The Memory Painter

On the morning of what would have been Anssonno’s thirteenth birthday, during a full winter storm, Bjarni had stripped off his clothes and walked to the river to die.

He stared up at the bleak sky and thought of Yggdrasill, the tree that towered over all the nine worlds. At its root was the well of highest wisdom, which the giant Mimir guarded with his life. Odin had even sacrificed an eye to have a drink from the well in order to obtain infinite knowledge. Bjarni would have bartered every bone in his body to have one drop of that same wisdom before he died—to know if Garnissa was still alive. Was she in pain? What had Tarr done to her? And was Anssonno in Valhalla, the place where the bravest warriors went when they died? Bjarni knew he must be, because his son would never have let his mother be taken without putting up the fiercest fight. Anssonno had battled for her with his life and lost.

The night of their wedding, Garnissa had dreamed of their son in Valhalla. The dreams that a bride had on the first night of her marriage were considered to be prophetic—foretelling the number of children the couple would have, along with their destiny. It had taken her years to tell Bjarni about her vision. Seeing their son in Valhalla had terrified her, and made her quite protective of Anssonno after he was born. She had always believed they would only have one child, even though they had tried for many years to have more.

Bjarni sobbed and drew his last breaths in with the cold. This death would not allow him entry into Valhalla—Anssonno was lost to him. Images of his son and Garnissa filled him, and Bjarni begged the snowstorm to take his life. He could not live another moment imagining their pain.

As he closed his eyes, he saw a rainbow extending from the horizon and into the clouds, and he knew it was Bifrost. Odin was showing him the sacred bridge from Asgard to Middle Earth, as if to say that his journey was not yet over. Weary, Bjarni took his last breath and wished he had Garnissa’s vegvísir to help him find his way.



TWENTY-TWO

MARCH 2, 1982

Michael woke up on his office floor, his body shivering. He tried to call out for help, but his voice sounded like the cry of a wounded animal.

Diana came rushing into the office. “My God, what happened?”

But her words had no meaning to Michael. He was consumed by Bjarni’s pain.

She knelt beside him. Finn and Conrad hovered in the doorway, looking unsure about what they should do. Diana tried again. “Michael—listen to my voice. You just had a recall. Come back.”

Michael saw her face and began to sob. “Garnissa?” He sat up and held her in a fierce embrace, “Garnissa.” He could not stop the pain rising within him, as he gasped for breath and tried to explain what had happened to her and their son.

“Get me a blanket!” Diana shouted over him to Conrad and Finn. “Hurry!”

Finn ran to the closet and returned with one they used for the sofa. Diana wrapped it around Michael and began rubbing his body, trying to warm him as he rambled on.

Conrad watched in fascination and whispered to Finn, “What language is he speaking?”

Finn was staring at Michael in shock. “Old Norse.”

Diana kept working to warm Michael’s body and repeated the same thing again and again in an attempt to calm him. “Shhhh. It’s me. Diana. I’m right here.”

But Michael could see Garnissa’s spirit shining in her and it only made him cry harder. His body was racked with cold—Greenland’s winter still clutched at his mind. He forced himself to take several deep breaths and struggled to assimilate the memories.

Looking around in a daze, he saw the overturned chair and the files scattered on the floor. He must have passed out. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on feeling warm. The chill was just a memory.

Diana reached out for his hands and held them in hers. “What happened? Who were you?”

“Bjarni Herjólfsson.” He struggled to put his answer into English. “A Viking trader from Iceland.”

Diana’s mouth dropped open. Finn, still looking stunned, sat down in the nearest chair.

Conrad was the only one laughing. “Jesus, now you’re a Viking?”

“Conrad, please.” Diana glared at him.

But Conrad continued to taunt him. “Did you sail the seas, terrorizing villagers with Thor’s hammer?”

Finn looked ready to implode. “Hey Yankee Doodle ass wipe, shut up.”

“Why? Because I’m the only one not going psycho around here?”

Diana ignored them both. “Who was Garnissa?” she asked Michael.

“Here we go again.” Conrad leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “The lovebirds through time. Can’t you see you’re creating a neurotic fantasy? None of this is real.”

Finn jumped up. “Just because you can’t remember anything, don’t belittle what’s going on with the rest of us.” He pinned Conrad against the wall with one hand, their faces inches apart.