CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

Donna’s heart squeezed in anticipation as she saw the end of the fjord approaching with colorful Scandinavian houses scattered on the hills.

Vörnen.

There was no wooden fortress, no longhouses, and no dragonships. But the same tall walls of the mountains, the pebbled beach, and the gray autumn undergrowth where Sigurd and she had made love stole her breath away.

The boat docked and the tourists walked off. Donna waited until everyone else had descended. Then she savored the moment when her feet touched the ground where every pebble and grain of sand was soaked in Sigurd’s presence.

It was just the day before yesterday that had Donna won the case, and the urge to find Sigurd had become more powerful than the need to breath. Donna worried if Sigurd had forgotten all about her, since who knew how much time had passed back in his time. Had he gotten married? Did he have any children by now? The thought made her skin clammy and made her chest clench till it ached.

On the bright side, Daniel had quickly agreed to become a partner in the firm. Mother was having a hard time accepting the idea, even after his offer of a very impressive buy-in.

Donna’s conscience was clean. Donna had told her that she’d likely never return and wouldn’t be able to have contact with her for reasons beyond her control. But that she’d be very happy with the man she loved. The morning Donna had to leave, Mom had driven her to the airport but hadn’t wanted to go inside.

She’d kept silent for a while, then looked at Donna with bloodshot eyes. “You are brave, Donna. You are doing something I wouldn’t have dared to do—not after Joseph.”

Donna squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Mom. I love you.” She hugged her and walked out of the car with a sunken heart. Mom rolled the window down and said, “I’ll be brave, too. I’ll accept Daniel.”

The air in Vörnen did not taste as sweet as she remembered, Donna thought as she rolled a tiny carry-on over the icy pavement. She wore the most practical clothes she could think of: jeans, a thick sweater, and the warmest and most durable boots she could find. Her carry-on contained medicine, underwear, warm clothes, a few hygienic items, and books. She’d miss books.

Even though Donna would miss her mother, she felt at peace with her. She felt like she’d said her goodbye.

Donna did not even book a lodging in Vörnen. With sweating palms and a pounding heart, she walked straight to the arch, almost not recognizing which way to go. Was she in the right place? It was as if this was not Vörnen at all. No chickens, no goats, no men with axes nor women in apron dresses. Instead, the rustle of passing cars against the asphalt, the smell of vanilla from a bakery, stern faces of people leaving a bank. This all seemed too normal, too real, as if Sigurd, the fortress, and his people had never even existed.

She swallowed a hard knot. But they had, they must have. Her heavy boots thumped against the asphalt faster and faster, until she was running towards the west where she saw the forest behind the roofs of the houses. This must be where the arch had been.

Donna’s pulse pounded in her temples as the last dark-red house of the village revealed two rock walls and a footworn pathway. No palisade.

And no arch.

Donna dropped the handle of her carry-on and ran towards the rocks, her feet heavy.

No, no, no. This could not be.

Her hands were glued to the rock wall, hungry to feel that sensation of being sucked in, but nothing happened. Magic did not fill the cold, rough surface. They were just rocks.

Life must have left her for a moment. Her heart skipped a beat, her mind went blank, and despair poured over her like a bucket of ice water.

She hit the rocks with both palms. “Take me back, damn you!” The sharp parts stabbed her skin, but the pain did not matter. She slid down the rock and just sat there. The sun began to descend and she blinked as its gentle light tickled her eyes through the bare branches of the trees.

This was it. No more Sigurd. This time, for real.

Donna stood up from the ground and could barely straighten her back. Her stomach hurt as if there was a ragged wound in the center of her body.

Tears burned her eyes and she did not stop them. What would she do now? Was there any coming back from this? Was it even worth living this life, a life without Sigurd?

Donna walked towards her carry-on where it lay by the path. She picked it up and rolled it down the path towards the village. She probably needed to find somewhere to stay for tonight, not that she cared if she slept under a bridge or in a bed.

As she passed by a few houses, a glint of gold somewhere to the side caught her eye, and she glanced there. On top of a house with a low, thatched roof sat an old woman. She was knitting and waved her hand at Donna. Needles prickled Donna’s skin when she recognized the Norn.

Donna hurried to the building, and the Norn began speaking a foreign language that sounded oddly familiar. Seeing that Donna did not understand her, the woman switched to English, “Oh, I forgot you don’t speak Old Norse in this century. I wanted to say I was surprised when you left Sigurd.”

The golden spindle lay next to the woman, and Donna’s mouth became as dry as sandpaper.

“Send me back.” Hope started to fill Donna, but she forbade it to. It was too early to hope. Her palms were covered in sweat.

The Norn smiled at her like a good old universal grandma. “Your tapestry shone when you were back there, with Sigurd.”

“Will you send me then?”

“If I do, you won’t be able to come back. You won’t get any more chances.”

Donna’s throat clenched. “I am ready.”

The Norn jumped off the roof like a little girl. With a soft smile, she held out the golden spindle.

“Don’t forget your luggage.” She winked at Donna.

Donna grabbed the handle of her carry-on and took a deep breath. “Sigurd, I’m coming,” she thought and took the spindle. The Norn and the Scandinavian houses disappeared. Pain wracked Donna as she felt as if the blood was sucked out of her, and she began spinning like the golden spindle.

 

#

Sigurd was on his way back from hunting, a deer carcass thrown over his shoulders. There was not much to do in winter other than hunt, fish, drink and tell stories that made the gods, the Norns, and the giants come alive. Winter was full of songs that people sang together in the smoky air of longhouses, firepits that glowed in the darkness of the long nights, and the crunch of snow as you walked from house to house in search of a new story or a fresh pint of mead.

The western gate darkened in twilight in front of him. Whenever he had to pass through it, he flinched, the ghost of Donna ever present. It tortured him. He avoided looking at it and chased away the hope of seeing her. Desperation clawed at his heart like a hungry lynx.

Once, he had even gone to the arch intending to find the way to time travel to the future, to Donna.

But nothing had happened.

And nothing would. He’d just need to learn to live with the pain.

He opened the gate to walk towards the village and saw a figure standing with her back to him. She was dressed in strange clothes, had long golden hair, and was the same height and build as his goddess. His heart froze, as if afraid to make the next beat.

She turned in that moment, and time stood still.

Donna.

Their eyes locked. Sigurd took a step towards her but fell to his knees, the deer carcass dropping to the snow next to him. She glowed as if the stars from the sky had descended and filled her whole body with their light. Did his mind just show him what he had been imagining for so long?

“Is that you?” A cloud of condensation from his mouth brought the words out in a gasp.

Donna rushed to him, her cheeks pink from the frost, her hair falling in a golden cascade. She fell to her knees right in front of him and took his gloved hands in hers.

“I came back.”

He removed his suede gloves and grasped her hands again to check if he could really feel them, and they burned his skin with their coolness. She must have been outside for some time.

Donna reached out to kiss him, but he leaned back. Before he could believe she really was here, he had to know. “Why?” he searched her face for signs of the answer he craved to hear.

“Because I love you.” Donna’s eyes glimmered like the sea under the summer sun.

If Thor had struck him with lightning, he would not be more affected. A ringing vibration went through his body as if he were a string on a lyre. Tears burned the corners of his eyes.

“As do I—with everything that I am, my Goddess.”

He kissed her, the taste of her so familiar and so sweet, the scent of her making the world spin as if he had just drunk mead the likes of which was only served by Odin in Valhöll.

“I’ll break the arch tomorrow,” he growled into her mouth. “You are stuck with me forever.”

“Promise?”

“Swear to all gods.”