Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) (9 page)

Even Hagen looked puzzled.

“No,” Arvid said flatly. “Tonight, they won’t go anywhere.” She stood up and opened the door to the kitchen. Although Arvid had not been sure until recently what exactly she would find, the sight was no big surprise.

The two men were sleeping.

Horalf was slumped over his plate, Egil tipped sideways on the bench. Arvid went to the table and noted that they had drunk almost all the beer. The effect would be that of approximately thirty rustnettle leaves.

Gyda and Hagen had followed her and were silently staring at the absurd image.

Gyda slowly raised her hand to her mouth. “Are they dead?” she whispered in horror.

“No,” Arvid said, “they’re only sleeping. In about an hour they’ll probably get severe cramps. I heard about three rustnettle leaves hurt pretty bad. If you feel like it, you can wait and see how they cope with the effects of thirty.”

Gyda’s eyes widened in disbelief. Hagen still didn’t move a bit. Arvid, on the other hand, felt satisfaction looking at the two men. She poked Egil with the tip of her foot, so that his head lamely rolled back and forth. “When he’s awakened by the cramps, he will bitterly regret having treated us like that,” she said. Arvid did not know exactly when the paralyzing effect would wear off, but the two men still wouldn’t be dangerous to them. The pain would simply be too much. For a brief moment Arvid wondered whether they might die, but a second later the thought was swallowed by darkness and a numbing indifference.

Arvid glanced at Gyda and Hagen, who were still as white as chalk, then she left the kitchen and went upstairs. She packed her things and then entered the rooms of the landlords one after the other. They were spacious and equipped with featherbeds, carved chests and desks. In Horalf’s room there was also an armchair and a narrow shelf with a handful of books.

Arvid went through all the chests and cupboards. In the drawers of Horalf’s desk she found a small leather bag and money. There were coins of various colors, but Arvid had no idea what they were worth. She took about a third of them; the rest she poured into the bag that already contained some black coins. When she opened a door at the top of the desk, a small envelope fluttered out of it and landed right in front of her.

It was a letter with an unbroken seal of red sealing wax. Thoughtfully, she looked at the engraved runes. Although she could not read them properly, they seemed familiar. She tucked the letter between her teeth, searched the rest of the room and finally went back to the kitchen.

Hagen had disappeared, but Gyda sat on a chair and silently looked at Horalf and Egil. They no longer lay still, but were groaning and rolling back and forth, but didn’t seem to be able to control their arms and legs properly.

“Take some wine,” Gyda said, raising the clay mug she was holding, “I filled a pitcher.” It was the first time since Arvid’s arrival she didn’t speak flatly, but with bitter determination.

“I’d rather not waste any time,” Arvid said. “Can you read?”

“Yes.”

Arvid handed her the letter.

“It’s for you,” Gyda said after a quick look at the seal. “Where did you get that?”

“From Horalf’s desk,” said Arvid. The nature of the envelope had awakened a memory in her, and she had not been mistaken. This had to be the answer from Asgard, which would probably never have reached her had she not decided to take matters into her own hands. She opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. This time it was rather short. Gyda looked over her shoulder and scanned the text.

“You’re asked to go to the town hall of Black Castle,” she said then. “On the third day of the Month of Gratitude. You are to report in the western hall at the thirty-fifth hour. The letter is signed by Noldir.”

“Thanks,” said Arvid. “When is the third day of the Month of Gratitude?”

“In three days,” Gyda answered and took a long drink from her cup. “Today is the last day of the Month of the Gray Cold.”

“Good. How many horses do you have?”

“Four.”

“Then I’ll take one,” Arvid said. She pulled out the bag with the money. “Here, you’ll probably need this.” She wanted to hand it to Gyda, but she just looked undecided and made no move to take it.

“You don’t really want to stay here?” Arvid said incredulously.

Finally Gyda slowly reached out and took the bag. Arvid saw that her wrists also had bluish bruises.

“No, we… can’t stay,” Gyda said haltingly. “After all… After what you’ve done, they would…” She broke off, but Arvid knew what she wanted to say.

“You deserve better, Gyda,” Arvid said urgently. “Where is Hagen?”

“He’s outside, saddling the horses. We’ll ride south. We hope to find shelter  in one of the villages.”

“I’m not coming with you. I have to go back to Black Castle.”

“I know,” said Gyda. A faint, sad smile began to spread on her face. “I don’t know what you have to discuss with the gods, but… I hope they keep a better fate ready for you.”

“The gods,” Arvid said contemptuously, “are not keeping anything ready for me. They are the reason I’m here, and it was these same gods who brought you to this farm.” She put the letter in her pocket. “My destiny is in my own hands,” she added firmly. “But from the gods I’ll take what I can get.”

Egil suddenly let out a loud moan and writhed so violently, he nearly slipped off the wooden bench. Arvid and Gyda simultaneously turned their heads. The two men still seemed dazed, but the spasms now appeared to get stronger. Gyda hastily took a sip of wine, put the cup back and opened some baskets in the corner.

“I’ll pack you something to eat,” she said. “You better hurry.” She nimbly cut a loaf of bread into slices and wrapped them into a cloth, together with two thick sausages. When she turned to Arvid and handed her the bundle with food, tears were glittering in her eyes.

Arvid felt confused by Gyda’s tears. But she had her own problems and neither the time nor the willpower to also grapple with the question of why the young maidservant reacted like that. She had Hagen and the two would be all right. Wherever they landed, it could only be better than this.

In the door Arvid stopped again and turned around. For a brief moment she realized how absurd and unreal the scene in front of her was. She looked in the kitchen and saw the leftovers of the dinner on the table, the baskets for tomorrow’s harvest already piled up in a corner. There lay the landlords, writhing in pain and loudly moaning. Gyda was standing next to them, looking at them blankly. Her pale face was streaked with tears, and she was still holding the knife she had cut the bread with.

The Month of Gratitude

Arvid was riding through a dark, cloud-shrouded night. The icy wind blew hard snowflakes around, which in a few spots gathered to white patches. Several times Arvid heard a faint howl in the distance, but as worrying as it was, it never seemed to come any closer.

After a few hours Arvid fell into a fitful doze, which was filled with confusing dreams. Fortunately her horse seemed to know the way, because when she suddenly started and opened her eyes, she saw glittering lights in the distance. She was almost there.

Crossing the circle of protection seemed more unpleasant than when she had left the city, but that could just as well be due to her exhaustion and her tiredness. The guards at the gate just looked up boredly when she rode past, and finally the dark, quiet city lay in front of her.

Arvid turned into one of the larger streets and saw a series of half-collapsed houses to her left. The memory of the earthquake two weeks ago returned immediately. Apparently it had left its mark on the city.

The farther Arvid rode, the more of the effects of the quake she saw. Most houses had survived more or less unscathed, but there was hardly a street or alley where not at least one wall or a building had collapsed.

It was still early morning. People slowly began to come out of their homes, and occasionally she could see a wagon. As Arvid approached the center of the city, the loud clattering of hooves and the sounds of numerous wagon wheels were heard. More and more people with boxes, baskets and bundles filled the street. Arvid remembered that it was the third day of the week—thus only a small market would be held today.

She managed to cross the center before it got too crowded and the merchants began to set up their stalls. She rode up the narrow street, through which she often had gone down to the market together with Thoke. Soon after she reached her destination: Falla’s house.

At least what remained of it. Arvid brought her horse to a stop and looked in disbelief at what had once been her temporary home. Much of the lower stone walls had collapsed. The front part of the second floor was tilted forward; the majority of the wooden joists bent upwards. Not only the walls, but also the roof had large holes. The whole construction was only kept in place by a still new-looking, thick wooden beam, which had been erected hastily in place of the destroyed wall.

For a moment Arvid sat in the saddle motionlessly. What was she supposed to do now? This was the only place in Black Castle she could go, and Thoke and Falla were the only people she knew. She had automatically assumed that the two would help her, although Falla certainly wouldn’t have been happy that Arvid left Horalf’s farm—even without knowing the circumstances.

Finally, she broke away, turned her horse and rode back toward the market. She was tired, cold and knew she had to find a place to stay, at least until the third day of the month. As the first half-built stalls and busy merchants came in sight, Arvid suddenly remembered that she actually had money. There was one problem though: She had no idea what the coins were worth. Every second person who noticed that would probably try to rip her off, and she would do well to use it as sparingly as possible.

At the edge of the marketplace, she slid out of the saddle. She soothingly stroked her horse’s neck, then she collected all the coins from her pocket and looked at them more closely. In order to keep people from seeing what she was doing, she deliberately stayed close to the wall and behind her mount.

She counted twelve silver coins, three of reddish brown color. Twenty-eight of them were deep black, but clearly made of metal. They all bore the image of something that looked like a chapel. Around it illegible runes were engraved.

Arvid took two black coins and one each of the silver and copper-colored ones. The rest she stowed again, took her horse by the bridle and walked slowly out into the marketplace. She let her eyes wander over the crowd. The air was already filled with the sound of countless steps, voices, shouts and laughter, the rattle of chains, clack of hooves and many other things that united into a rushing noise.

Finally she spotted a man with a reddish beard, who looked as if he could help her. In her world, she would have thought him to be about forty. In contrast to the busy merchants, he leaned relaxed against the wall of a board partition with horses and smoked a pipe.

Slowly Arvid approached him. “Excuse me, may I ask you something?” she said.

The man looked at her questioningly. “Yes?”

Arvid held out a black coin. “I’ll give you this coin, if you tell me what I can buy for the other ones here.” She put the remaining coins on her palm one after another.

The man took his pipe from his mouth and looked plenty surprised. Clearly he had expected something different, but after some hesitation he took the black coin Arvid had offered him. Then he reached into a basket on a stack of boxes next to him and revealed two pale apples.

“I’m fruit seller,” he said, handing her the fruits. “That’s what I would sell you.” Then he pointed to the copper-colored coin. “For a copper coin you could buy about two dozen apples or a loaf of bread. Three loaves for the silver coin. Should you ever be so lucky to own a gold coin, it’s about seventy silver coins.”

“How much would I have to pay for a bed and a place for my horse?”

“One night?” asked the man thoughtfully. “Well, it varies, but I think… at least four silver coins.”

Arvid thanked him and held out the leftover black coin, but the man made a dismissive gesture.

“You bought two apples from me,” he said with a grin. “The rest is free.”

Several hours later, Arvid had found a room. She had tried to negotiate the price, but the matron had insisted on ten silver coins for two nights. The price also included a space and food for her horse, but Arvid would have to buy something to eat once her supplies had run out. Besides, she didn’t have enough money for another night, and this fact made her worry. She had no idea if the conversation with Noldir would help her in any way.

The next day Arvid did nothing more than rest from the strain of the past weeks. Only now that she had slept properly and the darkness inside her slowly released her did she notice how much the time on Horalf’s farm had gotten to her. She thought of Gyda and Hagen and hoped that they were all right.

In the afternoon she visited all the city gates in hopes of meeting Nod, but there was no trace of the young woman. Falla’s destroyed house was still empty and deserted and the handful of people who she randomly asked about Thoke and the old woman couldn’t help her either. There was not a single familiar face to be seen, and Arvid felt even more alone and isolated than before.

While she wandered through the streets of the city, she agonized over how she could convince the gods at her hearing. It was difficult to find good arguments. Whenever she thought more about it, she felt diffuse anger flaring up, and all rational thoughts seemed to become hostile insinuations. Then the best she could think of was that the gods were to blame for her situation and just had to help her, if they had just a spark of decency. But that was probably not the case.

In the evening Arvid took out the case she got from Aeldjarn and tried to write down the rune spell he had shown her for the first time, without any success. She wasn’t able to move the quill, even though she now felt recovered and concentrated. When Arvid tried to create sparks of light, she had the impression something was happening though. It was not sparks, but there was something. It looked as if blurred, bright spots appeared in the air before her, but disappeared again after a moment. Or did she just imagine it? With an effort she tried to make out details, but soon her eyes began to water and she couldn’t see a thing.

In the evening of the next day she tried again. This time she was sure that the light phenomena were not an illusion. They looked like a matte yet shimmering white fog that glowed briefly and then disappeared. Arvid kept trying until she finally felt overwhelmed by a leaden fatigue.

Actually, she had wanted to think about what to say at her hearing with Noldir the next day, but she could not concentrate anymore. Her head was full of confused thoughts and images that made no sense, and so she soon fell asleep.

As it turned out, the matron was not very reliable. Arvid had asked her to wake her at the thirtieth hour, but when she came into the parlor, a man told her that the thirty-third hour had already begun. Arvid had just enough time to down a quick breakfast, then she grabbed the bag with her last money and the letter and left the hostel on the double.

The entrance of the town hall was almost empty, but still Arvid felt disoriented. An elderly woman who was reading the notices in a corner told her that the western hall was to the left and the large clock had already passed the thirty-fifth hour.

Arvid thanked her and quickly walked down the long corridor. At its end, she saw a large wooden door, in front of which she saw two armed men with swords and snow-white tabards. Their faces were half-covered by silvery-gray, round helmets. They stared at Arvid suspiciously when she approached.

“I’m Arvid,” she said breathlessly. “Is this the western hall?”

The two guards looked at each other, then the taller of the two said, “Arvid, daughter of Carl?”

“Yes,” Arvid said impatiently. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small envelope. “I am to report for a hearing.” She held out the letter for them, but they made no move to take it.

“Greetings, Arvid, daughter of Carl,” said one of the men stiffly and opened the door. “The gentlemen are expecting you.”

Arvid entered with a thumping heart. The room was not nearly as large as the word hall had suggested, but all the more magnificent. The floor was of shiny polished stone and had a checkerboard pattern. The walls were lined with massive stone pillars, between which woven crests hung. Although there were a number of high windows surrounded with paintings, the room was additionally lit by star lamps. They hung from the ceiling in a long line, were bigger than pumpkins and radiated a cool, bluish light. Still, it was dim. Right in the middle of the room stood a massive wooden desk. Behind it a white-bearded man sat in a high chair.

As the door fell shut behind Arvid, she was suddenly surrounded by silence. After some hesitation, she started walking in the direction of the desk. Her footsteps echoed through the hall almost disturbingly loudly. At the walls to her left and right she saw guards in white tabards. There were so many, Arvid started to feel uncomfortable.

She had almost reached the desk when the bearded man got up from his chair and raised his hand. He was wearing an ornate, dark blue cloak and a long robe of the same color. On his chest were emblazoned two large, shield-shaped brooches, between which hung several stone-studded gold necklaces. The man’s eyes were of a flashy, orange color that Arvid had never before seen on a human.

“Greetings, Arvid, daughter of Carl,” the man said loudly. His voice was hoarse and a little too high to sound pleasant. “I’m Noldir, son of Noldir.”

“Greetings,” Arvid said with a nod. So this was the man who had sent her to Horalf’s farm and thought it to be an appropriate place for her.

“Take a seat,” Noldir said, pointing at the plain wooden chair that had been set up a few steps away from the table. “Do you need a translator?”

“No,” Arvid said, sitting down as ordered.

“Very well,” replied Noldir and signaled a young man behind the table, obviously the interpreter, that he could leave.

“What concerns lead you to me?” asked Noldir and sat down in his chair with a groan.

Arvid took a deep breath and tried to stay as calm as possible, but given the many guards it was not an easy task.

“As I wrote in my letter, I would like to complain,” she said.

“Complain?” Noldir asked, frowning. “What do you wish to complain about?”

“About the kind of help Asgard provided after I came to this world. It does not meet my needs.”

Noldir raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You speak of the fact that we have secured you a home on Horalf’s farm, work, food and financial compensation for this…” he pushed aside some papers on the table in front of him, “Falla? Is this what you wish to complain about?” He looked up at Arvid.

“Yes, that’s correct,” said Arvid. After what she had experienced the past few weeks, she had to pull herself together, to stay polite. “I appreciate your efforts, but on a farm I’ll never be able to find out how and why I came here.”

Noldir leaned forward and looked at her intently. “Do you realize that you received Asgard’s help unbidden and without being asked for anything in return?” he asked warily. “It was a gift and a sign of Asgard’s generosity. Do you always complain about gifts?”

Arvid did not answer immediately, because she was too busy trying to keep her anger under control. She clung to the arms of her chair and leaned forward as well, her eyes fixed on Noldir.

“Do you know why I’m here?” she asked deliberately quietly, “I’ll tell you. I’m here because you, and by you I mean Asgard’s gods, have created these moronic world transitions. You’re the only reason I’m here; because of you I’ve lost everything I had—my home, my family, everything.”

Noldir looked at her aghast, but Arvid was unimpressed and continued, “So tell me… If I burned down your house and gave you a kennel instead, unsolicited and without expecting anything in return… wouldn’t this also be a noble demonstration of my generosity?”

Arvid watched as Noldir’s face darkened with rage. But before he could say anything, the silence was suddenly broken by a laugh. It came from the darkness behind Noldir, and Arvid realized that someone else was here besides her, the translator and the guards. In a chair, almost entirely hidden in a niche, she could see the shape of a long-haired man. He was sitting crossways, legs placed on the armrests and apparently holding an open book.

With a jerk Noldir turned around to him. “Do you have anything to say on the matter?” he asked. It sounded polite, but it was hard to overlook he was seething with anger.

“No, no, go on,” the long-haired man replied, amused.

Noldir turned back to Arvid and noisily sucked in the air. “This comparison is absolutely ridiculous,” he said, visibly upset. He rose from his chair and slowly came around the table. “While it may be true that it was the gods who once created the world transitions, this happened centuries ago.”

“And you think that makes it better?” Arvid asked sharply.

“We have learned from our mistakes. If we could close the world transitions safely, we would do it, but unfortunately this is not possible.”

“That doesn’t change anything about the fact that I’m stuck here—because of you!”

“We are not to blame for your being here!” Noldir cried harshly. “The only one to blame is yourself!”

“Oh really? So you think that I voluntarily jumped through this portal, simply because I felt like it?”

“No, I don’t! It was stupidity and foolishness that brought you here.”

“Stupidity and foolishness?” Arvid said incredulously. “I had no idea what this transition was!”

“Exactly,” Noldir said triumphantly. “A phenomenon you don’t know, and yet you decide to approach it. You were even warned by one of us. It was more than obvious that the transition is dangerous, but that didn’t stop you from standing next to it. A bristle pig would have behaved smarter than you!”

Arvid stared at him in disbelief. Had he just compared her to a bristle pig? Noldir was even more arrogant and condescending than she had feared. After his last remark she had to pull herself together with all her might in order to sit still.

“We have a harmless light phenomenon, which looks almost the same,” she said angrily. “You have not the faintest idea of my world!”

“And obviously you have none of this world!” shouted Noldir. He had stopped right in front of her chair and glared at her with narrowed eyes. “We don’t deluge any fool with gold, who was stupid enough to approach a world transition. What do you expect? Should we build you a castle?”