and—” He paused, staring at the little mound as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I have to go fight the Mamoswine for the Yearly Offering, and Anja, I’m scared. Mom and Dad and everyone in the village are expecting so much, but I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve hunted before, but never like this. And I’ve been trying to act excited and make myself feel happy about it, and everyone thinks I’m looking forward to it, but Anja I’m so scared.” He let out a choke and bowed his head, feeling the wind cut through his blonde hair and into his scalp, sending shivers down his spine.
Anders knelt a few more minutes, choking and sobbing. At last, he stood up, walked over to a nearby fir tree, and began collecting twigs. He needed direction. He didn’t know what was best, and he wasn’t sure if any one person could tell him what was best—but he had to at least try. And his fate was in the hands of the gods; he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
The snow crunched underfoot as Anders ran from the burial mounds back to the village, his arms full of fir twigs. Running to the village’s heart, he came before a large rock. It was his village’s sieidis, the gateway where the spirit world connected with the physical world. The sieidis protected his clan’s Sawsbuck herds from misfortune and gave instruction on how to catch wild Sawsbuck—but Anders was hoping that it might give him some instruction as to how to decide his fate. Anders strewed the fir leaves around the large rock, hoping beyond hope that it would give him some sort of sign. But the rock merely sat there, showing no sort of spiritual activity and offering no direction.
Sorrow gave way as anger boiled in Anders’ chest. Banging his fists against his side in frustration, Anders spat through his teeth, “Tell me what to do!”
Anders’ breath caught in his lungs. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the air suddenly seemed to grow colder. Maybe the spirits didn’t like being talked to like that. Or maybe he needed a noaidi, a mediator between the physical and spiritual world? He clapped a gloved hand to his forehead—he had completely forgotten that communication with the spirit world was done through a ceremony. They played a drum and a flute, and only then would the noaidi leave his body and ascend to the spiritual realm where he could communicate with the divine beings.
Anders glanced at the village Hall. The village elder lived in a small room just above the Hall; he was their clan’s noaidi. Would he agree to talk to the spirits for Anders if he asked him right now?
“Whatcha staring at the Hall for? I thought you wanted to talk to me.”
Anders whipped his head back around and his heart nearly stopped when his gaze fell on what appeared to be a small girl, wrapped in a white robe tied with a red sash. The face was completely inhuman: large blue eyes with yellow sclera gazed gently at him from purple eye sockets set within a white face, and two little horns made from ice poked upwards from the white hair. But it wasn’t just the appearance that had caught Anders off-guard; it was the voice. It was—
“Anja?”
The being nodded, and spread her arms out wide, as if in anticipation of a hug. “Brother!” she replied joyfully.
Anders felt frozen in place, staring at what seemed to be his little sister. “You’re a… a Froslass?”
The creature nodded.
“But how? We thought you had…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he choked out, “I’m so sorry for losing you, Anja, I never meant for this to happen.”
Anja shook her head. “That’s all right, brother. It was my fault. You told me to stay close to you, but I saw one of those spirit women, a gufihtar. She kept on waving her hand at me, like she wanted me to follow her. She looked really nice, and like she really wanted me to go with her. So I followed her to her gufihtarčohkka—and y’know, it really wasn’t all scary and creepy like Mom and Dad told us it was. It was just a nice little home inside the mountainside, and there was a fire and she said I could have meat stew. I ate it, but it tasted really weird, and, well…” She gave a sort of shrug. “After I ate the food, I couldn’t leave. I could only go to the spirit world, so I did—and y’know, the spirit world is really cold, and there’s ice and snow everywhere.”
The girl paused, and when she didn’t speak, Anders pressed her. “And? How did you turn into a Froslass?”
“Well, the spirit world is too cold for people to live in. But it’s the spirit world, so I couldn’t die, so I became a spirit too.”
Anders stared at his sister in wonder. It had been four years since she had disappeared, but she still acted and spoke like her five-year-old self. Anders felt as though his heart was being wrenched apart—he didn’t know what he was feeling, or what he should feel. It was a strange joy at seeing his sister again, but…
But she had been gone. He and his family had long accepted the fact, and talking to the echo she had left behind on this earth brought an immeasurable sorrow. Standing there, Anders gazed in uncertainty at the Froslass. Forcing himself to speak, he swallowed the lump in his throat and asked, “Why didn’t you at least come talk to us? You’re talking to me now. Why didn’t you do so before? Mom and Dad miss you.”
Anja gazed back at him with her gentle blue eyes, the same shade that they had been in her life. “I didn’t know how. The spirit world is full of rocks and weird rivers—it doesn’t look a lot like this world.”
“Then how are you talking to me now?”
“I heard your voice. It was coming from one of the rocks in the spirit world, and I really wanted to talk to you again. So I went over to the rock, and most of the time I just float through stuff. But when I tried to float through that rock that your voice came from, I got here!” Anja spread her arms out, and even with her inhuman face, Anders could tell that she was filled with joy at being back in her birthplace.
Looking back at Anders, Anja pressed him. “But what’d you want, brother? I heard you calling, but when I came here, you were looking at the Hall.”
“Oh, that’s—I was expecting—” Anders spoke haltingly, not sure what he was supposed to say. Anja kept gazing at him with curious eyes, gently bobbing up and down a few feet above the rock. Swallowing, Anders decided to try and explain the situation as best as he could to her.
Anja floated in place before Anders as he finished explaining. One of her ghostly hands was positioned as though she was resting her chin—or lack thereof—on it.
“So,” she said thoughtfully, “you don’t want to be chief?”
Shaking his head, Anders said, “I don’t think so, Anja. I don’t think I can do this.”
“And you’re not really happy, but you want people to think you’re happy, so you tell people that you’re happy?”
Anders paused, but after a moment, he conceded, “Yeah.”
“But you still aren’t happy?”
“No.”
“But you want to be happy?”
“Yes.”
“So why not tell Mom and Dad that you aren’t happy?”
“Because if they hear that I’m not happy, then they won’t be happy.”
“But won’t they try to make you happy?”
“Well, last time I told them, they got angry.”
“Why were they angry?”
“Because I’m supposed to be happy!”
Anja retreated slightly as her older brother snapped. Anders turned his head, the chill wind tossing his hair. He felt a little guilty from yelling at his little sister—but there was already so much going on his head…
“You can come with me.”
Anders turned back to look at Anja. Her large, doleful eyes were gazing hopefully at her big brother.
“Go with you? You mean to the spirit world?”
Anja nodded. “I miss you, brother. And I miss Mom and Dad too—you can all come with me! And then we’ll be together again, and you won’t have to fight that Mamoswine or become chief.”
Anders paused; she was right. After all, there was nothing stopping him from going with her now, leaving the world behind and running away from everything in it.
Run away?
Yes, he admitted, it would be running away. It would be letting go of the responsibilities placed on him and passing them on to Niko. It would be breaking the promise to bring in the Yearly Offering and placing it on his father to do it again. Anders’ stomach churned, and a bitter taste crept into his mouth as he contemplated it. He had never respected cowardice.
And even if he did go with Anja, what would happen to him? She had turned into a Froslass, but as far as he could remember, that only happened to lost girls. If he had tried to go to the spirit world, where he could neither live nor die, what would he be? The thought of it sent a chill creeping up his spine and the hairs stood up along the nape of his neck.
Shaking his head, Anders said, “I’m sorry Anja, but I don’t think I can do that. It wouldn’t be right. If I don’t do this, then someday, Niko will.”
Anja cocked her head. “Who’s Niko?”
Anders started—Anja had left before Niko was born.
Smiling, he said, “Niko is our baby brother.”
Anja gasped. “I have a younger brother? And he’s a little baby?”
Anders gazed at his sister laughing and twisting around in mid-air in sheer delight. In his mind’s eye, he could see a large smile splitting her little face.
Turning his head, Anders gazed at the Hall. No, he would not leave this world. But the reality of facing a Mamoswine and chieftain duties was weighing just as heavily on his shoulders as it was before. He had to say something to someone—everyone talked about how experienced and wise the village elder was. Did he have experience with reluctant teenagers, and did he have any wisdom to offer?
Anders turned back to Anja, who was now just staring at the sieidis. “Anja, why don’t you just stay here? Then you can see Mom and Dad and meet Niko.”
Anja glanced at her brother, but turned her eyes back to the rock. “I feel like I have to go back…”
Anders’ heart dropped to his stomach. “Already? But you just got here. Why do you need to leave? You’re from this world—you belong here.”
But the little girl just shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t think I can stay.”
Anders wasn’t sure what to say—or if there was anything he really could say. “I think I’m going to the Hall to see the village elder; will you come with me?”
Keeping her eyes trained on the sieidis, Anja quietly said, “I think I’ll wait here.”
“Anja.”
The Froslass turned to look at her brother as he stared intently at her. “Promise me to not go back yet—wait here for me. Please.”
Anja nodded. “I promise.”
Turning around, Anders jogged over to the Hall. It was easily the largest building in the village: made from timbers stacked on each other, it towered over the little huts that housed families.
Walking up to the wooden door, Anders pushed, but the door did not budge. He didn’t actually expect it to. Reaching up, he grasped one of the knockers. He paused; it had just occurred to him how badly everything could go. What if the elder was sound asleep? He probably was. And how would he react if a teenaged boy had woken him up in the middle of a snowy night? Anders couldn’t imagine the elder being happy.
Letting go of the knocker, Anders took a few steps back. He sighed inwardly; but at least he could go back and talk to Anja. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep.
Anders was about to turn away when he noticed that the upper window had a soft glow coming from it—firelight. So the village elder was awake.
Shunting aside all doubts and fears, Anders sprinted back to the door and knocked without a second thought. It was only after he heard the echoing boom that he began to worry about how angry the village elder might be. He stood for a few minutes, wondering if perhaps the village elder was deliberately ignoring him or hadn’t heard the knock at all when Anders heard the beam slide back and the door crack open.
A thin, wrinkled face overshadowed by bushy grey eyebrows peered out from behind the door. The old man’s annoyance and confusion cleared away as he recognized Anders and he stood aside, holding the door open. “Ah, young Larsson, come in, come in.”
The elder closed the door behind Anders, leaving the boy staring at a pitch-black room. He could dimly make out a glow coming from the staircase to his left, but all else was cloaked in darkness.
Anders gave a small jump as the elder put a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me,” he said. “I have a fire going upstairs; you can get warm up there.”
The elder leaned slightly on Anders as the two made their way up the stairs. A fireplace was built into the wall near the top of the stairs, and within it, a log was burning. The elder had Anders sit down on one of the stools while he hung a kettle filled with water over the fire. Sitting down, the old man gazed at the fire, its orange light reflected in his dark, glassy eyes.
“You felt them too?” he asked Anders quietly.
Anders didn’t understand. “I’m sorry? Felt what?”
“The spirits. They’re in our village tonight—I can sense them here, though I don’t know what they’re doing. I’ve been looking at the flames, hoping they’ll tell me why, but I can’t make out anything.”
Anders sat there, slightly uncomfortable. He hadn’t realized that the elder could always feel the presence of spirits in their village, and he hadn’t meant for the poor man to lose sleep over it and spend time using divination to try and see what was happening.
Choosing to put the old man at ease, Anders explained, “Well, I did see a Froslass enter from our sieidis.”
The village elder looked sharply at him. “You saw a Froslass? You didn’t go near it, did you? It wonder why it was here—probably looking for food…”
“Actually sir, it was my sister. She came here because I was at the sieidis and she heard my voice.”
The old man started, and gazed at Anders with eyes of wonder. “Your sister? Anja?”
Anders explained everything to the elder, relaying all that Anja had told him. When he finished, the man stared intently at the fire, seeming at a loss for words. “She couldn’t live with the spirits, but became one instead…” The elder sat, staring at the fire, deep in thought. Anders felt that he ought to tell the village elder everything that had been on his mind, but knew better than interrupt the man’s thoughts.
After a few minutes, the man flicked his gaze from the fire to Anders. “Froslass are said to eat the souls of men, but you managed to speak with her without any danger. Perhaps because you called her into this world… But why were you at the sieidis at this time of night?”
“I—I was asking the gods for—for help…”
“For them to grant you victory against the Mamoswine?”
“Yes, a—and for them to show me what—what to do—” Anders’ voice was shaking so badly, and he was being overcome by sudden waves of emotion.
The village elder sat patiently, gazing softly at the shaking teenager. Gently, he said, “Whatever you have to say, you can tell me.”
Anders took a shuddering gasp and launched into his worries and fears. He went on about the weights that had been hanging around his neck and of how they had been growing heavier the past few days.
“… Everyone expects me to fight this Mamoswine and bring it back as a sacrifice, but I don’t think I can do it—I don’t think I’m like my father—I don’t enjoy hunting or really even fighting, but everything I’ve done so far in my life has been shaping me just for this. And if my father knew that I still didn’t want to do this—I can’t even imagine—he was so angry. And Anja offered to take me away with her, but I can’t just leave everyone behind! What if Niko doesn’t want this either? I can’t just throw the responsibilities on him—and even then, I’ll still have to get married in spring. Married! I don’t even know Aili—everything’s going to be completely different—but people are expecting me to defeat the Mamoswine first. And everyone thinks I’m excited for this and—I’m so scared…”
The village elder sat, smiling at Anders as he sobbed. “My boy, you’re growing up. And it’s hard—I know, we all have expectations put onto us by other people. No, you aren’t like your father very much at all, and he hopes that you’ll do what he did and enjoy it like he did. But he still loves you. You choose who you are to be, and even if your parents don’t like it, they will have to accept that. The people around you aren’t going to know what you actually think and feel if you pretend you’re feeling otherwise—and denying your real feelings to yourself is only going to keep hurting you.”
“But… I have to become chief, don’t I? The fact that I was born into this means the gods chose me—and they’re never wrong. My father says that I should be grateful that I was chosen.”
The elder sighed. “Well, yes, you do have to accept your title—at some point, at least for a time. However, every one of us is put into our respective positions for a reason. You may not want to be chief, but there is a reason that it’s you, and not one of the other village boys. And remember: you’re not alone. Your father won’t thrust the title on you without training. And you’ll have a number of people around you who will be helping you and giving you advice—and don’t worry about what you ‘should’ feel. If something is making you worried, you can’t force yourself to be grateful for it. What brings some people joy can bring others pain. However, I find that when we are struggling, we can see even more clearly what there is to be thankful for in life. You found your sister—not as you expected, but you found her all the same. Your family, whether you realize it or not, does love you. Your clan will support you through whatever you go through. And if you tell your father that you are not ready, he will still gather his hunters and get the Mamoswine for this year’s offering. And as for going with your sister…” The man cocked his head and shrugged. “It’s not something I would advise, as even I don’t know what will happen to you, but nobody here will actually stop you from going with her if you choose to do so.”
Anders sat, staring at his hands in the flickering firelight. You are who you choose to be. He didn’t have to anything—he could choose whatever he wanted. If he told his father that he wasn’t ready to fight the Mamoswine, would his father really go ahead and take village men to hunt it on their own? Yes, Anders figured, they would—they had to have the Yearly Offering somehow. But would his father still love him, or was the love Lars had for his son a conditional one?
Anders looked up at the old man, who gazed serenely at him and with such kindness that Anders felt a surge of warmth in his heart.
“You really believe my family would still love me?”
“Anders, they forgave you when you returned home without Anja—which, as you just found out, wasn’t entirely your fault. They will forgive this too, if you choose to not fight. However,” the old man paused, his dark brown eyes stern, “why is it that you are so scared? Is it because you think you cannot do it?”
Anders swallowed nervously and shook his head. “I don’t stand a chance.”
The elder pursed his lips. “This is something that you have been training for most of your life for. I think you stand as good a chance as any. It may just be that you lack confidence.”
“But how am I supposed to fight the darn thing if I don’t even want to?”
“Find a reason to. You know that the village needs it to make our Yearly Offering to keep the gods pleased, although if that isn’t enough to make you want to do it personally, I can understand. Anders,” he said gently, “I know that you can do this—if you couldn’t, your father would at least tell you. He’s an honest man; you must have known from the years he spent training you. If something you did wasn’t good, he would let you know. If he didn’t think you could do this, he would let you know. He might not know how you really feel, but he has confidence in you. As do I, and all of your clansmen.”
Anders and the elder gazed at each other, and as the words sunk in, Anders felt a weight lift slightly from his shoulders. The elder was right; Lars was a very honest man—sometimes to a brutal extent. But he had never expressed any doubt as to whether Anders could successfully fight a Mamoswine.
Warmth surged from Anders’ heart again, along with a huge sense of relief. He looked up at the elder, wanting to say something, but at a loss for words. The elder, however, perked up for a second, as though something suddenly caught his attention, then relaxed once more.
“The spirits are gone,” he stated.
“What?”
“Tonight, I couldn’t sleep because I sensed some spiritual activity in the village. But just now, it suddenly stopped—perhaps they have gone back to their world.”
It took Anders a second for the man’s words to sink in, and then he suddenly felt worry latch onto his heart.
Anja.
Standing up, Anders hurriedly said, “Thank you so much, sir, but I must go now.”
The elder waved a hand. “Not at all, my dear boy. And yes, go now—I can finally get some sleep at last.”
Running down the stairs and out the doors, Anders sprinted back to the sieidis. As he ran, thoughts flew through his mind—had Anja left? And if so, why? Why didn’t she wait for him, like she promised? Would she return? Would he see her again? Would their parents see her again? Perhaps she was still at the sieidis, and the elder just couldn’t feel her presence anymore…
Anders came to a halt as he reached the large rock. Starlight twinkled on the newly-fallen snow on the rock. Anja was gone.
A weight dropped to Anders’ stomach, and his shoulders slumped forward.
“Anja?” he called. She had heard his voice before—maybe she would hear it again.
Walking to where he could touch the sieidis with an outstretched arm, Anders stated, “Anja, I’m going to fight the Mamoswine soon. I just—I want to say goodbye—if you’re there…” His voice faded; the chill wind seemed to be carrying his words away. The warmth he had so recently felt leeched out of his heart, and dejection took its place. Reaching out a shaking arm, Anders put it up to the sieidis, but could only feel the smooth surface of the rock. Wherever Anja had gone, Anders couldn’t follow.
A few tears trickled from Anders’ eyes as he bowed his head. Snow was collecting in his blonde hair—a shake of his head created a miniature blizzard. Straightening up, Anders hardened his resolve and began to make his way back to his family’s home. Even if he couldn’t see his sister again, perhaps he could still make her happy. If he managed to get the Mamoswine, he would make the Yearly Offering to her.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
The breeze ruffled Anders’ blonde hair; snowflakes were falling, stark white against the blackness of the sky. The moonlight reflected off the snow, illuminating the entire mountainside. Anders sighed, his breath visible in the pale moonlight. This was it. The Mamoswine herd was just on the other side of the slope. All he had to do was lure one away, and the battle would begin.
Hefting his axe, Anders lightly jogged over the thin layer of newly-fallen snow. He reached a ridge, and felt his heart nearly stop when he leaned out to look down over it.
There they were. He stood perhaps ten or fifteen meters above them, gazing down what looked like hundreds of huddled masses of brown fur. Two massive, bone-white tusks poked out from each body of fur.
Anders gulped. This could easily be the worst part. He had to lure one Mamoswine away from the herd, but if he got the attention of others too, things could get ugly very quickly. He definitely didn’t want to deal with more than one of the beasts.
The boy crept down the slope of the mountainside until he stood behind the herd. They were huddled closely together, backs toward him, perfectly still. They were huge—even the smallest one easily towered over Anders. But he refused to let himself dwell on how imposing the creatures were—he had made his decision, and he would follow through. Reaching down through the snow, he picked up a loose rock and hurled it at the nearest Mamoswine.
Anders braced himself as the stone collided with the creature—but it just bounced off and fell into the snow. The Mamoswine swung its tail back-and-forth in irritation, but other than that, it didn’t acknowledge Anders’ action.
Shoulders slumped forward, Anders sighed inwardly. Just do it, he told himself. Raising his axe, Anders rushed forward, and stabbed the Mamoswine right above the heel of its back left leg.
The creature let out a mighty roar of pain. Anders immediately withdrew the axe and ran—he didn’t bother to turn around and see what was happening. He could hear many creatures scuffling about and making confused noises. But he could distinctly hear—and feel—stampeding footsteps coming closer and closer towards him.
Anders dove into a patch of snow to his left, just in time to watch the Mamoswine charge past him, blood streaming from its ankle. Anders stood up and watched the Mamoswine slow down and turn around to face him, its black eyes narrowed in rage. Letting out a bellowing roar, the creature charged Anders. As soon as the Mamoswine’s feet touched down, the ground beneath them became coated with a thick sheet of ice. The creature lost its footing and slipped. It slid onwards, its momentum carrying it until it crashed into a rock. Anders watched, dumbfounded, as the creature desperately tried to regain its footing.
“Am I being a good help, brother?”
Anders turned to his right to see Anja floating next to him.
“Anja! Did you do that? What—how did you—?”
“I can freeze things! Look, my breath is super cold!” The Froslass opened her little mouth and exhaled. A beam of ice extended from her mouth to the ground, where it froze over the snow and rock.
“Anja, I’m grateful, but you really shouldn’t. This fight is dangerous, and I don’t want you getting hurt. Besides, this is my battle. I have to take down this Mamoswine and present it for the Yearly Offering, and I’m not supposed to get help from anyone.”
Anja clapped her hands happily. “Oh, you’re going to make the Yearly Offering soon? Everything in the spirit world smells so good when that happens! And the place is also filled with all of this nice sound—like music!”
“Anja!”
Anders hollered her name a second before he dove to the side. The Mamoswine had managed to regain its footing and had charged at the duo. The boy flung himself aside in time to avoid collision, but the Froslass just hung in the air and watched it come. As soon as the Mamoswine hit her, her body became translucent, and it passed through her harmlessly.
“See, Anders? He can’t hurt me! I’m a spirit now, nothing in this world can hit me anymore!”
Anders had only a moment to give his sister a look of concern before terror flooded his heart. A golden light was emanating from the Mamoswine, and the rocks and ice around it were hanging in mid-air. It glared at Anja with a look of fury for a second before it lowered its head and charged her.
“Anja, behind you—!”
The Froslass turned around and became translucent as before—but for whatever reason, it didn’t work. Whatever ancient power the Mamoswine had summoned had allowed it to hit the Froslass, and she gave a cry of pain as she went flying through the air, hit a rock, and slide into the snow.
Anders couldn’t move for a moment, only stare in shock. In a few seconds, he could feel his blood boiling in his veins, his heart alit with a fury he had never known before. Energy rippled from his core through his arms and legs to his fingers and toes. Gripping his axe tightly in both hands, he ran at the Mamoswine as it turned around to face him. Aiming low, Anders sliced the beast’s front left ankle, causing the creature to yell in distress and buckle for a moment. Taking advantage, Anders danced around it, making shallow cuts with the heads of his axe and stabbing with the spike on the end. The Mamoswine swung its head from side-to-side, trying to knock the boy down with its oversized tusks. But he couldn’t touch the human—something primal had awoken within Anders, allowing him to see everything with a newfound clarity and to time his attacks perfectly.
At first, the Mamoswine lashed out in rage. But as time wore on and Anders landed more blows, the creature began to tire out. Anders made his way to the beast’s side, braced his feet against the ground, and shoved his axe upward, right behind the creature’s front right leg. The boy dug the axe in as far as he could—his arms became warm and wet as they broke through the beast’s hairy hide. The creature tried to jerk away, but only succeeded in standing up on its hind legs, roaring in despair, its front legs flailing aimlessly, before crashing to the ground. Anders stared at the beast a moment, breathing heavily, his heart pounding furiously. Then he raced over to where Anja lay in the snow.
Sliding his arms under her, he shakily whispered, “Anja?” The girl had no visible signs of damage, but her ghostly body was still limp in Anders’ hands.
The Froslass opened her eyes and gave a small smile. “I’m gonna be okay, brother. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you—I just wanted to help.”
“Anja, don’t be sorry. I should have defended you—I should have looked out for you…” His voice and hands both started shaking.
“You can’t defend me, I’m a spirit now! I was trying to defend you. But…” She paused as her smile faded and her eyes flickered open and closed. “But I think I need to rest… Do you think you can take me back to the sieidis?”
Nodding, Anders stood and began to jog back down the mountainside to his village far below, leaving the Mamoswine’s body with his axe still lodged in it.
"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." E E Cummings
I hope you enjoy!
Yuletide of the Ages
Anders shifted his thick fur coat a little as the sun warmed his shoulders. The ground was still coated with a thick layer of snow, but as the sun broke through the cloud, he could feel the cold slowly melt away and warmth seep through his frost-bitten skin. He raised his grey eyes to where the village elder stood. Stooped, leaning on a staff for support, covered with a large coat, and with grey eyebrows so thick that Anders couldn’t see his eyes, the old man stood pensively before the crowd, completely unresponsive to the booming voice of the man next to him.
The teenaged boy swallowed uncomfortably as his father, the chief and head of their tribe, talked on about their culture and tradition. Every few months, Anders’ father would gather their clan and hold a referendum to talk about the current affairs of their village. They usually didn’t last that long—with only a few hundred people in a secluded village nestled deep in the Norden Mountains, everyone in the clan knew whether or not everyone had enough to eat or had managed to stay warm.
But this time was slightly different. In spite of the recent warmth, Anders felt goosebumps crawl up his skin and his heart beat viciously beneath his breast as his father talked about how, to become a chief, a boy must first become a man. Anders’ father stuck out a long, fur-covered arm and pointed a thick, meaty finger at his son as he boomed, “And this year, my eldest son, Anders, will prove himself to our clan! It won’t be easy, but I know that he can do it. This has been a cold winter, and I know it will only get colder, which means that the herds of Mamoswine will soon be passing near our village. My son will soon turn sixteen, bring us back a Mamoswine for our Yearly Offering, and the Yuletide celebrations will begin!”
At his words, the villagers erupted into cheers and those around Anders started patting his back and cheering him on. Wiping the sweat away from his forehead, Anders put on a big smile as people ushered him to the front, next to his dad. Anders always felt small next to his father, but now it seemed that Lars was a mountain of a man and his son was barely a molehill. Keeping the smile plastered to his face, the blonde-haired boy gazed at the eager crowd as his dad put his arm around him and got the crowd to pick up their cheers.
But Anders couldn’t feel the same way the crowd was acting; he couldn’t make his smile genuine. Standing at the front of his village, he felt a deep unsettlement within him.
Doesn’t matter, he told himself. Most other guys in the village would kill for this opportunity. I’m going to do it, I’m going to succeed, and I’ll thank my dad for getting me through it. And he focused on these thoughts.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Hefting the axe in his left hand and holding his shield in his right, Anders took a swung at the wooden pole before him. He concentrated on his form, on trying to hit the right mark exactly, on making sure his footing was even in the powdery snow—anything to try and keep down the nauseous feeling growing in his stomach. When he heard laughter and calls, he ignored them, pretending to be so focused on what he was doing that he was deaf to everything else. But once his friends starting calling his name, he let out a shaky sigh, put on a smile, and turned around to see a group of teenage guys walking towards him.
“Sven! Roald! Ole! What are you all up to?”
Anders’ friends greeted him with pats on the back and laughter as they came over to him. Ole’s grey fur hat was pushed so far forward that Anders wasn’t sure how he could see. “We came to watch the great Anders Larsson in action! Getting ready to fight the Mamoswine soon?”
Hoisting his axe over his shoulder, Anders said in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, “Yeah, well, that’s the plan!”
Sven eyed him with a slanted smile. “Are you scared, Larsson? Mamoswine aren’t easy to take down.”
Roald shoved his friend. “Come on, he’s the chieftain’s son! He’s been training his whole life for this, he’s not allowed to be scared.”
“I know,” Sven replied, his iron-grey eyes glinting like steel. “He can’t be scared, he’s worked so hard for this. But I’m just trying to get him to live in reality. Are you scared?”
Fighting the nausea that was rising in his stomach, Anders shrugged. “Of course not. Besides, it doesn’t matter if I’m scared or not—I gotta fight that Mamoswine and take it down, one way or another.”
Roald’s freckled face lifted upwards in sly smile. “And then Aili is going to be all over you, isn’t she?”
Anders felt as though a brick of lead dropped into the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t even thought about what might happen after he defeated the Mamoswine—if he defeated it. But Roald was right—once Anders had his claim to manhood, he was going to be married to Aili Ailoneieda that spring.
The teenage boys laughed at the expression on Anders’ face. “Come on, this isn’t that bad,” Ole told him. “You could do a LOT worse than Aili. At least she’s really pretty.”
“Quiet, though,” Sven muttered.
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t really seem to talk to anyone. And at least she comes from a good family.”
Anders turned back to the post and raised his axe to swing at it again, desperate to keep the thoughts of marriage from his mind. He would be getting married. Married? He couldn’t get married! He had hardly even spoken to girls. A number of the village boys and girls would get together, out of sight from their parents’ eyes, before being married off to whoever their parents chose. But Anders had never even kissed a girl. There had been a few over the years who had caught his eye, but he was far too nervous and uncomfortable to ever speak to them himself.
Anders continued to practice, swinging his axe at the wooden stake, raising his shield, nimbly jumping out of the way of imaginary attacks. He knew it didn’t do nearly as much good as practicing against a living opponent would, but at the moment he was desperate to do anything to keep his mind busy. He could dimly hear his friends talking, occasionally calling over to him, or laughing about something, but he paid them little heed. Before long, they left, and Anders stood alone in the snow, staring at the mutilated wooden pole before him.
Anders walked back to his home, his hands clammy from nervousness and his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach as he contemplated what lay ahead. He had hoped to find some reprieve from the burdensome thoughts once he reached home, but his father offered no consolation. As soon as Anders walked through the door, his father called excitedly over to him, told him how proud he was of his son and how he looked forward to passing on the title of chieftain.
The only one worse than Anders’ father was his mother. She smiled sweetly at him as he sat down, her icy blue eyes glowing with approval. Giving him a hug, she said, “Anders, we’re so proud of you! I know you might be nervous, but remember that your father and I love you.” Straightening up, she looked glowingly at him. “Oh, it’ll be so good to have you starting your own family soon! Just to think—my own son is getting married in a few months! I can still remember trying to teach you how to walk.” She chuckled to herself and shook her head as she mused, “You were so bad at it. It only took little Niko here seven months before he could walk on his own, but it took you nearly two whole years! And little Anja took just over a year.”
At the mention of his sister, Anders’ stomach churned in guilt. But the blonde-haired woman merely kept talking while Anders cringed, trying and failing to hide his embarrassment and ever-growing anxiety. His parents were acting as if he had already beaten the Mamoswine, as if his survival and chieftainship were assured and as though he was practically married. Fixing a smile to his face, Anders tried to accept his parents’ words, reminding himself that he ought to be grateful to have parents who were so proud and excited for him.
That night, as he lay with his parents and two-year-old brother underneath their thick fur blankets, Anders tried to force his unease down and make sleep come. His body was exhausted, but he couldn’t calm his mind. The thought of fighting a Mamoswine in two days was enough to make his stomach so queasy that he wanted to throw up, and even if he made it through that, he was going to be married. His life would be tied to that of a woman he had hardly met. He would have to spend his days and nights with her, make decisions with her, start a family with her—he didn’t even know her. When his parents and Aili’s parents got them together to announce their betrothal, he had exchanged a few short words with her. She was pretty, sure, with thick red hair that went to her waist, and a few scattered freckles on her snow-white cheeks. But she would hardly look at him; the few glances he got were of chilly blue eyes filled with fear and uncertainty, giving Anders the impression that she did not want him at all.
There had been one point, about a year ago, where he had told his mother that he did not think he was ready to marry yet. At the time, his mother had laughed it off and said that he would be ready as soon as he had reached his manhood. But Anders found that hard to believe; what if he didn’t love the girl? Was he supposed to make himself fall in love? And what if she didn’t like him—what if she hated him? And even if they liked each other, Anders felt as though didn’t know how to do half of the things that he needed to know. He could get food and make a shelter, but he had no idea how to go about raising a family. And then came the responsibilities of bearing chieftainship…
Anders had told his dad a few months ago that he didn’t think he wanted to be the chief of their clan; he had a hard time speaking in front of people, wasn’t very good at making decisions—especially not ones that would affect everyone—and he especially wasn’t ready to fight a Mamoswine. Couldn’t Anders just herd Sawsbuck like most of the other villagers? Could someone else could become the chief? Could Niko do it, once he got old enough?
That did not sit well with Lars. After Anders had confided his feelings to his father, Lars had flown into a rage. He yelled at his son for his ingratitude; Anders had been chosen by the gods to be born beneath the chieftain and his wife, and it was his duty to take up the title and provide for his village. Thinking that he would be better off as a commoner was blasphemy—the gods knew what they were doing, and they had made Anders Lars’ son for a reason. Anders should be proud, he should be excited. Above all, he should be grateful that he was born into a well-off family, and wasn’t responsible for herding the Sawsbuck or farming the land. Anders’ parents and leaders hadn’t raised him for combat just so he could live like a peasant. But if he really hated his life that much, he might as well start his own life as a Sawsbuck herder then and wait for Niko to take his place—maybe Niko wouldn’t lose his younger sister.
At the thought of Anja, Anders couldn’t take it anymore.
Slipping out from under the blankets, he stood up, went to the opening of their little home, and ran outside.
The air was bitterly cold. The moon shone, full and bright, casting ghostly rays over the white mountaintops and onto the silvery snow. Anders ran through the village, past the pens of Sawsbuck and Deerling, and up the mountain slope to where the screes were. They were visible only as snow-covered mounds on the mountain slope, but at this point, Anders knew exactly which one was meant to be Anja’s.
Sprinting past the graves of his ancestors, Anders stopped before a tiny little mound. Reaching out a shaking hand, Anders brushed past some of the snow, exposing one of the grey rocks of the scree.
He broke.
A choking sob escaped from him, and his throat constrained as tears poured from his eyes. He fell to his knees, face in his hands, whispering, “I’m sorry, Anja, I’m so sorry…” Looking up, he gazed at the little snow-covered mound before him. It was an empty mound; they never found Anja. Anders had been found lying in the snow in the woods not far from the village. Once he had been revived, he had broken down sobbing and told his family how Anja had suddenly disappeared. He looked for her as long as he could, refusing to go home without his little sister. But the cold got the better of him, and sitting down for a moment’s rest eventually left him unable to get back up. Anders would never forget the looks on his parents’ faces when he told them what had happened—it was the only time in his life he had seen his father filled with fear and grief. Had Anders not been in such poor physical condition at the time, he probably would have been punished much worse. As it was, his parents waited until he recovered and kept him on a tighter schedule; time spent with friends would instead be spent doing whatever chores or tasks his parents could come up with. His mother barely talked to him for three weeks; his father wouldn’t even look at him. Anders would lie in bed every night for months, feeling shame and guilt grow in his heart and thinking of what he should have done, of what he could have done better, of how everything would be if Anja was with him…
As he knelt before Anja’s burial scree, he lifted his face from his hands and gazed at the little mound, its snowy cover twinkling in the starlight. The cold pierced his lungs and clawed his throat as he took in deep, shaking breaths.
“I’m sorry Anja,” he choked. “I never meant for you to get lost, I never meant for Mom and Dad to get so hurt by all of this. They were so upset with me, I didn’t know what to think or do—and—and—” He paused, staring at the little mound as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I have to go fight the Mamoswine for the Yearly Offering, and Anja, I’m scared. Mom and Dad and everyone in the village are expecting so much, but I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve hunted before, but never like this. And I’ve been trying to act excited and make myself feel happy about it, and everyone thinks I’m looking forward to it, but Anja I’m so scared.” He let out a choke and bowed his head, feeling the wind cut through his blonde hair and into his scalp, sending shivers down his spine.
Anders knelt a few more minutes, choking and sobbing. At last, he stood up, walked over to a nearby fir tree, and began collecting twigs. He needed direction. He didn’t know what was best, and he wasn’t sure if any one person could tell him what was best—but he had to at least try. And his fate was in the hands of the gods; he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
The snow crunched underfoot as Anders ran from the burial mounds back to the village, his arms full of fir twigs. Running to the village’s heart, he came before a large rock. It was his village’s sieidis, the gateway where the spirit world connected with the physical world. The sieidis protected his clan’s Sawsbuck herds from misfortune and gave instruction on how to catch wild Sawsbuck—but Anders was hoping that it might give him some instruction as to how to decide his fate. Anders strewed the fir leaves around the large rock, hoping beyond hope that it would give him some sort of sign. But the rock merely sat there, showing no sort of spiritual activity and offering no direction.
Sorrow gave way as anger boiled in Anders’ chest. Banging his fists against his side in frustration, Anders spat through his teeth, “Tell me what to do!”
Anders’ breath caught in his lungs. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the air suddenly seemed to grow colder. Maybe the spirits didn’t like being talked to like that. Or maybe he needed a noaidi, a mediator between the physical and spiritual world? He clapped a gloved hand to his forehead—he had completely forgotten that communication with the spirit world was done through a ceremony. They played a drum and a flute, and only then would the noaidi leave his body and ascend to the spiritual realm where he could communicate with the divine beings.
Anders glanced at the village Hall. The village elder lived in a small room just above the Hall; he was their clan’s noaidi. Would he agree to talk to the spirits for Anders if he asked him right now?
“Whatcha staring at the Hall for? I thought you wanted to talk to me.”
Anders whipped his head back around and his heart nearly stopped when his gaze fell on what appeared to be a small girl, wrapped in a white robe tied with a red sash. The face was completely inhuman: large blue eyes with yellow sclera gazed gently at him from purple eye sockets set within a white face, and two little horns made from ice poked upwards from the white hair. But it wasn’t just the appearance that had caught Anders off-guard; it was the voice. It was—
“Anja?”
The being nodded, and spread her arms out wide, as if in anticipation of a hug. “Brother!” she replied joyfully.
Anders felt frozen in place, staring at what seemed to be his little sister. “You’re a… a Froslass?”
The creature nodded.
“But how? We thought you had…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he choked out, “I’m so sorry for losing you, Anja, I never meant for this to happen.”
Anja shook her head. “That’s all right, brother. It was my fault. You told me to stay close to you, but I saw one of those spirit women, a gufihtar. She kept on waving her hand at me, like she wanted me to follow her. She looked really nice, and like she really wanted me to go with her. So I followed her to her gufihtarčohkka—and y’know, it really wasn’t all scary and creepy like Mom and Dad told us it was. It was just a nice little home inside the mountainside, and there was a fire and she said I could have meat stew. I ate it, but it tasted really weird, and, well…” She gave a sort of shrug. “After I ate the food, I couldn’t leave. I could only go to the spirit world, so I did—and y’know, the spirit world is really cold, and there’s ice and snow everywhere.”
The girl paused, and when she didn’t speak, Anders pressed her. “And? How did you turn into a Froslass?”
“Well, the spirit world is too cold for people to live in. But it’s the spirit world, so I couldn’t die, so I became a spirit too.”
Anders stared at his sister in wonder. It had been four years since she had disappeared, but she still acted and spoke like her five-year-old self. Anders felt as though his heart was being wrenched apart—he didn’t know what he was feeling, or what he should feel. It was a strange joy at seeing his sister again, but…
But she had been gone. He and his family had long accepted the fact, and talking to the echo she had left behind on this earth brought an immeasurable sorrow. Standing there, Anders gazed in uncertainty at the Froslass. Forcing himself to speak, he swallowed the lump in his throat and asked, “Why didn’t you at least come talk to us? You’re talking to me now. Why didn’t you do so before? Mom and Dad miss you.”
Anja gazed back at him with her gentle blue eyes, the same shade that they had been in her life. “I didn’t know how. The spirit world is full of rocks and weird rivers—it doesn’t look a lot like this world.”
“Then how are you talking to me now?”
“I heard your voice. It was coming from one of the rocks in the spirit world, and I really wanted to talk to you again. So I went over to the rock, and most of the time I just float through stuff. But when I tried to float through that rock that your voice came from, I got here!” Anja spread her arms out, and even with her inhuman face, Anders could tell that she was filled with joy at being back in her birthplace.
Looking back at Anders, Anja pressed him. “But what’d you want, brother? I heard you calling, but when I came here, you were looking at the Hall.”
“Oh, that’s—I was expecting—” Anders spoke haltingly, not sure what he was supposed to say. Anja kept gazing at him with curious eyes, gently bobbing up and down a few feet above the rock. Swallowing, Anders decided to try and explain the situation as best as he could to her.
Anja floated in place before Anders as he finished explaining. One of her ghostly hands was positioned as though she was resting her chin—or lack thereof—on it.
“So,” she said thoughtfully, “you don’t want to be chief?”
Shaking his head, Anders said, “I don’t think so, Anja. I don’t think I can do this.”
“And you’re not really happy, but you want people to think you’re happy, so you tell people that you’re happy?”
Anders paused, but after a moment, he conceded, “Yeah.”
“But you still aren’t happy?”
“No.”
“But you want to be happy?”
“Yes.”
“So why not tell Mom and Dad that you aren’t happy?”
“Because if they hear that I’m not happy, then they won’t be happy.”
“But won’t they try to make you happy?”
“Well, last time I told them, they got angry.”
“Why were they angry?”
“Because I’m supposed to be happy!”
Anja retreated slightly as her older brother snapped. Anders turned his head, the chill wind tossing his hair. He felt a little guilty from yelling at his little sister—but there was already so much going on his head…
“You can come with me.”
Anders turned back to look at Anja. Her large, doleful eyes were gazing hopefully at her big brother.
“Go with you? You mean to the spirit world?”
Anja nodded. “I miss you, brother. And I miss Mom and Dad too—you can all come with me! And then we’ll be together again, and you won’t have to fight that Mamoswine or become chief.”
Anders paused; she was right. After all, there was nothing stopping him from going with her now, leaving the world behind and running away from everything in it.
Run away?
Yes, he admitted, it would be running away. It would be letting go of the responsibilities placed on him and passing them on to Niko. It would be breaking the promise to bring in the Yearly Offering and placing it on his father to do it again. Anders’ stomach churned, and a bitter taste crept into his mouth as he contemplated it. He had never respected cowardice.
And even if he did go with Anja, what would happen to him? She had turned into a Froslass, but as far as he could remember, that only happened to lost girls. If he had tried to go to the spirit world, where he could neither live nor die, what would he be? The thought of it sent a chill creeping up his spine and the hairs stood up along the nape of his neck.
Shaking his head, Anders said, “I’m sorry Anja, but I don’t think I can do that. It wouldn’t be right. If I don’t do this, then someday, Niko will.”
Anja cocked her head. “Who’s Niko?”
Anders started—Anja had left before Niko was born.
Smiling, he said, “Niko is our baby brother.”
Anja gasped. “I have a younger brother? And he’s a little baby?”
Anders gazed at his sister laughing and twisting around in mid-air in sheer delight. In his mind’s eye, he could see a large smile splitting her little face.
Turning his head, Anders gazed at the Hall. No, he would not leave this world. But the reality of facing a Mamoswine and chieftain duties was weighing just as heavily on his shoulders as it was before. He had to say something to someone—everyone talked about how experienced and wise the village elder was. Did he have experience with reluctant teenagers, and did he have any wisdom to offer?
Anders turned back to Anja, who was now just staring at the sieidis. “Anja, why don’t you just stay here? Then you can see Mom and Dad and meet Niko.”
Anja glanced at her brother, but turned her eyes back to the rock. “I feel like I have to go back…”
Anders’ heart dropped to his stomach. “Already? But you just got here. Why do you need to leave? You’re from this world—you belong here.”
But the little girl just shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t think I can stay.”
Anders wasn’t sure what to say—or if there was anything he really could say. “I think I’m going to the Hall to see the village elder; will you come with me?”
Keeping her eyes trained on the sieidis, Anja quietly said, “I think I’ll wait here.”
“Anja.”
The Froslass turned to look at her brother as he stared intently at her. “Promise me to not go back yet—wait here for me. Please.”
Anja nodded. “I promise.”
Turning around, Anders jogged over to the Hall. It was easily the largest building in the village: made from timbers stacked on each other, it towered over the little huts that housed families.
Walking up to the wooden door, Anders pushed, but the door did not budge. He didn’t actually expect it to. Reaching up, he grasped one of the knockers. He paused; it had just occurred to him how badly everything could go. What if the elder was sound asleep? He probably was. And how would he react if a teenaged boy had woken him up in the middle of a snowy night? Anders couldn’t imagine the elder being happy.
Letting go of the knocker, Anders took a few steps back. He sighed inwardly; but at least he could go back and talk to Anja. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep.
Anders was about to turn away when he noticed that the upper window had a soft glow coming from it—firelight. So the village elder was awake.
Shunting aside all doubts and fears, Anders sprinted back to the door and knocked without a second thought. It was only after he heard the echoing boom that he began to worry about how angry the village elder might be. He stood for a few minutes, wondering if perhaps the village elder was deliberately ignoring him or hadn’t heard the knock at all when Anders heard the beam slide back and the door crack open.
A thin, wrinkled face overshadowed by bushy grey eyebrows peered out from behind the door. The old man’s annoyance and confusion cleared away as he recognized Anders and he stood aside, holding the door open. “Ah, young Larsson, come in, come in.”
The elder closed the door behind Anders, leaving the boy staring at a pitch-black room. He could dimly make out a glow coming from the staircase to his left, but all else was cloaked in darkness.
Anders gave a small jump as the elder put a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me,” he said. “I have a fire going upstairs; you can get warm up there.”
The elder leaned slightly on Anders as the two made their way up the stairs. A fireplace was built into the wall near the top of the stairs, and within it, a log was burning. The elder had Anders sit down on one of the stools while he hung a kettle filled with water over the fire. Sitting down, the old man gazed at the fire, its orange light reflected in his dark, glassy eyes.
“You felt them too?” he asked Anders quietly.
Anders didn’t understand. “I’m sorry? Felt what?”
“The spirits. They’re in our village tonight—I can sense them here, though I don’t know what they’re doing. I’ve been looking at the flames, hoping they’ll tell me why, but I can’t make out anything.”
Anders sat there, slightly uncomfortable. He hadn’t realized that the elder could always feel the presence of spirits in their village, and he hadn’t meant for the poor man to lose sleep over it and spend time using divination to try and see what was happening.
Choosing to put the old man at ease, Anders explained, “Well, I did see a Froslass enter from our sieidis.”
The village elder looked sharply at him. “You saw a Froslass? You didn’t go near it, did you? It wonder why it was here—probably looking for food…”
“Actually sir, it was my sister. She came here because I was at the sieidis and she heard my voice.”
The old man started, and gazed at Anders with eyes of wonder. “Your sister? Anja?”
Anders explained everything to the elder, relaying all that Anja had told him. When he finished, the man stared intently at the fire, seeming at a loss for words. “She couldn’t live with the spirits, but became one instead…” The elder sat, staring at the fire, deep in thought. Anders felt that he ought to tell the village elder everything that had been on his mind, but knew better than interrupt the man’s thoughts.
After a few minutes, the man flicked his gaze from the fire to Anders. “Froslass are said to eat the souls of men, but you managed to speak with her without any danger. Perhaps because you called her into this world… But why were you at the sieidis at this time of night?”
“I—I was asking the gods for—for help…”
“For them to grant you victory against the Mamoswine?”
“Yes, a—and for them to show me what—what to do—” Anders’ voice was shaking so badly, and he was being overcome by sudden waves of emotion.
The village elder sat patiently, gazing softly at the shaking teenager. Gently, he said, “Whatever you have to say, you can tell me.”
Anders took a shuddering gasp and launched into his worries and fears. He went on about the weights that had been hanging around his neck and of how they had been growing heavier the past few days.
“… Everyone expects me to fight this Mamoswine and bring it back as a sacrifice, but I don’t think I can do it—I don’t think I’m like my father—I don’t enjoy hunting or really even fighting, but everything I’ve done so far in my life has been shaping me just for this. And if my father knew that I still didn’t want to do this—I can’t even imagine—he was so angry. And Anja offered to take me away with her, but I can’t just leave everyone behind! What if Niko doesn’t want this either? I can’t just throw the responsibilities on him—and even then, I’ll still have to get married in spring. Married! I don’t even know Aili—everything’s going to be completely different—but people are expecting me to defeat the Mamoswine first. And everyone thinks I’m excited for this and—I’m so scared…”
The village elder sat, smiling at Anders as he sobbed. “My boy, you’re growing up. And it’s hard—I know, we all have expectations put onto us by other people. No, you aren’t like your father very much at all, and he hopes that you’ll do what he did and enjoy it like he did. But he still loves you. You choose who you are to be, and even if your parents don’t like it, they will have to accept that. The people around you aren’t going to know what you actually think and feel if you pretend you’re feeling otherwise—and denying your real feelings to yourself is only going to keep hurting you.”
“But… I have to become chief, don’t I? The fact that I was born into this means the gods chose me—and they’re never wrong. My father says that I should be grateful that I was chosen.”
The elder sighed. “Well, yes, you do have to accept your title—at some point, at least for a time. However, every one of us is put into our respective positions for a reason. You may not want to be chief, but there is a reason that it’s you, and not one of the other village boys. And remember: you’re not alone. Your father won’t thrust the title on you without training. And you’ll have a number of people around you who will be helping you and giving you advice—and don’t worry about what you ‘should’ feel. If something is making you worried, you can’t force yourself to be grateful for it. What brings some people joy can bring others pain. However, I find that when we are struggling, we can see even more clearly what there is to be thankful for in life. You found your sister—not as you expected, but you found her all the same. Your family, whether you realize it or not, does love you. Your clan will support you through whatever you go through. And if you tell your father that you are not ready, he will still gather his hunters and get the Mamoswine for this year’s offering. And as for going with your sister…” The man cocked his head and shrugged. “It’s not something I would advise, as even I don’t know what will happen to you, but nobody here will actually stop you from going with her if you choose to do so.”
Anders sat, staring at his hands in the flickering firelight. You are who you choose to be. He didn’t have to anything—he could choose whatever he wanted. If he told his father that he wasn’t ready to fight the Mamoswine, would his father really go ahead and take village men to hunt it on their own? Yes, Anders figured, they would—they had to have the Yearly Offering somehow. But would his father still love him, or was the love Lars had for his son a conditional one?
Anders looked up at the old man, who gazed serenely at him and with such kindness that Anders felt a surge of warmth in his heart.
“You really believe my family would still love me?”
“Anders, they forgave you when you returned home without Anja—which, as you just found out, wasn’t entirely your fault. They will forgive this too, if you choose to not fight. However,” the old man paused, his dark brown eyes stern, “why is it that you are so scared? Is it because you think you cannot do it?”
Anders swallowed nervously and shook his head. “I don’t stand a chance.”
The elder pursed his lips. “This is something that you have been training for most of your life for. I think you stand as good a chance as any. It may just be that you lack confidence.”
“But how am I supposed to fight the darn thing if I don’t even want to?”
“Find a reason to. You know that the village needs it to make our Yearly Offering to keep the gods pleased, although if that isn’t enough to make you want to do it personally, I can understand. Anders,” he said gently, “I know that you can do this—if you couldn’t, your father would at least tell you. He’s an honest man; you must have known from the years he spent training you. If something you did wasn’t good, he would let you know. If he didn’t think you could do this, he would let you know. He might not know how you really feel, but he has confidence in you. As do I, and all of your clansmen.”
Anders and the elder gazed at each other, and as the words sunk in, Anders felt a weight lift slightly from his shoulders. The elder was right; Lars was a very honest man—sometimes to a brutal extent. But he had never expressed any doubt as to whether Anders could successfully fight a Mamoswine.
Warmth surged from Anders’ heart again, along with a huge sense of relief. He looked up at the elder, wanting to say something, but at a loss for words. The elder, however, perked up for a second, as though something suddenly caught his attention, then relaxed once more.
“The spirits are gone,” he stated.
“What?”
“Tonight, I couldn’t sleep because I sensed some spiritual activity in the village. But just now, it suddenly stopped—perhaps they have gone back to their world.”
It took Anders a second for the man’s words to sink in, and then he suddenly felt worry latch onto his heart.
Anja.
Standing up, Anders hurriedly said, “Thank you so much, sir, but I must go now.”
The elder waved a hand. “Not at all, my dear boy. And yes, go now—I can finally get some sleep at last.”
Running down the stairs and out the doors, Anders sprinted back to the sieidis. As he ran, thoughts flew through his mind—had Anja left? And if so, why? Why didn’t she wait for him, like she promised? Would she return? Would he see her again? Would their parents see her again? Perhaps she was still at the sieidis, and the elder just couldn’t feel her presence anymore…
Anders came to a halt as he reached the large rock. Starlight twinkled on the newly-fallen snow on the rock. Anja was gone.
A weight dropped to Anders’ stomach, and his shoulders slumped forward.
“Anja?” he called. She had heard his voice before—maybe she would hear it again.
Walking to where he could touch the sieidis with an outstretched arm, Anders stated, “Anja, I’m going to fight the Mamoswine soon. I just—I want to say goodbye—if you’re there…” His voice faded; the chill wind seemed to be carrying his words away. The warmth he had so recently felt leeched out of his heart, and dejection took its place. Reaching out a shaking arm, Anders put it up to the sieidis, but could only feel the smooth surface of the rock. Wherever Anja had gone, Anders couldn’t follow.
A few tears trickled from Anders’ eyes as he bowed his head. Snow was collecting in his blonde hair—a shake of his head created a miniature blizzard. Straightening up, Anders hardened his resolve and began to make his way back to his family’s home. Even if he couldn’t see his sister again, perhaps he could still make her happy. If he managed to get the Mamoswine, he would make the Yearly Offering to her.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
The breeze ruffled Anders’ blonde hair; snowflakes were falling, stark white against the blackness of the sky. The moonlight reflected off the snow, illuminating the entire mountainside. Anders sighed, his breath visible in the pale moonlight. This was it. The Mamoswine herd was just on the other side of the slope. All he had to do was lure one away, and the battle would begin.
Hefting his axe, Anders lightly jogged over the thin layer of newly-fallen snow. He reached a ridge, and felt his heart nearly stop when he leaned out to look down over it.
There they were. He stood perhaps ten or fifteen meters above them, gazing down what looked like hundreds of huddled masses of brown fur. Two massive, bone-white tusks poked out from each body of fur.
Anders gulped. This could easily be the worst part. He had to lure one Mamoswine away from the herd, but if he got the attention of others too, things could get ugly very quickly. He definitely didn’t want to deal with more than one of the beasts.
The boy crept down the slope of the mountainside until he stood behind the herd. They were huddled closely together, backs toward him, perfectly still. They were huge—even the smallest one easily towered over Anders. But he refused to let himself dwell on how imposing the creatures were—he had made his decision, and he would follow through. Reaching down through the snow, he picked up a loose rock and hurled it at the nearest Mamoswine.
Anders braced himself as the stone collided with the creature—but it just bounced off and fell into the snow. The Mamoswine swung its tail back-and-forth in irritation, but other than that, it didn’t acknowledge Anders’ action.
Shoulders slumped forward, Anders sighed inwardly. Just do it, he told himself. Raising his axe, Anders rushed forward, and stabbed the Mamoswine right above the heel of its back left leg.
The creature let out a mighty roar of pain. Anders immediately withdrew the axe and ran—he didn’t bother to turn around and see what was happening. He could hear many creatures scuffling about and making confused noises. But he could distinctly hear—and feel—stampeding footsteps coming closer and closer towards him.
Anders dove into a patch of snow to his left, just in time to watch the Mamoswine charge past him, blood streaming from its ankle. Anders stood up and watched the Mamoswine slow down and turn around to face him, its black eyes narrowed in rage. Letting out a bellowing roar, the creature charged Anders. As soon as the Mamoswine’s feet touched down, the ground beneath them became coated with a thick sheet of ice. The creature lost its footing and slipped. It slid onwards, its momentum carrying it until it crashed into a rock. Anders watched, dumbfounded, as the creature desperately tried to regain its footing.
“Am I being a good help, brother?”
Anders turned to his right to see Anja floating next to him.
“Anja! Did you do that? What—how did you—?”
“I can freeze things! Look, my breath is super cold!” The Froslass opened her little mouth and exhaled. A beam of ice extended from her mouth to the ground, where it froze over the snow and rock.
“Anja, I’m grateful, but you really shouldn’t. This fight is dangerous, and I don’t want you getting hurt. Besides, this is my battle. I have to take down this Mamoswine and present it for the Yearly Offering, and I’m not supposed to get help from anyone.”
Anja clapped her hands happily. “Oh, you’re going to make the Yearly Offering soon? Everything in the spirit world smells so good when that happens! And the place is also filled with all of this nice sound—like music!”
“Anja!”
Anders hollered her name a second before he dove to the side. The Mamoswine had managed to regain its footing and had charged at the duo. The boy flung himself aside in time to avoid collision, but the Froslass just hung in the air and watched it come. As soon as the Mamoswine hit her, her body became translucent, and it passed through her harmlessly.
“See, Anders? He can’t hurt me! I’m a spirit now, nothing in this world can hit me anymore!”
Anders had only a moment to give his sister a look of concern before terror flooded his heart. A golden light was emanating from the Mamoswine, and the rocks and ice around it were hanging in mid-air. It glared at Anja with a look of fury for a second before it lowered its head and charged her.
“Anja, behind you—!”
The Froslass turned around and became translucent as before—but for whatever reason, it didn’t work. Whatever ancient power the Mamoswine had summoned had allowed it to hit the Froslass, and she gave a cry of pain as she went flying through the air, hit a rock, and slide into the snow.
Anders couldn’t move for a moment, only stare in shock. In a few seconds, he could feel his blood boiling in his veins, his heart alit with a fury he had never known before. Energy rippled from his core through his arms and legs to his fingers and toes. Gripping his axe tightly in both hands, he ran at the Mamoswine as it turned around to face him. Aiming low, Anders sliced the beast’s front left ankle, causing the creature to yell in distress and buckle for a moment. Taking advantage, Anders danced around it, making shallow cuts with the heads of his axe and stabbing with the spike on the end. The Mamoswine swung its head from side-to-side, trying to knock the boy down with its oversized tusks. But he couldn’t touch the human—something primal had awoken within Anders, allowing him to see everything with a newfound clarity and to time his attacks perfectly.
At first, the Mamoswine lashed out in rage. But as time wore on and Anders landed more blows, the creature began to tire out. Anders made his way to the beast’s side, braced his feet against the ground, and shoved his axe upward, right behind the creature’s front right leg. The boy dug the axe in as far as he could—his arms became warm and wet as they broke through the beast’s hairy hide. The creature tried to jerk away, but only succeeded in standing up on its hind legs, roaring in despair, its front legs flailing aimlessly, before crashing to the ground. Anders stared at the beast a moment, breathing heavily, his heart pounding furiously. Then he raced over to where Anja lay in the snow.
Sliding his arms under her, he shakily whispered, “Anja?” The girl had no visible signs of damage, but her ghostly body was still limp in Anders’ hands.
The Froslass opened her eyes and gave a small smile. “I’m gonna be okay, brother. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you—I just wanted to help.”
“Anja, don’t be sorry. I should have defended you—I should have looked out for you…” His voice and hands both started shaking.
“You can’t defend me, I’m a spirit now! I was trying to defend you. But…” She paused as her smile faded and her eyes flickered open and closed. “But I think I need to rest… Do you think you can take me back to the sieidis?”
Nodding, Anders stood and began to jog back down the mountainside to his village far below, leaving the Mamoswine’s body with his axe still lodged in it.