Lightning Scarred Read online

A feminine voice boomed in the air, an imitation of the booming lightning that she'd felt in the... Minutes? Days? Years? that she'd been in the midst of battle with lightning dancing around her as she tried to save the man and the child.

  "Take her back through," the voice said. "She will not live here for long, but in your own land, she has a chance of recovering. We shall keep her sword as our payment."

  An enormous polar bear dominated her field of vision and stared down at her. Then the light flickered and Magnihild saw a majestic woman, a giantess, standing over her.

  "Jörd!" Kolbyr gasped, sounding as if he were very far away.

  She and the goddess were alone in a bubble of white. The beautiful face with deep blue eyes, white hair, and skin the color of pine bark smiled. She wore a white hood and cloak made entirely from polar bear fur and a brown sealskin dress that skimmed her enormous hips and shimmered in the white light. She smelled like pine trees, fresh fallen snow, and honey. She looked like nothing the earth could produce, for all that Jörd was goddess of the earth. Her majestic attention filled Magnihild with a quaking fear.

  People beg the gods to smile upon them. But if they ever experienced it, they never would again. Jörd’s smile was warm, yes, but the kind of warmth that melted everything it came into contact with, erasing all things we build, whether of snow or stone, and reformulating human beings into tools and weapons to serve the gods.

  Finally, Jörd spoke to Magnihild in a deep feminine voice that held all the joy and terror of the world within it. "You are a worthy bride for Caedmon, our lightning-tested hero. We doubted you, but you did not hesitate to run heedlessly at enemies to save strangers. You are bold and audacious. You bear our marks, now and forever."

  The giantess knelt down and stroked along Magnihild's cheek, causing an avalanche of pain to cascade through her body. Magnihild curled into herself, sobbing as the goddess touched her forehead and then along her right harm. When it seemed as if the pain would overcome her, the giantess rose and became a large furry polar bear again, which was honestly a relief. Mortals couldn't look upon the true forms of gods without changing or dying. Magnihild felt she was doing both, having seen Jörd's true form.

  Her father lifted Magnihild into his arms, cuddling his god-damaged, lightning-scarred daughter. "You were brave," he whispered, but though he spoke to her, his eyes never left the Goddess' eyes.

  "Hurry," said the polar bear. "You do not have much time. The gateway to your world will seal and will not unseal until the day the sun stands still in the sky. You must leave now and go through the faerie ring that brought you here or you will never see your loved ones again."

  What faerie ring?

  "The ice ring," her father said in a tone of revelation as if he had heard and was answering Magnihild’s question. Kolbyr nodded agreement.

  "Go! She has a wedding to attend."

  "Wait." Magnihild pulled all of her strength into that one word. She reached for the polar bear. The goddess stopped, turning to Magnihild. In her enormous bear form she was both frightening and adorably furry. At least it didn't hurt to look upon her in this form.

  Magnihild tried to muster the strength to ask her question. But couldn't.

  The polar bear stared at her for a long moment, kindness in its white muzzle and dark eyes, before it responded to Magnihild's unspoken question.

  "You are asking what happens next?" Jörd's voice boomed in her head but no one else reacted. They must not be able to hear Jörd speak, she thought.

  Magnihild nodded. Even this small movement caused pain to jitter through her neck and she gasped.

  "If you live through the next fortnight, you will wed our hero, Caedmon. When we call upon him, we will call upon you. Know that a time is coming when all life will be threatened. Polar ice will melt, and your people may perish if action is not taken. Courage will be required. Your lightning scars are my wedding gift to you to remind you of your courage. Treasure them."

  The polar bear turned and swaggered up a hill of snow. Her movement seemed to be some sort of signal to the wolves that remained since they followed her as she moved further into the white continent.

  The pack of wolves had killed all but seven of the castaways: the man and the child Magnihild saved, another two men, two small children, and a woman named Viveka who had hidden herself and the children in an ice cave and fought from that vantage point. Magnihild approved of the woman's fast thinking with wolves approaching from all sides. She'd make a good fighter.

  Once everyone was on the ship, Magnihild noticed that Viveka was covered in gore. She wasn't sure whether the woman was injured or whether it was the blood of her companions, or whether it was wolf blood, but she asked her father to give Viveka one of her dresses to wear. The woman thanked her profusely.

  Magnihild's own clothing had burned wherever the lightning struck, so that her best wool cloak and linen shift had several singed holes that smelled of burnt hair and, incongruously, of the sharp resin of pine trees and the sweet smell of honey. She wrapped the cloak more tightly around herself and refused Kolbyr’s offer to bring her another dress. This dress and cloak had been touched by Jörd. Like the lightning burns decorating her body, they were sacred. Goddess-touched.

  Kolbyr and her father spread out a sealskin sleeping bag and tried to put her inside, but Magnihild didn't want to miss seeing what could be seen in the land of Thule before they left. She asked Kolbyr to help her stand.

  He levered her up to the railing and wrapped his arm around her back, providing just the smallest support to keep her from collapsing. Magnihild drank in the moment, recognizing in his manner the respect she'd earned as a warrior and as a woman. She didn't say anything, not wanting to embarrass either of them, but she leaned into his arm and smiled at him. He smiled back as if he were her own proud father.

  The ship approached the melting ice portal and patchy sections of mist that did not entirely fill the hole floated within. Even as the ship approached the ice portal, Magnihild could see the mist dispersing and cracks appearing in the ice. They didn't have much time left.

  "To oars," her father cried, and the men pushed the ship forward, trying to catch the mist before it vanished, trapping them in the Thule.

  As the ship entered the portal, a hunk of melting ice cracked and broke off from the top of the portal, falling at Magnihild's feet. The boom of the ice block against the deck of the ship echoed in her ears and she thought she heard the word, "Remember." The mist engulfed the ship and Magnihild felt a familiar dizziness and a strange taste in her mouth.

  As they pressed through the mist, pressure enveloped her head creating the worst headache she'd ever had. Strange greenish lights floated in wisps in the night sky and the weather changed from the warm spring day to bitter Arctic night.

  They sailed through the night and Magnihild kept watch, though the slight pain in her head never ceased. She did not want to miss one moment of this voyage. When the ship finally arrived at Caedmon's home port, they learned that they had been gone for exactly a year, though it had felt like less than a day.

  "It's the nature of Faerie lands to shift with time," said Kolbyr as if that settled everything. "Be grateful that you arrived here before he took another to wed.

  Magnihild nodded but she secretly thought that Jörd had arranged it this way. If they were to be Jörd's wedded champions, she had to arrive at the proper time, which must be now.

  Edda - Sif’s Yellow Cloak

  Translated from the Chronicle of Jörd; Author unknown

  Jörd, daughter of Nott, mother of Thor, summoned Loki.

  "Tell me where Sif's yellow cloak has gone."

  Loki's fire eyes glinted as he cocked his head.

  "Mother of Earth, perhaps Thor's wife is as man-mad as the beauteous Freyia."

  "Never," said Jörd, her eyes glittering dangerously.

  She cracked her knuckles sending earthly weasels quivering to their dens.

  The smell of burning fields rose from her hands.r />
  "All the Æsir know you wound with evil jokes, Loki.

  Slander faithful Sif again and I mix your mead with malice and murder."

  * * *

  Loki grinned, his voice like a sword. "Sif hides her cloak with her lover.

  Or her lover hides inside her cloak."

  Loki twisted his hands before Jörd making the lover's sign.

  * * *

  Furious then was Jörd. She paced and snorted in rage.

  Each pounding footfall caused the land to tremble and split asunder.

  Fish burst from water into air, flopping down on the shore.

  Maps of the shifting coasts turned as useless as a fouled sail on a sinking longship.

  * * *

  Loki laughed. "I am parched. My throat is too sore to speak.

  Bring your best mead. Then the truth is yours for a price."

  * * *

  Jörd stopped pacing and swung around to look at the trickster god. "What price?"

  * * *

  "A price so small, a giantess like you will barely notice it."

  Loki coughed and coughed again. "But not another word

  until good mead sluices over my dusty throat."

  * * *

  Jörd brought a giant carved-clay tanker, large as a stout man,

  with honey-sweet mead spilling from the rim.

  * * *

  The thirsty god drained it entire in one large gulp.

  He pressed the tankard to her for more.

  * * *

  "You're light-hearted, Loki, greedily drinking my best mead.

  Mocking my daughter-in-law's virtue. Speak now.

  Show me Sif's fine yellow cloak."

  * * *

  "Fair Jörd," Loki said, his voice sliding like seal fat over ice.

  "Give me what is under the cloak as payment."

  * * *

  Jörd's cunning gaze transformed her massive face as greed filled her heart.

  "Malevolent Loki, if you want what is hidden it is because you are trying to trick me.

  But I am too cunning for you. If you want it, then that is what I shall take.

  Whatever Sif hides under her cloak is mine. Pick another prize."

  * * *

  Loki argued, but Jörd was resolute.

  Finally, Loki said, "Give me your ring and I will show you what is under the cloak."

  * * *

  Jörd twisted the gold ring with its blood dark gemstone and tossed it to Loki.

  He placed it on his wrist, admiring the fit of the massive ring.

  Then he nodded and held out a hand.

  "Come with me, Jörd, to see wonders hidden beneath Sif's yellow cloak."

  * * *

  Jörd placed his burning hand over her icy one as he led her to Midgard.

  They walked north and north again.

  They came to a shimmering yellow curtain that hid its prize so well

  even Jörd couldn't fathom the wonders within.

  * * *

  Loki said, "Do you still want what is hidden, fair Jörd?

  * * *

  She touched the curtain and it parted for her.

  "It is mine, Loki. You will have none of it."

  Jörd rushed forward ahead of Loki to see her icy treasure.

  * * *

  With that, Loki stepped back through the yellow curtain into Midgard,

  He folded up the cloak and trapped Jörd there, on the frigid shores of Thule.

  * * *

  The giantess roared. Whales fled.

  Loki's crystal laugh fell like ice on her ears.

  * * *

  "In this icebound land, you shall sit from morning to night, and night to morn.

  Sif hid this place from you. Now her yellow cloak shall hide me from Thor.

  The pretty Sif is a finer mead than that provided by you, Jörd, mother of Thor.

  I will drink my fill."

  * * *

  Jörd's anguish echoed like seal song from ice to sea to land across all of Thule.

  Hush. Listen. You can hear her song carried by the North wind.

  Lightning and Shadow

  Magnihild's boots squeaked as she stepped through the freshly fallen snow that blanketed the mountainside. The wind sliced like an icy dagger against her skin even through the woolen dress and cloak she wore. Her best festival mittens lined with soft white fox fur kept her hands warm at least, though they were too fancy for a trek through the wilderness and too special to risk staining or losing. But Caedmon had pointed out that it was always best to present one's best face when asking for a boon from dangerous creatures. Her festival gloves were the only item of clothing she had that was both beautiful and suitable to the elements.

  Caedmon, also dressed in his warmest clothing, dragged a rawhide and wooden sledge packed tight with tørrfisk, hard rye bread, a change of clothing, and patties of fuel to melt ice to drink. It made a dull breakfast and Magnihild found herself wishing for her mother's porridge with bits of dried fruit. The sledge contained all they needed to survive on their own as well as a tightly wrapped parcel of trade goods to use in negotiations, if they found anyone to negotiate with. But it was a dull survival.

  Safely ensconced in the bodice of Magnihild's dress was a sealskin map drawn by a member of one of the Inuit tribes. The tribe sold the map with the sunstone location to Magnihild's father for six iron axes and a bright blue wool cloak that had belonged to her mother before the plague spread through their home.

  Neither of them knew what they would find in Thule's center, nor were the kingdom's elders or the Inuits who sold them the map much help. Some said that sunstones lay in heaps in the middle of the snow. Others, that a beautiful garden lay within the deepest center of the land, powered by sunstones scattered heedlessly about by Freyr. Some said that the sunstones were used in unholy worship ceremonies that no one could describe. Still others claimed that sunstones could only be had through clever deals with the ice witches. Magnihild knew Caedmon as a canny trader, so she hoped it was the last option.

  Two things were certain: First, Caedmon and Magnihild were the only ones known to survive godly lightning and were the only ones who could get through alive. Second, without the magic held within the sunstone, the healer's spells would continue to fail, their people would continue to die. Every year there were fewer of them in town. Every year more children and elders died of simple diseases that the healers should have been able to cure. The power of the sunstones would reverse that trend.

  The extra layer of soft snow made the sledge easier to pull even as it impeded Magnihild's own footsteps. Night came early here at this time of the year. As the sun set leaving the sky rippling with the colors of bruised skin, the increased cold prevented the sledge from moving easily. While they both wanted to find the witches and their rumored city of ice as soon as they could, it made no sense to expend energy pulling the sledge in poor conditions. Even taking breaks, alternating sledge-pulling duty, and stopping when the temperature dropped, they still couldn't eat enough for their bodies' needs.

  Magnihild could see Caedmon's muscles standing out within his lightning-scarred skin since he'd lost the fat that covered them. She knew she must also be losing weight as they fought the cold and ice. His red-brown hair, normally so neatly combed and caught in a warrior braid, was stiff with seal fat and dusted with a light coating of snow. Even his beard was covered with a layer of little ice crystals formed by the snow.

  Magnihild knew she must look similarly icy and disheveled, but she had ceased to care about her appearance the day she'd been struck by lightning. She bore the scars of that day all over her body in the form of red lines that looked like fine branches of trees. A year later she still felt random pains that moved along the branches of the lightning strikes and terrible headaches that sent her to bed for days at a time. No one but her husband Caedmon, who had undergone the same terrible test, understood how it felt.

  She'd thought that had been the worst challenge she'd ever
faced. But now the desperate tedium and hunger of the long days of walking and pulling the sledge without a single sign of gods, demons, gardens, or ice witches brought her to despair. With each step Magnihild felt more and more that this was a fool's errand.

  Each step felt heavier than the last and she couldn't remember ever feeling truly warm. She knew that Caedmon must be feeling the same. After a year of marriage, she could read his moods by the slight downturn of his full lips, rough from the wind, and the movements of his hazel eyes.

  They had packed their sledge with enough food, fuel, and clothing for a month-long journey. Or so they'd thought. Only two weeks had passed since they left their ship in the hands of Caedmon's captain and started alone on the trek to the ice witches. They only had enough food left for another week unless they got lucky and found something they could kill and eat. So far the route to the sunstones hadn’t crossed any animal migration pathways. They'd seen a seal, but it had dived as soon as it spotted them. Caedmon had flung his axe, but he'd missed and now his axe lay somewhere under the ice at the bottom of the frozen sea.

  Last night, wrapped in their sealskin sleeping bags, their legs entwined more for warmth than passion, she'd wondered if Caedmon would turn back if she pretended to be sick. She worked it out in her head, deciding on the exact sort of illness and when she would do it. She'd made the same strategic decisions every night for the last five nights of gloom and muscle pain. But as each day danwed, her pride would not let her give up as long as Caedmon depended on her.