Winterfire

Chapter Ten

Lif

As soon as I put my foot upon the first step, the entire staircase moved. It startled me and I jumped and fell backward, but Freyr caught me and stood me back up again. “Hold on to the railing until you get used to it,” he said. I grabbed the railing with both hands, but regained my balance quickly; I soon felt comfortable resting one hand lightly on the rail. I found that could climb the steps, but even if I just stood still, the step on which I rested continued rising. Just as I began to enjoy the sensation, we reached a landing and the motion stopped. I peered over the edge and was startled to see how high we’d risen. Freyr reached around me, opened a door, and propelled me through it.

“I must leave you now,” he said. He stepped forward and leaned in to kiss my cheek, lost his balance, and fell against me. I sat down hard on a wicker chair. Freyr landed in my lap but jerked back up immediately. “Sorry. I’ll see you soon.” Before I could even respond, he’d left the room.

I was in a bright, airy room, with wide windows on three sides open to the fresh air. A bird flew in with a twig in its beak. It rose to the rafters high above me and stuffed the twig into a nest. Cushioned benches built into the walls beneath the windows invited me to sit and gaze outside, but that would have to wait. As I started over to the nearest one, a short, compact-looking woman grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“No, you don’t!” the woman said. “Not today. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to look later. I’ve been waiting for you, so come along with me. My name is Mrs. Winston, but as there isn’t a Mr. Winston, you may call me Mildred. You are to be bathed and presented to the Lady Freyja.” The sudden swishing of Mildred’s shirts as she whirled around put me in mind of my mother, though Mildred was considerably older than my mother. Mildred’s lively, business-like manner drew me to her at once. She wore a light blue dress and a clean apron. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun and her face was as wrinkled as a dried-apple doll my mother had made for me when I was young. Mildred circled around me, picking distastefully at my clothes and hair, while simultaneously guiding me out a door and onto one of the swooping bridges I had seen from below.

The bridge trembled and swayed, but with Mildred, pushing me from behind, I didn’t have time to be scared. We quickly crossed the gap between structures and entered a room I imagined must be some kind of dining hall. We bustled past a long table in the center of the room and then were outside again. Only a few steps on a short bridge and we were inside again, in a room that I knew must be the kitchen. A great cauldron hung over a fire big enough to handle an entire pig on a spit; there were three such fires burning in that room, one of which did indeed have a pig roasting over it. A pot of some type of stew hung over the third fire. I wondered where they had gotten so much food. The weather was not cold and wintery here, as it had been in Beal, and they seemed to have plenty to eat. The smell of the food made me ravenous.

Mildred peered into one of the cauldrons. “This is done. Erna, feed this girl and then give her a bath. And don’t forget her hair. Mistress Freyja wants to see her.”

“Sit down here, and I’ll get you some stew,” said the girl to whom Mildred had spoken. The girl was taller than I was and seemed a bit older, too. She wore her long, blonde hair in a braid down her back. She wore brown leggings instead of a skirt, a clean, white tunic, and a white, spattered apron. She scooped up a bowl of some kind of stew and put it before me. As she leaned forward, a sprinkling of tiny white feathers tumbled onto the table. She glanced at me and then brushed them away. She slathered a thick piece of bread with butter and gave me that, too. I tried to be polite, but I was starving. I had eaten nothing but fish, seaweed, and some dried, roasted roots for much of the past two years; I’d never felt satisfied after a meal. Putting the bland food into my mouth had simply been a necessity, not a pleasure. The spicy stew, however, was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. I wanted to savor it, but I was so hungry, I was soon stuffing as much into my mouth as I could chew. My mother would have disapproved of my lack of manners. “Slow down, now, miss,” said Erna. “You’ll make yourself sick. Eat a little bit now, and you can have more later.”

After I finished my stew, Erna took a rag in her hands, lifted a caldron from the rod above the fire, and poured the water into a shallow tub. She began pulling my clothes off. I glanced around nervously; there were no men in the room - just a few other women tending the fires and chopping vegetables - though I didn’t know what I’d have done if there had been; I seemed to be completely in this Erna’s power.

“Burn her clothes. The Lady’s sent some nice things down for her,” said Mildred on her way out of the room.

I stepped delicately into the tub, trying to maintain some semblance of grace. The water was deliciously warm, and I eased myself down comfortably. I’d not been warm enough, it seemed, for ages; maybe ever. I had time for one deep, contented sigh before Erna began working on me. She scrubbed my back, arms, and feet with a stiff brush. She lathered my hair with soap, and then raked my head with her nails. “Stand up, miss,” said Erna. I stood, shivering after the warmth of the tub, as Erna poured a bucket of clean water over my head to rinse the soap. Erna had scrubbed me so hard, that I half expected to see blood trickle down my body. She toweled me off and then dressed me in a soft, dark blue woolen dress, over white stockings and a startlingly white linen chemise. She had white stockings for my feet and brown leather shoes. I looked down at my clothes, running my fingers over the white blouse and the soft wool. I scrunched and stretched my toes in the new shoes. These were the finest clothes I’d ever warn.

For the first time in months, I was warm, dry, and full; I’d have gladly fallen asleep, if Erna would stop fussing with me.

Mildred bustled back into the room. She turned me around before her and examined me. “Good,” she decided. She walked quickly from the room and motioned that I should follow. She stopped so abruptly I ran into her. She leaned over and glanced around before speaking, and then she whispered in my ear, “Do not mention the necklace.”

We crossed back over the short bridge, through the dining hall, and then across the long bridge. Mildred returned to the staircase and began to climb up to another level. At the next landing, but not the top of the staircase—it continued upward—I followed Mildred across one bridge and then another. At last, we stopped before a polished wooden door. I was hopelessly lost.

Mildred took a deep breath, glanced at me, and then knocked firmly on the door. Lady Freyja, the same woman I had seen earlier, opened the door. She was wearing a different dress, a surprising fact in itself. But even more surprising, amazing really, was her necklace: red jewels strung together with an impossibly thin golden chain, like red raindrops dangling from a spider’s web.

“Yes, Mildred, yes. You may leave us,” Freyja said. My first thought was that without Mildred, I’d never be able to find my way back to the kitchen, where I assumed I’d be working.

“Tell me, child, what is your name?”

“Lif,” I said in as strong a voice as I could muster.

“Lif…I thought so. My name is Freyja, but you are to call me Mistress. Just Mistress.” She smiled at me as though she’d made a joke. Her teeth were like a cat’s: small and white. She sat down in a large wooden chair carved with strange lines that looked like writing; I knew my letters, but I didn’t recognize any of these. “I suppose you’re wondering why you are here. For now, suffice it to say your presence is…necessary. More than that, you need not know.”

She looked at me expectantly, but I just stared at her blankly. When I’d been home with my parents, I had been the kind of girl who always wanted to please people, especially adults. That girl would have been courteous and at least pretended interest. I was not that girl anymore. The sun had bleached that girl over several days on the wet, cramped deck of the ship, and I was what remained. I would not give this woman the satisfaction of my interest.

Mistress didn’t seem to notice my indifference. She walked over, stood before a full-length mirror, and gazed at her reflection. “Welcome to Folkvanger,” she said, and she smiled at her face in the mirror.