CHAPTER IV - The Thorns of Love
"Adam, my daughter will be staying with us now,” Ivar explained to me come morning. I nodded my head in understanding, trying to dispel that irrational anger bubbling up inside of me once again.
“So you will sleep downstairs in the shop, I will sleep in my usual bed, and Ingrid shall sleep in the attic,” Ivar continued. He paused to stare thoughtfully into my face then went on after taking a deep breath. “It’s improper for a girl her age to sleep in the same room with a young man, and I won’t have her sleeping in my shop with tools lying about,” he said in firm tones. I nodded my understanding. His words made absolute sense: his house was fairly small, a girl should not sleep near a man, and the shop was the last remaining spot in the house where one could sleep. Yet somehow, despite all common-sense, I felt I was being robbed of my bed, being driven away, even banished from my domain. I know it doesn’t make sense, but this is how I felt. I fought my rage and tried to master my thoughts.
With my eyes to the floor I gathered my few belongings and made room for myself in the smithy. Ingrid watched me, yet I could not bring myself to return the gaze.
“What kind of name is Adam?” She suddenly asked, as she watched me walking about.
“W-what?” I asked, surprised by the question.
“I am sooorry,” Ingrid said, drawing out each syllable slowly as if I was dumb or deaf. “My father told me that you don’t speak very well,” she said, nodding her head up and down.
“Yes,” I replied, taking a deep breath. My patience was growing thin; I wanted her away from me.
“What kind of name is Adam? I’ve never heard it before,” she asked.
“It means ‘Man’,” I replied, speaking plainly, trying to overcome my accent.
“That’s it?” She asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Do you know what my name means?” She asked, obviously wishing to tell me. I had no idea, but I played with the thought of her name meaning ‘in-greed’, ‘inbreed’, or any such wordplay.
“You’re quite odd, being so stiff, and then smiling all of a sudden for no apparent reason,” she said, and I turned red.
“It means ‘beautiful’,” she boasted after an awkward silence.
“What?” I asked, not following her thoughts.
“My name, Ingrid, it means ‘beautiful’,” she said.
“It fits,” I replied.
“What?” She asked.
“The name beautiful fits you, you are beautiful,” I replied, only now realizing the truth of it.
‘Why the hell would I have said something like that? I hate her!’ I thought.
“You think I’m beautiful?” She asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “No!”
“Well, how can you tell if you keep looking at the floor?” She asked, and I raised my eyes to look into hers.
“I fink you’re beautiful, Ingrid, daughter of Ivar,” I replied, feeling my heart beat too fast and my face grow a shade too red. I looked away like a frightened mouse cornered by a cat.
“Oh, will you stop pestering the boy!” Ivar called, and I took my opportunity to get away from her as quickly as possible while they exchanged loud words in a language I could not understand. I hated her for sure, and wanted her gone; that’s why she put a spell on me back then, to force me to love her. I’ve heard before about the spells women can cast, I was always certain I could resist, I didn’t even like them. They were loud and annoying.
Days passed, and my fears came to pass. Ivar spent his free time with Ingrid, exchanging words in their native language. Though he kept his word and continued to teach me both his craft and the sword, his affection shifted to his daughter now. I felt discarded, and resented them both for it. Silently, my dissatisfaction grew day by day, and a selfish rage consumed me. I worked harder every day and tried to excel at everything I did, yet Ivar’s attention and praise remained focused on his daughter, and I ... I felt like a strange-ling amongst them, more now than ever. Is it so surprising that upon feeling discarded, I thought of my parents once again, and the life I had before Drentwych? The more I thought, the further away from them I wanted to be. But I couldn’t leave; there wasn’t a place for me to go, and the world outside is cruel and harsh.
Despair, injustice and the cold hand of vengeance can sway even a noble man to do dark deeds. ‘Sacrifices must be made!’ Edmund told himself, as he choked the life out of Ingrid’s mother. He watched, with a morbid appreciation no mortal man can fathom, the final moments before life is forever extinguished. He gazed into her eyes, and was saddened for only a moment. For with her dying breath all Ingrid’s mother could think of was her poor daughter, and the fate she’ll face with the eternal absence of her mother. Ingrid was young; only a child. But Edmund too, had children, and this woman’s last desperate thought suddenly rekindled a feeling he had not felt since his undeath. It was as if the roots of a delicate seed pierced a hard and cold rock to find sustenance below — an ember of hope, a spark of the noble man he once was, before falling to darkness.
“I’m home, Mama!” Said Ingrid as she opened the door. Her eyes widened with terror as she saw her mother, lying lifeless on the floor, her eyes open, gazing into nothing. Luckily, Ingrid failed to register the looming shadow, which departed through the window.
“Mama!” Ingrid screamed, and ran to her mother while Edmund fled into the shadows of darkness. Yet, in his way, he had shown her mercy.
Now the Undead Lord gazed at Ivar’s smithy and the children there. He had come to know them: Ingrid, pretty and proud and Adam, thin and angry. Edmund was always of a patient nature; he had time, all the time in the world. He would study his prey and his family. He would wait for the proper moment where he will strike like a venomous serpent, extracting cold vengeance in the manner that will hurt the most. All who were responsible for his demise will suffer — each and every one of them, from the high Cnut to this smith.
Present day...
It was late evening; the school on Isserlis street in Tel-Aviv was completely vacant. Across the street from the school stood a commercial building housing several companies, including a Publishing house and a TV studio where Jaunee was now being interviewed.
“Strike Team Alpha; move to position.” Was heard over a secure radio channel, and armed soldiers quickly cut the fence and entered the empty school. “Taking positions on rooftops and behind windows.”
It was a calm day like those that had come before. A warm spring had arrived and all the snow had melted. The ground everywhere was sprinkled with the green of grass, and wild flowers. I loved that season and the relief it brought from the terrible winter that had just passed. Winter always steered sad thoughts into my mind.
As I worked with Ivar in the smithy upon a cozy noon, a messenger came and informed Ivar that the Lords wish to see him at once.
“Adam, I have to go, I shall return within a week or so. In the meanwhile, you are in charge of the smithy and my home,” Ivar said, and fondly slapped my back. I nearly toppled over, unbalanced by the casual strength the old smith had in him.
“I shall not disappoint you, Master,” I said as he swallowed his laughter at seeing me nearly topple over. Then his tones turned serious and he gazed into my eyes.
“Adam, you’re the man of the house now, and I expect you to care for Ingrid as I would. You know, she has lost her mother to the plague and grows quite fearful when she is alone.” My eyes widened with disbelief; no, I did not know her mother had died. Neither of them had ever spoken of it, at least not to me. My shock was not for the fact her mother had died — I had assumed something was amiss when the young maiden suddenly came to live with us, but from the realization that Ingrid has feelings beyond that of superiority over me.
“I shall not disappoint you, Master,” I replied sternly.
“Good, and you shall make no attempts to woo my daughter,” Ivar added.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied. He snorted, and then gave me a crooked smile
“Of course not. You’d never dishonor me after all I’ve given you,” he said. “I have complete faith in you,” he added and left.
I took his tools and continued his work, proud to be given this opportunity to be self-sufficient, both as a smith and as a man. As I worked, my mind began to wonder at the puzzle that was Ingrid. I remember this day in vivid clarity, for it was the first of mysteries I tried to solve. It set my mind thinking.
‘I know that Ivar is a nobleman, or was a nobleman yet makes no mention of it while he works as a common smith. There may be many reasons for that, from loss of status to simple humbleness. He often discusses honor and proper conduct, so it is safe to assume his loss of status is not due to shameful acts on his part. Why he does not live with his wife and daughter is a mystery.
‘I had assumed Ingrid was a bastard child, which would explain her obnoxious behavior and why Ivar would not live with her and her mother. Yet Ivar perhaps has no wife at all. So why not live with his daughter and her mother? It’s a mystery I cannot answer. Having no-one else in the world, it’s quite clear why Ingrid would come here, and Ivar, being of a generous nature would take her in, despite a loss of status in Drentwych. One piece of the puzzle, though, doesn’t make sense. There was a man in dirty armor and clothes, who sometimes watches the house. While he speaks not a word and always departs when he is noticed, his first appearance coincided with Ingrid’s first appearance, so it is safe to assume both are related’. These were my thoughts as I wrestled with the puzzle.
I decided to address the man when next I saw him, now that Ivar wasn’t around to scold me for doing so. I closed shop as usual, waiting for the opportunity to solve the enigma.
After I closed the shop Ingrid said she was going to wash in the river, and requested that I guard her. I nodded my consent and followed her when she was ready. I was silent, proud, and stern as I accompanied her, feeling quite pleased with myself for acting in a chivalric manner. As she washed I did not peek even once, trying to be as virtuous as I knew I should. After she dressed herself loosely, she sat by a tree and requested that I come closer.
I did as instructed, yet kept my eyes firmly on the grass. She sat near a tree with her back to me, and I took careful, nervous step after careful, nervous step towards her. Something in the way she sat and the way she spoke seemed out of place to me.
“Yes Mistress?” I asked, as I stood behind her nervously, trying to banish the inappropriate thoughts which stirred in me.
“Do you find me beautiful?” She asked, looking into the blue river as the sun was setting behind us.
“Wh-why do you ask?” I stuttered nervously.
“And why do you always answer a question with a question?” She replied, quite angry at my response.
“It’s a habit of me people, I can’t help it,” I joked.
“What?” She asked, obviously not having considered the idea that I, too, might have a ‘people.’
“I find you beautiful, Mistress,” I replied honestly. She was indeed fair upon the eyes, with her blond hair and an absent-minded expression that made her blue eyes seem a bit dreamy. Even her nose which wasn’t pretty, gave her some character; a measure of humanity.
“So why don’t you ever say anything?” She asked.
“Because usually, I have nothing to say,” I replied honestly. I did not understand her question the same way she did, for she was the first maiden in my proximity, I did not know they like to be flattered.
“Oh! Never mind!” She spat out angrily.
“What did I say to upset you?” I asked, frustrated. I did not understand this girl, nor what she was trying to tell me.
“Nothing, comb my hair,” she replied, disappointed. Caught somewhere between anger and frustration, I grabbed the comb and held it as tightly as one would hold a sword. Yet, as I touched her hair and combed it, I did so as gently as I could.
“You have quite the gentle touch for a boy,” she commented as I worked, and I took it as an insult.
“Yes, I’m quite frail as well,” I replied bitterly.
“I don’t think you’re frail, you seem to be growing stronger daily,” she responded, trying perhaps to mend broken pride.
“I do try,” I said, still taking her every word as an insult.
“I know, I see how you fist-fight your shadow at night when you think we’re all asleep,” she said, laughing. “And how you pretend your broom is a sword and fence against your shadow when you’re left to clean alone.” I grew deadly silent.
‘My secrets so openly revealed!’ I thought. My mind flickered between shame and rage. She must have read my face, for she looked at me, puzzled, her laughter dying on her lips.
“Why are you always so angry? I wasn’t trying to offend you, I thought it was funny,” she said as her eyes sought mine.
“tis’ not funny,” I replied. I wanted this exchange of words to be over with, but I wasn’t in control here, and it drove me mad.
“Alright, I apologize. Now will you tell me why you are always so angry?” She asked.
“I don’t know,” I told her, looking at the grass. There were many reasons and she chief amongst them.
“So why don’t you try talking to me instead of sulking all the time?” She asked.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked honestly, hoping for once she would reveal to me what she’d like to hear and be done with it.
“Whatever is on your mind that’s causing you to be so angry every time I come near you,” she replied.
“I fink I love you,” was my simple reply. “And I know I should not,” I added bitterly. As these words were finally spoken out in the open, I felt as if a great burden has been lifted off my shoulders. I was surprised at myself; I did not realize I cared for her in any positive way until I confessed it, both to myself and to her.
She blinked twice, perhaps stunned by my answer, and I lowered my face, feeling ashamed of myself. With one finger she touched my chin and lifted my face so that my brown eyes could look into the blue of hers. My heart raced ever so fast, and I felt like a mouse trying to escape a hungry cat.
She looked intently into my eyes for a few moments, and then, after making some sort of silent decision, she closed her eyes. She moved her face so close to mine that I could hear and feel her breath. I closed my eyes then, and felt her lips touch mine. It was as if a feather had touched me, so light a touch that I was uncertain as to whether or not she had touched me at all. Her lips were chilly and soft, a wonderful, tender sensation such as I had never felt before. It was as if for a moment we both ascended to the heavens, so light we were.
Her right hand, which before had held my chin, now caressed my cheek, and somehow my right hand mirrored her own and caressed hers in return. Her fingers felt so soft as they touched my skin, and her cheek was likewise so smooth and delicate, that I took enormous pleasure in her touch. The world spun and faded away, all wrongs were made right, and I felt a moment of almost perfect happiness. The bitter notion that I had betrayed Ivar’s trust stung my heart, yet my mind quickly sought ways in which to set things right with him — perhaps there would be a way for him to accept and endorse our love.
Ingrid then moved her head back, opening her eyes, and I did the same after sensing her movement. We sat there for a long time, silently looking into each other’s eyes. It seemed we’d shared a silent bond; the kind no words could ever achieve. I wanted so much to tell her how I felt, to confide in her about my hopes and dreams. I wanted to openly bare my soul and let her see the purity of my feelings. I wanted to sing of love and forget all that is dark. But I had no words for these things, so I watched her silently and hoped she would understand.
We did not leave the river until night had fallen and it was too cold to remain outside. Though we slept apart, she, so far above and I, so far below, she was never far from my thoughts, and I would have almost slept in peace that night, if only I could have forgotten that I had betrayed Ivar’s trust.
On that evening when young love first bloomed, the dark figure appeared again, watching us. Ingrid was fast asleep while I battled my shadow outside, wooden sword in hand. I could always tell when he was about, as the hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood upright, and a chill penetrated my bones. I have always had this feeling — always when he was about, even when I couldn’t see or hear him. This time, as I practiced my swings, I tried to focus, to listen and feel the movement of the wind, to sense his position.
Promptly, without warning I turned to him as he hid in the darkness, observing me. I walked quickly towards him and he slowly retreated towards an alley. Little did I know at the time, that he only observed the house to gauge whether or not Ivar had left the smithy that had been prompted by the latter. Edmund retreated deeper into the alley as I closed in. I was like a fly assaulting a spider’s web.
“Hey you, who may you be?” I asked. The figure gazed at me for a moment, making a decision. Then he started walking slowly towards me. I could sense the eagerness, and how he tried to hide his eagerness with slow steps. I held the sword in front of me, in a defensive position.
“You watch us constantly, I know!” I said, and he halted, realizing something was very wrong. He seemed surprised I could see him, yet it was clear to me that he was constantly there. I had not realized at the time that I had the cursed gift to sense creatures such as him despite their attempts to obfuscate and misdirect my senses.
“Who are you?” I asked again, feeling my heart pound within my chest. The thought that perhaps it was folly to approach him finally penetrated my thick skull.
“I am Edmund Ironside,” he said, and obviously expected some reaction. The fact of the matter was, I had no idea this was the previous, now dead king of England.
“Alright,” I said, registering the name “Why are you watching the Smithy?” I asked, truly oblivious to what was supposed to be common knowledge. He closed the distance between us with impossible speed, and grabbed hold of my sword-arm.
“Revenge,” He said venomously, expressing each syllable to give it meaning.
I acted out of instinct, trying to pull my sword-arm free while punching his stomach with all my strength. I wasn’t nearly strong enough to wriggle my hand free, but when my fist connected with his armor I hurt him. There were little whiffs of smoke coming out from beneath his clothes. He let go of me, took a few steps backwards, and from beneath his mask I could see his eyes glowing in hatred and shock. Little did I know, I had somehow hurt the revenant with a mere punch. I was too frightened to actually process the myriad of thoughts going through my head. I fled as fast as I could to the smithy. I barred the door and remained awake, vigilantly guarding our home.
‘Revenge,’ he had said. Surely I was not his target. I may have been an angry bully, but surely I’ve made no offense which warranted the attention of this Lord.
Likewise, Ingrid, while annoying in the extreme when she was not perfectly lovable, could warrant no such dire enemy. It was only then that I solved the puzzle. Ivar kept his distance to protect his family, and then traveled to Drentwych to protect himself. With the death of Ingrid’s mother, accidental or intentional, he was left with no choice but to accept Ingrid into his fold. Perhaps this was why he insisted that I be ever vigilant. Perhaps this is why he had taken me in, in the first place. He did seem proud that I was strong, and he did train me in the use of a sword … no, I’m getting ahead of myself. Ivar was not the cunning sort; surely a scheme of this magnitude could only live in my mind.
‘I best not delve into the matter any further,’ I thought.
Come morning, I opened the smithy and worked as usual, hiding from Ingrid and the world what had transpired. As I struck hammer to anvil my mind drifted to many thoughts, trying to make sense of things which could not be explained. By evening I decided that I probably had a vivid dream, and that none of this is real. I slept soundly that night, and resumed normal life the day after.
Edmund fled this horrid child, in the darkness, taking off his armor and shirt, to inspect his injury. Beneath his armor his skin was gray and dead, and yet there was a scorch mark, where a child’s fist made contact with his armored flesh. As far as Edmund knew, he was virtually immune to harm. He could survive cuts and bruises easily, as he has done when attacked by bandits. His flesh easily knitted together and he did not bleed. Yet, this child, this skinny, brown child had struck a blow, and it hurt like an inferno burning his flesh. Edmund reasoned that perhaps there were limitations to his powers. Perhaps God or the Devil, for their own reasons had made him vulnerable to the innocence of children. Though he could probably endure many such blows from children, Edmund would not take the chance. He would wait and study. There were questions that demanded answers. How could the boy have sensed him, when no-one else could? How could he have been damaged by a child? Edmund decided to postpone attacking Ivar…for now…the dead has time.
When Ivar returned the following week he had no idea that his daughter and I were in love or that we were in any mortal danger. We kept a façade of ‘business as usual’, up trying to prevent his knowledge of and subsequent interference in our romance. I knew that I had gravely wronged him, and the rational side of me screamed every time my eyes met his. But that other, irrational side of me believed that love conquers everything and that Ivar too, once he witnessed the purity of our love, would come to accept it and approve.
“How fared you handling my shop?” Ivar asked with a raised brow one day, as I held a slab of iron with his pliers and he worked his hammer on it.
“I fink I fared well,” I replied between blows.
“I see you’ve managed to make a barrel on your own,” he replied.
“Yes, I have,” I replied, and smiled proudly.
“And how fared you handling my daughter?” He asked in the same light tones ― yet he stopped hitting his hammer as he spoke and waited for an answer.
“I fared well handling her,” I said, and smiled, then blushed, apprehending what I had just said and quickly correcting myself. “I mean, Master, she fared well and gave me no trouble, Master,” I quickly added, glowing a shade too red.
“Is that so?” He asked, and raised his brow.
“Yes, she only requested my assistance in combing her hair and other such menial tasks,” I quickly answered.
“I see. Very well, then,” he replied, and resumed his hammering, satisfied for the moment. Yet fear came to nest in my heart once again, fear that our love would be discovered and the happiness I knew would be over. Ever since the day I had combed her hair I was in heaven and held no other thought or desire in my heart, save that of marrying Ingrid someday. In my mind, I saw myself telling Ivar of my humble request, and imagined that he would slap my shoulder, smiling.
“Of course, Adam, your love is true, and I trust you will take great care of my daughter,” he would say. Then I would take her in my arms and kiss her. When he would grow old and retire, I would take over his trade and provide for him and my wife and all of our sons and daughters. We would all be one happy family. In a bold, unthinking moment my mouth opened of its own accord, fueled by my hopes and dreams.
“Master,” I began, taking a deep breath.
“Yes, Adam,” he replied, and paused his hammering again. I took a moment to steady myself.
“I would like to marry your daughter,” I said, raising my voice more than I intended to in my excitement. He gazed deeply into my eyes, and I forced myself to meet his gaze, as a man.
‘He’ll never accept me if I’m not a man,’ I thought to myself.
“Absolutely not!” He replied sternly, holding back a rage I had never before seen in his eyes.
“Why not? I will provide for her, and for you when you grow old, I will be faithful ...” I began.
“I said no, Adam!” He repeated.
“What’s all the fuss about?” Ingrid said as she approached, overhearing our raised tones.
“Adam, I’d like you to leave my home now and never return,” Ivar declared in restrained tones, holding back his anger.
“Ingrid, I ...” I began, as my face flushed red and my eyes burned.
“Now!” Ivar roared.
“Goodbye, then,” I blurted out, discarding the tools and walked away.
“I asked one simple thing of you …” Ivar said to my back, “… and you betrayed me!”
“Father!” Ingrid called.
“She is a high-born girl, not fit for the likes of you!” He proclaimed. I turned around, outside his shop now. My fists clenched, I looked him in the eyes, full of spite and rage.
“I would have treated her as a goddess, she’d have had no want in life as my wife,” I avowed.
“Begone!” Ivar yelled.
“Adam!” Ingrid called.
“Farewell, Ivar, farewell Ingrid,” I said, turning around and walking away feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. Ingrid tried to rush to me, but Ivar grabbed her wrist and restrained her, and I kept on walking, not looking back. My lack of patience ruined everything. My wrath, once coiled in its cave, now sprang forth, and would not subside.
Present day...
“Adam — Raymond; your step-father: He's not a very likable person, is he?” Daina asked.
“No, I don't suppose he was in his adolescence. We're not all born with social skills or a stable temperament. But for me that just makes him a true hero,” Jaunee replied.
“Why?”
“Because it's a longer road to find your compass when you're really lost. I mean, he was a troubled child in an unforgiving era. It’s practically a miracle that he not only survived, but eventually grew beyond his low character. As a wise person once asked ‘What is better – to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?’”
“That's very deep, who said that?”
“A dragon from Skyrim,” Jaunee replied with a smile.
“Where’s Skyrim?”
“It’s computer game,” Jaunee replied with a smirk and Daina laughed.
“You have a very diplomatic tongue. And you play computer games.” Daina smiled.
“I also cook, clean and read comics, sometimes I do other mundane things too. What can I say, I'm an eternal geek.” Jaunee replied. Daina laughed and found her spirit lifted.
‘This ancient creature is a perfectly likable person,’ she thought to herself.
“Beta Team in position,” was heard over the radio, as more soldiers hid behind road blocks sealing the area. Meanwhile Jaunee and Daina kept on talking, unaware of the danger.