Laugavegur, A Hinterland Journey

Chapter 2 - The Wayward Sheep

     Anja hated sheep. She hated their smell, she hated how their wool collected dung and mud, she hated most of all how they tended to wander and get lost. That was why she was out in the valley as the sun was sinking, calling out for the one wayward member of their flock. Just don't be drowned in one of the Jarl's hot pools, she thought sullenly. She and her younger brother, Tokki, had been out since late afternoon searching every nook and hollow along the perimeter of an area the people of Fjallabak called Vondugil, the Wicked Valley. Vondugil earned its name through a history of disappearing both sheep and shepherds. Anja, however, did not fear the valley. She felt the protection of the gods. Not the false Christian god that some of her neighbors had come to worship in recent years, but the true gods. The old gods. Anja felt the love of Frigg, the bravery of Tyr, and the strength of Odin as she walked into the valley.

     The lands around Fjallabak, including Vondugil, were crossed by many streams and several rivers of varying sizes. As a result, Anja and Tokki had become practiced in using long poles to vault themselves across the waterways to keep their feet dry. It had become something of a competition to see who could vault the widest section of a river or who could pinpoint a landing on a rock amid a swirling eddy. It sometimes led to accidental soakings, but fun was in short supply in Fjallabak.

     Anja's courage was bolstered further by the recent acquisition of a small sword. While walking the shoreline of Frostavatn, she had discovered the rusty relic protruding out from beneath a pile of cinders. She had spent an hour each night cleaning and sharpening the small sword, all the while vigilant to make sure that Bresla, their current guardian, did not catch sight of it. Anja had little doubt the woman would take it and sell it off for a few coppers. Tokki had offered some of his precious fish oil to protect the sword from moisture and to help with honing the edge. Anja swung the sword as she walked, taking pride in the way the sunlight flashed on it. It looked keen and deadly, though it's greatest accomplishment thus far was to separate the seed heads from several stalks of tundra cotton.

     She smiled at her brother. "One day I will have a seat in Valhalla!"

     "Girls aren't allowed in Valhalla," replied her brother casually. He hadn't said it to be cruel. It was just a fact.

     "When Odin sees my bravery in battle, he will ask Thor to give up his seat so that I might sit beside him; woman or not."

     Anja spun, her blond braid twirling as she lopped another tuft of cotton free from its stem. Though Anja hated sheep, she did like exploring the Wicked Valley. It felt more a home to her than Bresla's hut, or most anywhere else she and Tokki had lived since arriving in Fjallabak.

     Anja and her brother had come to Fjallabak with their grandfather before either of them was old enough to truly appreciate having a family. Anja's memories of her grandfather were mostly smells; his pipe, worn leather, and warm butter biscuits. He had left the house one morning to go fishing for trout on the ice of a nearby lake, but he never returned. By the time a search party was organized they could only find the half-frozen over hole through which he went in. As was the custom of the people in Fjallabak, Anja and her brother became wards of the village, spending a year - two at most, with different families to diversify their upbringing with different skills as well as distributing the pressure produced by the extra mouths to feed. Anja and Tokki had lived with a kind cooper named Arden and his wife Magdali. Later, they moved in with a less kind fisherman, named Haroldur, whose calloused hands had more than once been used in anger on Tokki when he was just learning to be willful. Anja received her share of blows when she tried to intervene on her brother's behalf.

     Tokki was eight years old the summer they spent with Haroldur, the fisherman. It was the same summer that a bank of pearl-producing oysters was discovered in about 10 fathoms beneath the surface of Lake Nordrum. Haroldur made Tokki row him out to the bank to stake his claim to the oysters. Tokki lowered the anchor as Haroldur stripped down to his hide pants and rolled over the side of the boat. He splashed around cursing and spitting water. Haroldur immediately hauled himself back over the side of the boat and lay in the bottom, panting. After a moment of contemplation, he got up, grunting himself over to where Tokki sat.