Fenrir by K. Sterling
1
“Ican’t believe you’re actually doing it!”
“What?” Stellan asked and Ted’s arms wound at his sides like propellers as he gestured at the office around them.
“You’re actually going on sabbatical!” He laughed and slapped the top of the tote bin on Stellan’s desk. “You’re packing up and everything.”
“What are you talking about? Lots of people go on sabbaticals.”
“No. Lots of people say they’re going on one but that usually means they’re going to rehab, or taking time off to ‘work on their marriage.’ Or, the university makes them say that because they got caught fooling around with a student or their TA,” Ted explained. Stellan’s nose scrunched as he shook his head.
“I’m not married and I don’t have any students or a TA to sleep with so I’m afraid it’s just a regular old sabbatical for research purposes,” he said sadly. He shrugged and Ted laughed as he got out of the way so Stellan could heave the bin off his desk and stow it in the storage closet. Some professor’s TA was getting Stellan’s half of the office while he was gone for a year so all his files and books were getting packed away.
“So… Norway! That’s going to be a dream come true,” Ted predicted and Stellan chuckled softly despite the ache in his chest. He felt tired and heavier as he missed his father.
“It’s always been a dream,” he agreed weakly.
“You ok?” Ted asked and Stellan nodded quickly.
“Yeah. I thought I’d be making this trip with dad but it didn’t work out like we planned,” he said. Ted groaned as he pulled Stellan into a hug and patted him on the back. The older man had been a close friend of his father’s and Stellan’s mentor. Stellan considered himself blessed to share an office with someone he liked and looked up to.
“I’m so sorry but I know he’s proud of you and he’ll be there. You’ll feel him with you when you’re eating Stroopwafels and yodeling,” Ted teased Stellan and he snorted.
“I think Stroopwafels are more of a Dutch thing and yodeling originated in the Alps, in Central Europe. In Norway, they call it lålning and it was traditionally performed by women, to call cattle down from the mountains because women did most of the herding,” he explained and Ted grinned as he pointed at him.
“They’re going to love you over there.”
“All four of them,” Stellan huffed as he backed into the closet and turned before he let the bin drop. “Jötunndal is about the size of a postage stamp and located about fifty years in the past. As far as I can tell, the mayor owns the cottage I’m renting and also runs the general store,” he said and Ted hissed.
“Probably not much of a nightlife out there, I’m guessing.”
“Perfect. You know how much I go out,” Stellan replied, earning a hard sigh from Ted.
“I don’t think your dad wanted you to work this hard. And I know he didn’t want you to be alone,” he added gently. Stellan nodded quickly as he looked around the office, avoiding Ted as his eyes watered.
“No. He wanted to go with me to Jötunndal. The plan was for us to do the research together.” Stellan was going to finish his second doctoral thesis and his father was finally going to write a book about Fenrir of Jötunndal. The giant wolf was an Old Norse myth and Stellan grew up hearing bedtime stories about it. Fenrir was like the Loch Ness monster and Bigfoot and Stellan’s dad had been obsessed with it since childhood. According to an old family legend, one of Stellan’s distant ancestors was sent to the woods as a sacrifice to Fenrir and was never heard from again. “We were going to rent a cabin and spend a year hunting in the woods but now it’s up to me to find the monster.”
“He’ll be there,” Ted promised and Stellan raised a brow at him.
“Dad or Fenrir? Knowing my luck, I’ll be the next Berg in the family to get eaten by a monster,” he muttered.
“Don’t be so negative. You’re…half a Viking,” Ted teased as he waved at Stellan. “A few months in the old country, eating Swedish meatballs and pickled herring, and you’ll be as big as a beast and ready to fight!” Ted said encouragingly. Stellan rolled his eyes as he pulled back his long blond hair and twisted it into a bun.
“I’m going to Norway, Ted,” he reminded him. “I’m sure there were girl Vikings too,” Stellan said under his breath. He was twenty-six but Stellan had the physique of a willowy college girl, minus the tits.
“I’m going to miss you, kid,” Ted chuckled as he reached for Stellan and pulled him into a hug.
“I’ll miss you too. I’m told there’s no internet up there but I should be able to get a boat to Sæbø once a week. I’m sure I’ll be calling you for help with this thesis and the book,” Stellan said and smiled as he patted Ted on the back.
“Any time. You’d better check in every week or I’m sending a search party.”
“Thanks. I’ll send lots of pictures and some pickled herring,” Stellan said, then gathered his coat and messenger bag on his way out. Ted grimaced as he held the door for Stellan and turned off the light.
“I’ve never had pickled herring. Is it any good?”
“I couldn’t tell you and I have no plans to find out.”