The Finwife

The day after Jan disappeared, my mother pressed an old silver coin in my hand before I left the house. It was an old currency, one that had not been used in a century or more. I couldn't guess where she'd found it.

"Keep this, hold onto it. It is not for spending."

 "What's it for?"

"Your freedom."

She said no more. As this new ritual followed so soon after Jan's disappearance, my imagination did not work hard to discover a possible connection. I grew up with the stories; we called them the "old tales." Legends told in raspy whispers. Finfolkaheem.

My old coat invited the cold in; fabric worn thin, the buttons always threatening to fall off. No matter how many times Malin sewed them back on for me, the thread refused to hold. It was the silent cold before the first fall of snow. Soon, the ground would harden into a blanket of white, and the rivers would freeze- rivers no more . I met Malin at her house so we could walk to school together. I told her what my mother said and showed her the old coin.

"I didn't know you were superstitious, Anders." Malin nudged me with her shoulder, then stayed close, using me as a willing shield against the wind.

"I'm not. My mother is. She believes the old tales." I thought for a moment. "There may be some wisdom to the old tales, though... These legends had to come from somewhere."

Malin laughed again and linked her arm in mine. "Well, well; you are superstitious after all!"

Though I had yet to propose, it was understood that Malin and I would marry when we were both done with university- her timetable, not mine. I would be graduating in one year, Malin in two. She knew I was impatient; she seemed to relish my agony of love for her- which was far less cruel than it sounds. What Malin didn't know was that I'd already saved up enough to buy a ring.

As we passed the fjord near where Jan was last seen, I crossed the street away from the water. Malin looked over her shoulder.

"What do you think happened to him?"

"I don't know." I thumbed the silver coin in my pocket. The talisman was cold, even through my gloves.

Malin shivered from cold-- or something else? "I don't want to know."

After a few paces of silence I asked, "Did you know him?"

"No, not really. We had literature together, but we never spoke. Did you know him?"

"No." I'd recognized his face in the papers, though. He was only a year younger than I. Gone. Without a trace.

Malin had to study in the school library later that night for an assignment. I told her I'd pick her up at eight when the library closed. The walk to school felt longer- colder- without her. I pulled my coat tighter around me, more an attempt to comfort the chill in my spirit than the chill of the air. Surely it was only my imagination that the temperature dropped a few degrees as I passed the fjord. I fixed my gaze on the rooftops that kept the school belfry just out of sight. I jumped back when my foot kicked something soft and alive. The coal-black cat meowed and scowled at me, offended but unhurt. It sat a meter or two in front of me, grooming it's shoulder as though he was trying to make me feel more guilty than I already did.

"Don't be frightened," the silvery voice said.

I turned around and saw that the voice matched the speaker. Her pale face was illuminated by the moonlight, though the moon stood behind her, as though she herself were starlight. So stunned was I at her striking appearance, I forgot to speak.