The Memory Painter

Everyone crowded around the newcomers, enlivened by their arrival and ready to trade whatever wares the Gata had brought. The crew began to unload the cargo, and Bjarni followed his father to his newly constructed longhouse nestled on a nice patch of clearing. He wanted to soak in the bathhouse and change out of his filthy tunic before seeing Garnissa that evening.

Whenever a new ship came to port, it was tradition for the village to gather around the fire at dusk. They would often look for any reason to congregate and drink strong mead, tell stories and riddles, and sing the songs of old. Tonight was no different.

When Bjarni arrived at the bonfire, Ulfied, his burly shiphand, was in the midst of telling the story of the new lands they had sighted. Bjarni suffered many a joke for his decision not to stop. Soon drunken men were performing skits, pretending to be a daft captain unable to steer his ship. Bjarni took all of it with good humor, purposefully ignoring Tarr’s murderous gaze. He became grateful when one of the elders, Aldar, began to entertain the rowdy group with a poem.

“One day,” Aldar began, taking care to meet the eyes of every child sitting around the fire, “Odin’s ravens, Huginn and Muninn—seers of all thought and memory—swooped down and stole the threads from the three fates, the Norns. Now, we all know who the three fates were.”

A chorus of children yelled out their names, “Urd! Verdani! Skuld!”

“Yes!” Aldar hissed, sounding like a sorcerer himself. “Weavers of the past, present, and future. Now, because of the birds’ trickery the Norns could no longer spin the tapestry of life and time itself was in danger of being lost.”

Bjarni tried not to laugh at the wide-eyed children, enthralled by the old poet’s tale. Aldar had been a skald at Norway’s royal court as a young man and could launch into a perfectly metered story on a whim. Bjarni hoped that some day his own son would be able to sit at Aldar’s feet as he had and hear the poet conjure up worlds as real as their own.

Bjarni met Garnissa’s eyes, and she left the fire discreetly. He was not pleased to see Tarr’s gaze on her as well. It seemed that she had caught his attention. Bjarni locked eyes with him and followed Garnissa, marking her as his own. Tarr might have a grudge against Bjarni, but he would not let Tarr’s shadow fall on her.

Leaving quietly, Bjarni made his way to the river to meet her. Finally they were able to be alone.

“Welcome to Greenland, o fearless explorer of new lands,” she teased, yelping as Bjarni swooped her up in his arms.

“Would you have had me on another shore without you?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

“Never,” she said, bringing his face back up to hers to kiss him fully. “I’m glad you didn’t stop.”

“My refusal has made me enemies,” Bjarni admitted.