Authors: Eva García Sáenz
"And you went with him."
"I did, we went to Miklagard and then traveled all the trade routes in the East for decades before meeting up with my father, my grandfather Lür and Lyra again, before setting sail to Vinland. Being an archaeologist, you'll know that a group of Vikings reached America centuries before Christopher Columbus, and there we tried to maintain a colony of our people, in
L’anse aux Meadows
, with Leif Eriksson, the son of Erik the Red, but that's another story. Maybe I'll tell you some other day. Now, going back to my first years with Uncle Magnus, he was the one who taught me to be a longevo, the longevo I am today. He made me an expert in everything that a longevo hiding in the shadows needs to know. I'm an expert in the act of making and keeping money and properties. I'm an expert in faking my death and I can make it look real in a thousand different ways. Skoll, for example, taught me to use certain powders that makes it look like the heart has stopped beating. I'm an expert in... expert in..." he said, and suddenly bent over in pain and grabbed hold of his arm.
"What's the matter? Are you in pain?" I asked, without knowing where his pain was coming from.
"I'm an expert in..." he repeated, with a horrified look on his face, falling to the floor. "My arm, it hurts, it really hurts!"
"Gunnarr, you're scaring me, are you ok?"
Gunnarr was no longer listening to me, he was looking up at me from the floor with terrified eyes, begging for help with silent screams.
He writhed in pain, holding his chest, and that's when I realized what was happening, he was having a heart attack.
What the hell is this, a plague of heart attacks that's killing of the longevos? Is the potion Iago injected Nagorno with contagious?
Or maybe Gunnarr was also trying to cure Nagorno, maybe he was experimenting with a cure which he had injected himself with, like Flemming once did.
But Gunnarr couldn't answer my questions, his red face was a mask of pain and tension. I threw myself at him and began giving him cardiopulmonary resuscitation.
I opened his mouth and put my lips on his lips. I blew air into him, expecting his huge lungs to inflate.
Luckily, he began to cough, and I gave him some space so that he could breath, feeling relieved.
"Ok, ok, that's enough," he said, sitting up.
"But, what about your heart?" I asked, still feeling overwhelmed.
"My heart's fine, thank you. It's very calm."
"Are you ok? Does anything hurt?"
"No,
stedmor
. Nothing hurts, although I'm sure that your pride hurts, doesn't it?"
"Did you just fake a heart attack?" I screamed at him, feeling offended. I'd believed him, I'd thought that it was a real heart attack.
"You're not listening to anything I say, I was telling you that I'm an expert at faking my own death, and straight away I give you a demonstration and you believe it and try to save me."
"That's not funny, Gunnarr, what did you want, for me to run out and leave you to die?"
He looked at me, but he wasn't laughing anymore. He stared at me with a new kind of curiosity, as if I was a rare species of insect.
"Many prisoners would have done that, yes. You have instincts that work against your survival, you wouldn't be a good longevo."
"I know, and I don't want to be, believe me. Look, spare me your games, Gunnarr, seriously. You scared me half to death and now you're laughing at me. Can you just stick to being my captor, lock the door and disappear?"
I turned my back on him.
Bastard.
I'd really believed him.
Akhal Teke
ADRIANA
The next day, to my surprise, Gunnarr returned with the first rays of sunshine.
"Get up,
stedmor
. We're going for a walk," he shouted from the door, with his bellowing voice. "I've managed to convince my uncle to let you out of the castle and enjoy the surroundings. Take it as compensation for the stress I put you through last night."
I jumped up, clear and alert. I'd finally know where they'd taken me to, although my joy was short lived. Gunnarr came into the cell and put the esparto sack that I hated so much back over my head.
"But don't do anything silly,
stedmor
. Very important," he whispered in my ear as he held my arm and guided me up the stairs. "And don't say anything to my uncle about my nocturnal visits."
I concentrated on counting the stairs. Fifteen steps to the right and then twenty-three to the left. Gunnarr stopped and removed the sack.
"Please, sit down," said Nagorno, pointing to a chair.
He was already dressed in a tight suit, an elegant red color that made him stand out against the wooden backdrop. He hadn't lost his taste for exclusive clothes and a manicured look. I could imagine how difficult it was for him every morning, to simply get dressed, shave and groom himself, just to wander around a castle whose only other inhabitants were his nephew and a forced guest.
I obeyed and looked around me. I was in a type of medieval banquet hall. A huge fireplace behind Nagorno heated the room. A very long, solid wood table separated us, as he presided at one end and I had been made to sit at the other end. However, what really drew my attention was the delicious smell emanating from a tray Gunnarr was carrying.
Coffee, jams, pastries, juices.
"I'm only cooking food that's good for the heart," he said, as he poured some milk into my cup. "My uncle has to get better."
I glanced at Nagorno, and he did indeed look better than the last time I'd seen him. Although I stopped paying attention as soon as I smelled the croissants that Gunnarr placed next to me. They were freshly baked and I scoffed a couple of them without thinking twice, under the watchful eye of Gunnarr, who looked at me like a proud mother looks at her child when they are eating well.
"I figured that you were pretty hungry," he whispered.
Despite myself, I gave him a grateful look, which Nagorno also noticed, filling the room with an uneasy silence.
After Gunnarr slavishly cleared away our breakfast plates, he put the sack back on my head and I was dragged outside the building, escorted by both of them this time.
When they allowed me to see again, the wind whipped my face and the humidity of a nearby sea became more noticeable with every breath I took.
"I hope that you can at least enjoy the views," said Nagorno from behind me, with his husky voice.
In front of me was a hill of wild grass, green and unruly. Beyond the hill, an unspoiled valley stretched out towards a vague horizon, consumed by mist and fog.
"Where are we?" I dared to ask.
"Where do you think we are?" replied Nagorno, coming over to stand next to me.
"Somewhere on the coast of Northern Europe."
They were both silent, looking at each other, without answering me.
"Let's go," ordered Gunnarr. "I've released you from your restraints. No running, no nonsense."
I was beginning to understand his double game: in front of Nagorno, he was a sadistic jailer with his hostage; when he was alone with me, he was a man with a lot to get off his chest and who needed to talk about his father. The question was: was it all a front? Was Gunnarr that sly? Where his attempts to gain my confidence real or just part of the kidnapping plan?
I personally had no other strategy. Ever since Gunnarr had been coming to my cell, I had decided to fake a Stockholm syndrome towards my jailer. Pretend that I was expecting his company, that I couldn't wait for his midnight talks, just to gain an ally. An ally who my survival would possibly depend on.
"Have you brought me to your homeland, to Denmark?" I asked, as we walked down the stone steps.
I wasn't going to let the chance of finding out where they had brought me escape.
"Is that what you think?" Is all he said.
The fact is that it could have been anywhere on the Northern coast. There was little to go by, other than the strong wind and weather that belonged to a bad winter's day. Anywhere in Norway, Sweden, the northern coast of France, Ireland, England, Wales or Scotland. Any island such as Skye, the Hebrides, the islands of the English Channel... There were several hundred possibilities. I guessed that it was some place that the Vikings had occupied in the past, or maybe the Celts, a thousand years before, and Nagorno had chosen the location.
I scanned the horizon, discouraged There were no signs of civilization or buildings, no electricity cables plowing through the countryside, no lighthouse, not even any recognizable contrails of commercial airline routes in the sky. I certainly did seem to be a remote location, far from civilization.
"Come on, Adriana. I want to show you something that I'm sure you'll appreciate," interrupted Nagorno, moving forward with the help of his cane and standing between Gunnarr and I.
They took me to an adjacent outbuilding, and I smiled when I realized that they were stables. I heard neighing and they let me take a look inside.
There were only three horses, but I'd never seen anything like them in my life. The first animal was simply huge. There was no other way to describe it. It was over six feet tall, and an average height person would have to use a stool or steps to mount that enormous white beast.
I guessed that it was for Gunnarr, and I turned to face him.
"What race is it? I asked him.
"It's a Shire, the only race I can ride. I was known as "the Walker" for many years. The horses bread by the Nordics were pretty small with short legs. I was just a boy when I had to stop riding them because they dragged their feet, and my Uncle Nagorno despaired because he couldn't teach me to throw spears at a gallop, as the Scythians did. We discovered this race a couple of centuries later, didn't we, uncle? It's the only one that can take my weight without tiring."
But by the time Gunnarr had stopped talking, I'd lost interest in his giant albino. The other two horses, a mare and a mule, were so beautiful that they didn't seem to be real. They were fine, elegant, but they were gold. They had short, metallic hair that shone like gold. They were too beautiful to be real. I cautiously approached the mule from the side, so that he could see me and wouldn't be alarmed by my presence. He let me stroke his back, softly. Those horses were very unique.
"Nagorno, where did you find them?"
"I've been breeding this race for two thousand years. They're called Akhal Teke. I brought the original ones from some nomads in a region that you know as Turkmenistan. There are only two thousand left, all descendants of the ones I began to bread. They're great for racing, and every sheik wants one, in the United Emirates, Dubai and Saudi Arabia. Nevertheless, we don't breed them for money, and even if nobody bought them, I'd make sure that something so beautiful never became extinct. And this pair, Tuva and Altai... these are unique. All the Akhal Teke have short metallic hair and I've managed to bread descendants with black, silver and white hair, but there are only two gold ones in the world."
I went over to the mare, who didn't shy away, and passionately stroked her back. For a moment I was distracted from my cruel situation and let myself get carried away by the beauty before me. How could Nagorno be capable of the worst and the best?
"Nagorno... can I ask you a favor? Regardless of the outcome of this kidnapping, could you let me ride one of these Akhal Teke before I go? It would be one of the best moments of my life."
Nagorno gave me a strange look. He couldn't stop looking at how I stroked the mare, without taking his eyes off me. Maybe too much. I also noticed Gunnarr's uncomfortable look, as if he was troubled by that brief connection between Nagorno and I.
Gunnarr cleared his throat and broke the magic of the moment. He brought us back to reality and we all fell back into our respective roles. One hostage, two captors. One ephemeral, two longevos.
"We'll see. I'll think about it," he replied, with a serious, almost indifferent stare. So close.
"It's such a shame to see them shut up in here," I insisted, stretching out the moment. "Poor animals."
"We're not sadists, we take them out for walks," Gunnarr said defensively, as if my comment had upset him.
And that's all I needed to know
, I thought.
Thanks for that valuable piece of information, Gunnarr.
Maybe, sometime, that bit of information could come in handy.
"And now we're leaving," Gunnarr ordered. "My Uncle Nagorno needs to walk."
Nagorno wasn't amused by his nephew's comment. He scowled at him and walked ahead of us. I guessed that it was the first time in his long life that he had needed to be cared for by other people. He, who had been the most immune of all to the wounds of time. I could imagine the humiliation he must be feeling at making me a witness to his decline, of a deterioration so out of character for him.
We followed a narrow trail that could barely be seen amongst the weeds. We walked for some time, until I could finally see the sea. A choppy winter sea, a noisy sea that threw up waves and mist along a ragged coastline of rocks and distant cliffs. We approached a cove, and I scrutinized the horizon in search of land or an island, but the sea stretched on as far as my eyes could see.