Fenrir by K. Sterling
4
It was the perfect morning to go exploring. Stellan felt invigorated as the crisp sea air bit at his cheeks and whipped at his hair while he marched along the shore. He stopped now and then so he could peer through the mist but the rest of the world was gone. It had been swallowed by a heavy fog that had descended upon the fjord. Jötunndal truly felt like its own realm and a million miles away from civilization. Stellan filled his lungs with the icy breeze as it came off the water and they burned and his nose stung.
“Amazing!” He whispered and hopped over a large rock and paused when he heard voices as he approached a small cape. Stellan recognized Gustav’s barking laugh but there was that hard edge to it again. Stellan heard Fritjof and ducked behind the massive, moss-covered boulders so he wouldn’t interrupt them and make it awkward.
“You don’t have to do it this time,” Gustav ground out and Stellan heard a chuckle.
“It’s always been our way and it’s not your place to tell me how to run Jötunndal, is it? I’m head of this family and this town,” Fritjof reminded Gustav in his usually brisk but cheerful way.
“But it doesn’t have to be this way!” Gustav argued and there were sounds of pushing and a struggle.
“You’re welcome to pack your things and go someplace else if you don’t like it,” Fritjof said and Gustav snorted.
“And leave my wife and everything I have?”
“She understands her place and our ways.”
“Ulla’s afraid of you and stays for her sister,” Gustav spat back and Fritjof laughed softly.
“As I said, Ulla understands. You can do as you’re told and stay out of my way or you can leave,” he said and there was a muttered string of curses as Gustav left. Stellan was shocked to hear the two men fighting and even more surprised that Fritjof could be so abrupt and dismissive with Gustav. It wasn’t like Fritjof to be anything but generous and kind so Stellan backed away and headed in the other direction.
He decided it wasn’t any of his business or his place to tell Fritjof how to handle family quarrels. It wasn’t long before Stellan was once again caught up in the gray moodiness of the chilly morning. He climbed the large boulders and peered through the fog and skipped stones as he plodded along the shore.
Stellan spent the day poking at the tide pools and watching one of Fritjof’s ancient aunts smoke fish. It was a perfect day and he was starving after a quick shower and a change into a heavier sweater and corduroys. He’d wandered too far down the shore and missed middag but the bonfire was massive and blazing when Stellan presented himself for kveldsmat.
“There you are!” Ulla said as she pushed a plate at Stellan. It was heavy and he blinked down at the egg-topped mountain of hash.
“You’ve been feeding too many Jötunnsens!” He laughed and gave his head a shake as he went to join Fritjof and Gustav.
“I think your wife is trying to kill me,” Stellan told Gustav as he lowered onto the bench next to him and gave him a playful nudge. Gustav grunted in agreement as he glared at Fritjof and Stellan wondered how long they’d stay mad at each other. It seemed so uncharacteristic for anyone in Jötunndal to even raise their voice, let alone hold a grudge. “I was wondering if there were any other mythological creatures known to be roaming the area,” he asked, hoping a change of subject might smooth things over. Fritjof laughed as he reached across the table and gave Stellan’s arm an affectionate punch.
“Not as fascinating as ours!” He declared then looked at the woods as a long, high howl broke the cozy peace and made Stellan shiver. “Let me get you some glögg to warm you and then I’ll tell you about Huld over in Huldradal,” Fritjof said as he got up and Gustav’s eyes tightened as he watched him go.
“I’m not that cold. It’s really pleasant out, actually,” Stellan observed then jumped when Gustav swung back to him.
“You really don’t want to be here, Stellan,” he whispered harshly and Stellan frowned.
“What? Of course, I do. My father and I—“
“Yes. I know. But I’m telling you, it’s time you were leaving,” Gustav said slowly and clearly and Stellan shook his head.
“This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve saved for years and there’s nothing waiting for me when I get back. Except Ted but that’s just because he feels sorry for me,” he explained and Gustav’s face scrunched as he shook his head.
“I can’t help you with that but I can get you out of here tonight. You need to go and pack now, though,” he said quietly and widened his eyes at Stellan.
“You’re not listening to me,” Stellan laughed as he shook his head. “I get that it’s really rustic here but I don’t mind!”
“You have adapted well since you arrived,” Fritjof said as he set Stellan’s glass of glögg on the table with a loud thunk! and sat across from him.
“I thought so too. I was just telling Stellan that I was impressed. Most visitors leave as soon as they learn we don’t have any WiFi and they can’t get a signal on their smartphones,” Gustav lied so Stellan grinned and raised a shoulder as he sipped. The glögg was stout and heavily spiced with cinnamon, ginger and cardamom and Stellan’s nose ran as breathed in the heady fumes.
“I told him, I came prepared. I’ve waited my whole life to get here and nothing could scare me away,” he stated and raised his brows at Gustav. He rolled his eyes and muttered something into his beer stein.
“Have you heard of Huld and her Mara?” Fritjof asked and Stellan nodded but gestured for him to continue. Fritjof wagged a finger at Stellan as he hunkered over his glass. “Of course, you have!” He chuckled.
“According to legends, Huld was a sorceress, wasn’t she?” Stellan asked and Fritjof sighed happily as he drank.
“That she was and you might be the smartest young man that’s ever set foot in Jötunndal,” he noted. He gave Stellan’s arm another affectionate shake then gestured at his glass. “Drink up before your glögg gets cold!” He insisted and Stellan nodded and took a large gulp.
“Tell me about Huld,” Stellan urged. He hugged his glass and sipped as Fritjof dazzled him with stories of a forest witch and maids who could turn into sand and slip through cracks. It was a riveting tale and Fritjof had Stellan hanging on his every word until the words began to drag and the evening became a muddled blur around them. “I don’t feel so well,” Stellan told Fritjof before he was helped into his cabin and rolled into bed.