Laugavegur, A Hinterland Journey

Chapter 1 - The Great Disquiet

In the village of Fjallabak, the ground shook. It was not a shaking so strong as to throw down the stacked rock chimneys of the moss-roofed huts that lined the paths of the village. Nor was it the kind to even tumble the stacked dishes in the cupboards of Fish Whiskers, the local tavern. But a tremor it was nevertheless, and it was a temblor that was felt deep in one man's soul. That man was Skari, an elder, his body bent with years and burdens as he shuffled warily into town. His hands were leathery knots clasping a rowan staff for support. Though most of the villagers of Fjallabak did not notice the tremor, they did take note of the appearance of Skari, an event rare in frequency, but all too often disquieting. Skari was a harbinger of ill tidings.

     The old man was a seer, but not one who had well distinguished himself in recent years in the realm of prognostication. As a result, he was ostracized by the villagers to the point that he had sequestered himself in a damp cave north of town in an area the children called the Wicked Valley. Only on special occasions did he venture into town.

     Rikard, the barkeep at Fish Whiskers leaned on the tavern doorway, toweling off a tankard as Skari ambled slowly by.

     "What do you suppose he will spout on about this time?" Rikard called over his shoulder to a patron sitting at a heavy wooden table behind him. A burly man with dark hair stood shakily and made his way to the door. Crumbs cascaded from his greasy beard.

     "Perhaps it will be another storm of stones! Or that flood of hot water that you were so certain would occur last winter!" the man bellowed at Skari. The old seer cocked his head slightly toward the tavern door but continued along his way. "Bah!" called the bearded patron, stumbling back through the door, clipping the edge of a table and upsetting several tankards and their owners.

     Rikard shook his head mumbling as he closed the door, "What did that old cod ever do for this town? Nothing for no one, I tell you."

     The life of a seer was not an easy one, even for someone as aged and experienced as Skari. The sight was a gift, no doubt, but it was a gift with sharp edges. The sight did not come on command, nor could one control what was seen. That, of course, did not matter to the magistrates and nobles who demanded black and white answers to questions that were most assuredly grey within a glimpse. In his early years, Skari had great clarity in his glimpses; the clarity that comes with the infallible confidence of youth. In those years, Skari was known throughout the Westfjords for providing sound guidance and counsel. His visions eventually brought him into the service of the Jarl of Snaeffels. The Jarl treated Skari well, providing him comfortable quarters in his personal longhouse and ensured that Skari had a seat of honor at his banquet table. Skari had no children of his own and in time, he came to love the Jarl of Snaeffels as he would a son. One night, over dinner, the Jarl had turned to him.

     "Skari, dear friend and confidant. I have won many battles, I am the leader of my people, I have had many women warm my bed, but I am still alone. When will I meet the one who will make my soul sing? When will I find the one I would lay down my life for? Skari, when shall I truly find my life's love?"

      The sight, being what it was, did not allow Skari to simply answer these questions, but later that same moon, Skari had a vision of a woman dressed in green velvet. In the glimpse, Skari had seen her on the dais next to the Jarl, her hand in his whilst he knelt before her. The Jarl was overjoyed when he heard of Skari's vision and even more so when a woman in green velvet showed up in court the following harvest.

     What Skari did not see in his glimpse was that in addition to stealing the Jarl's heart, the woman would also steal his throne; something she and her brothers did with brutal efficiency. The day the Jarl was killed was the day Skari fled to the central highlands. Over forty years had passed since then, but Skari's heart still ached for his beloved Jarl, an ache that kept him acutely aware of the dangers mixing one's own desires with interpreting the sight.