For the last 7 months I have been working on a new fantasy novel with co-author Kellianna - www.kellianna.com
The Warrior Queen Chronicles are based on Kellianna's song Warrior Queen - http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/kellianna
The following story makes a cameo appearance in the novel and is adapted from a story of mine previously published in the Abacot Journal (Say My Name).
Warrior Queen Chronicles, Chapter Thirty Five
The first light of the sun slipped over the horizon, a soft, golden promise of clear skies and warm breezes.
An old man stood by the Well of Memory, his gnarled hands grasping the stone rim. A sound of music rode the breeze: deer hide frame drums, mouth harps, goat horns, lur, fiddles and tagelharpe, making music to raise the dead and entice the living. The old man turned his head to listen. A single tear rolled down his papery cheek. When the music stopped, he turned from the well and walked into the sunrise.
He walked all day and into the night. When his legs buckled, he slept beneath a yew, sheltered by the sacred tree. He rose before the dawn and continued his pilgrimage. The sun set and rose again before he saw the domes of Asgard glowing in the morning light. For a moment he imagined the others there; he could almost hear them, chanting and laughing. He hurried towards the gate, hoping to find someone who remembered his name. It had been so long since he had heard it spoken, in song or prayer.
He entered through the eastern gate, feet barely touching the ground. The place was deserted, but for dogs and pigeons. He wondered if they, too, were waiting for Gods who no longer came. He walked slowly through the ruins, lured by the cool green of a giant ash tree. Older than the oldest story, the tree sheltered a well beneath its spreading branches. The old man lowered himself to the ground and sat next to a discarded bundle of rags.
“What are you doing here, old man?” asked the bundle of rags, voice like pebbles in a dry riverbed.
“Resting,” said the old man, turning his back on the beggar-woman.
“Not here, you old fool,” said the beggar-woman. “Here. In Asgard. Here.”
The old man went very still. The beggar-woman’s voice had softened, like water flowing cool and sweet from the mountains. He wanted to turn and look at her, but his longing had played tricks on him before. He closed his eyes and sighed.
The beggar woman moved to sit before him. He opened his eyes to see a beautiful face, golden hair, just like . . .
“Frigg?“
“Who do you think it is? Of course it’s me!” The rags fell away to reveal the Goddess in all her glory: luminous eyes, golden hair cascading around her voluptuous body, rosy-tipped breasts . .
The old man began to cry.
“I know. I know,” said Frigg, voice soft as swanskin. She stroked his face. “They have forgotten us.”
“I thought I was the last,” said the old man. “I thought you had gone.”
“You were the last,” said Frigg. “I missed you. We all missed you. I came back to find you.”
“Say my name,” said the old man. “Let me hear it again.”
Frigg laughed. “Which name shall I say? There are so many! Aldaföðr – Father of Men! Foldardróttinn – Lord of the Earth! Sanngetall – Finder of Truth! Angan Friggjar – Delight of Frigg! I like that one,” she said.
The old man nodded. “More,” he whispered.
“Draugadróttinn – Lord of the Undead! Arnhöfði – Eagle Head! Biflindi – Spear Shaker! Asagrim – Lord of the Aesir! Báleygr – Flaming Eye! Itreker – Splendid Ruler! Böðgæðir – Battle Enhancer! Ein sköpuðr galdra – Sole creator of magical songs! Faðmbyggvir Friggjar – Dweller in Frigg’s Embrace! Another of my favorites,” said Frigg, leaning closer.
“Limbultýr – Mighty God! Grímnismál – Wanderer! Göllnir – Yeller! Hangi – Hanged One! Oski – God of Wishes! Hrafnagud – Raven God! Hveðrungr – Weather Maker! Jörmunr – Mighty One! Rúnatýr - God of Runes! Svidur –Wise One! Uðr – Beloved.”
The old man remembered what it was to be a God. He straightened his back and took a deep breath.
“Say my name,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“Odin,” she said and kissed him on the lips.
A gentle breeze lifted the spirits of men and women toiling to feed their children. Merchants stopped counting their money and gave food to the hungry. Mothers walked with swaying hips and a secret smile on their lips. Two men searching for the Gods turned back to the World; a woman left her sorrows and danced, moving to a rhythm as old as time.
“Come,” said Frigg. “The others are waiting.”
The God and Goddess left together, dissolving in the old way, like mist in the morning sun.
