That statement made Venise’s eyes widen. What did she mean by that? “Actually, it does. I’m only here until tomorrow. I have a few meetings with professors at the
It wouldn’t start the interview out right, Venise knew, to say she wanted to see what Mrs. Westergard said because her theories about Norse mythology were a little…unusual. She was a well-known scholar, yes, but she had anecdotes that most other professors thought were pure fiction she’d made up herself. When she’d retired from the
But Venise liked to go the extra mile. She prayed talking to this woman would provide her with information that would make coming all the way up to the northern edge of
Norway
worth her while.
“Sit,” her hostess said, indicating the table. “We can eat and talk.”
Venise hurried to her bag. She took out her cell phone, then extracted a pen and paper before going back to the table. Mrs. Westergard had already loaded up a plate for her, food filling the entire disc from side to side. There was no way she would be able to eat all that food, but she wouldn’t be rude and say that. She’d eat what she could and then, maybe, she’d ask for a doggie bag. Was that kosher in this part of the world?
Venise wasn’t exactly sure, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.
“Do you mind if I take your picture? I’d like it for my records.”
“Of course.” The attractive woman smoothed down her hair, then smiled as Venise held up her cell and snapped the photo.
“Thanks.” She tucked the phone into the pocket of her jeans. “Let’s talk about Odin,” she said, sitting down at the table.
Her hostess had already sat down and was eating one meatball after another as if she hadn’t had food in days. Venise tried to hide her surprise. The older woman was thin, and didn’t really show her age, which was seventy-two according to the research Venise had done. She didn’t look a day over fifty, if not younger. There wasn’t a wrinkle on her.
Maybe it had something to do with living up here. Venise bit back a laugh. If that were true, lots of women would be running toward the outer edges of
Norway
.
“So, let’s talk about the creation of the world.”
“Ah, Odin.” The older woman waved her hand in the air as if she were shaking a pom-pom. “Such a virile man he was, in his younger years, that is.”
She stood and walked to a tapestry, letting her fingers trade the image of a man on a rearing horse. Venise recognized it for what it was, an image of Odin entering
Valhalla
.
There was a long, pregnant pause and Venise almost had the feeling that Mrs. Westergard was mourning a lover.
“Everyone knows about Odin,” the woman finally said. “Let’s talk of something else.”
“Something else?” Panic seeped into Venise’s bones. Had she come all this way only to be denied the information she sought? Mrs. Westergard had told her she had tales about Odin that would ‘burn her ears’, and that’s what Venise wanted to hear.
The woman came back to the table and sat down, popping another meatball into her mouth, chewing, swallowing, and then repeating the action again. What was it with this woman and food?
“Mrs. Westergard?”
The woman swallowed, then took a deep swig from her mug. “King Gunnmarr had three sons.”
“Who?” She’d never heard that name before and wondered exactly what the woman was talking about.
“Three. Rugoff, Benedikt and Egill.”
Venise opened her book, flipping to find an empty page. “Is this a folk tale?”
“The king was quite a popular man, always making sure his people wanted for nothing. He was victorious in battle, slaying his enemies and battling monsters. And, he was quite popular with the ladies.”
Venise put down every word, making a mental note to ask Mrs. Westergard about spellings and accent marks before she left.
“One day he met a beautiful woman and she bore him three sons.”
Venise wanted to tell Mrs. Westergard she didn’t need to mention the fact there were three of them. She’d already made that perfectly clear. “Rugoff, Benedikt and Egill?”
“Correct.” The storyteller inclined her head in approval and Venise felt a thrill of anticipation. This might be better than hearing yet another story about Odin.
“As Gunnmarr grew older, though, he changed. He could never get enough. He wanted more money. More land. More women. He cast aside his wife and took a different woman to his bed every night.”
Venise looked up from her notes. “In other words, he went through an ancient mid-life crisis?”
The joke didn’t get the response she wanted and Venise turned back to her notepad.
“As he grew older, he demanded what he thought was his due. His people, upset with his dismissal of his wife, were no longer as giving as they had once been. They refused to send in taxes and other tributes. He fought many battles to take lands and he lost. So, to gain his ends, he summoned a witch.”
Of course he did,
Venise thought. There’s always a witch of some sort in these tales.
“The witch promised him gold, and victory in battle. But she demanded one thing in return.”
“Money?” Venise regretted the suggestion as soon as it was out of her mouth. If the witch could provide Gunnmarr with gold, she wouldn’t demand it for her payment. “What did she want?”
“She wanted him to give her a jewel that was set in the center of his crown, a beautiful emerald that was very rare at the time.”
The woman really didn’t need to tell the rest of the tale, Venise thought. Gunnmarr agreed to the trade-off, then stiffed the witch, leaving her with nothing.
“Exactly.” Mrs. Westergard pushed the plate toward her and Venise followed the woman’s lead, picking up a meatball with her finger and eating it quickly. She’d done it mainly to hide her shock at the fact her hostess seemed to have read her mind.
A drink of chocolate washed down the meatball and Venise tried not to think about how the two flavors didn’t match.
“So, what happened?”
“Well…” Mrs. Westergard toyed with her cup, staring into its contents. She remained silent and Venise could swear she saw tears in the woman’s eyes. “The worst thing that could have happened did. After the witch gave the wicked man all he wanted, and he had her condemned to death.”
“Ouch.” Venise made a few notes. “I’ve never heard this story before.”
“It’s been forgotten through the years.” Mrs. Westergard took another bite. “But the story does not end there.”
“Doesn’t end with her death?” She drew a figure eight on the paper. “Things always end with death.”
“No.” The older woman sat back in her chair, and for the first time since she’d arrived, Venise could see her age. “Tell me about your childhood.”
The change in subject shocked Venise, who stared at her hostess dumbfounded. She toyed with her meatballs as she tried to figure out what this had to do with folk tale the woman told.
“I grew up in
America
, and now I’m working on a Ph.D. in Scandinavian Literature. I’ve included folk tales in my research because they fascinate me.” She picked up another meatball. “So after the witch died, what happened?”
“What about before you moved to
America
? You’re Italian, correct?”
Okay, this was weird. Usually she did research on her interviewees, not the other way around. She supposed, though, if she were going to let someone into her house, she would check up on them, too.
“Yes, I am. I was left on the doorstep of a church in
Venice
. A nun found me.”
“I see.
Venice
. Like your name.”
Unease spread through her and she started to draw circles on her paper. “The nuns named me
Venice
. When my parents adopted me, I was ten. They changed the ‘c’ to an ‘s’. They never really did say why.”
“You were ten.” The wistfulness in the older woman’s voice made Venise wonder exactly where this was going.
“Yes. I spent the first ten years of my life in an orphanage. I was lucky to find my parents, or I should say they found me.”
“I had a child.” The words were spoken so softly that Venise wondered if she’d imagined them. “I wonder sometimes…I wonder.”
The room grew silent and Venise watched the older woman, who now stared at the tapestry, her gaze growing misty.
“Mrs. Westergard? Are you all right?”
“Before the witch died, she cursed the King by taking away that which she thought he valued most. His sons.”
“What?”
“She should have known better, of course,” the woman continued. “The man cared not for his sons. But they suffer for his greed.”
Suffer? As in present tense? What was the woman talking about? “What did she do?”
“She banished them to the depths of the Earth, each to his own spot, to live their eternal lives alone.”
“Eternal?”
“Yes, she wanted the King, even in his death, to feel pain for what he’d done to his sons. The only problem, of course, is the King had no sense of feeling for others. He cared not what he’d done.”
Venise drew another circle. The woman was lost in her own little world, switching from past tense to present, as if what they were talking about was still taking place.
“I see. Are they like male sleeping beauties? Do they need the kiss of true love to wake them?”
Mrs. Westergard chuckled softly. “No, they’re awake. Only trapped.”
“You make it sound as if they are still alive.”
“That is what eternal means, dear.”
Venise wanted to tell her that fairy tales had nothing to do with real life, but that wouldn’t be nice. “If they’re trapped, how can they break free?”
“Each of them has to find peace with their lives,” the woman replied softly. “Until all three do, none of them will be saved.”
Mrs. Westergard stood and walked to the chair that looked so uncomfortable. She picked up Venise’s bag and purse and held them out to her.
“Are we done? I just got here, and we haven’t finished yet. Mrs. Westergard, please, not yet.” She stood and walked toward her, intent on assuring her they still had work to do. As she walked closer, though, she could see the woman had a different plan. Her face was resolute and she jiggled the items again.
“Please, let’s sit back down and…”
“Sitting. An excellent idea.” Mrs. Westergard shoved her computer bag and purse into her arms, tossing the jacket on the floor next to her. Then with the strength that said she was nowhere near her age, she pushed Venise into the chair. The hard wood bit into her backside and she let out a cry of pain.
“I’m so sorry it has to be this way. It’s all for the best, though. You’ll see that in the end.”
“What the hell?” Venise tried to stand but the chair seemed to grab hold of her, and then the room began to spin. The bottom dropped out of the chair and she felt herself falling, a sinking feeling of sheer terror invaded her body as she flailed her arms around, trying to grab onto something, which was impossible since there was nothing there.
She hit a cold piece of land with a hard thud, snow creeping into her clothing as she tried to capture air back into her lungs.
“What the hell?”
She looked around, trying to orient herself. The house was gone, as was Mrs. Westergard and her food-laden table. There was sound, though, although she couldn’t quite make it out. It was a crunching sound, almost like…footsteps on snow.
Venise cast aside her bags and stood, the world continuing to spin. A man broke through a copse of trees, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he came to stop, his mouth open as he stared at her.
“Stay away from me!” She backed up, holding up her hands as if she would give him a good judo chop. The only thing was she knew nothing about judo, or any other fighting method.
They both stood in place, and she could tell he was as shocked to see her as she was to see him. When he took a tentative step in her direction, she turned and fled, leaving behind all the things that had made the trip with her, and not knowing where the hell she was, or where she was going.
Rugoff stood in place for a moment, unsure what to do. He’d seen the woman, and she’d seen him. That in itself was stunning. When he’d heard the thud outside his cave, he’d thought an animal had wandered nearby.
He had no traps set, because he didn’t need the food. But that didn’t mean animals didn’t get hurt in this ugly area from time to time. When that happened, he did his best to free them and treat them, if they would allow it. If not, he would leave them to their own devices, as nature intended.