Infinite Sacrifice (17 page)

One month later, Borga goes through
an odd stage where her plumage is coming in and all her parts seem
too big for her. Her peeps are cracking into more of a honking
sound. She’s becoming braver and braver, leaving my side only to
come running back when she realizes I’m away. She’ll come
flip-flopping back with her head low, honking away in a punishing
but reunited tone.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It’s a crisp spring day when Thora
comes out dressed in a lovely white goatskin dress. She shoos Borga
away from nipping at her fringe and says, “Time to go,
Liam.”

“You are getting married today?” I
know the answer; I don’t know why I asked.

Her mother comes out and commands
the workmen to load up the wagon. “Fetch her loom, chests, and
featherbed.” She takes off one of her keys and, with a wide smile,
hands Thora the key on her own silver chain to clasp around her
waist. “For your new farm.”

Thora thanks her as she wraps it
around her waist, and after all of the things are secure in the
wagon, I go to sit up on the wagon bench, but her mother points to
the back.

Thora nods with a smile. “You will
have to keep Borga company.”

I bend over and grab the
spiky-feathered gosling around her middle, then hold her close to
my chest, feeling her downy sponginess. She honks a bit and flaps
her giant, orange feet in the air but calms when I settle in
between the chests. Thora says good-bye to her mother as a workman
drives the wagon nine farms up the common road. It looks identical
in size and shape to Thora’s old farm, except it’s on the right
side of the road. There are similar out buildings in slightly
different placement. A tall man steps out of the central hall with
two other men. I recognize him as one of the warriors who stormed
my village and laughed at me hanging at the hand of my abductor.
Before even helping Thora down from the wagon, he takes inventory
of the contents of her dowry. He grimaces when he sees me holding
Borga. One of the men comes to record on dried goatskin exactly
what Thora brings with her, and the tall man finally puts a hand up
to help her down. He looks at her like food, tasting her with his
single-dimpled grin.

A red-haired woman comes out from
the house with two children near my age. With her chin up in the
air, she leans on the side of the house, watching, as her children
lose interest and begin hopping around, playing games on the path,
completely disregarding me. The pagan holy man says the prayers for
their marriage and all are invited inside for the feast to the
fertility god Frey. I put Borga on the ground and attempt to go in
for the feast, but Rolf, the groom, sticks his foot out as I step
up to go into the house last. “All thralls eat and sleep in the
dugouts.”

The door shuts and I wonder what
“thrall” means. Thora has never taught me that word. I take my
small linen sack, filled with my blanket and some clothes Thora
made, then walk over to the five dugouts behind the large barn. I
notice smoke coming from one. Borga keeps honking in parade behind
me, and the noise brings out a young girl. She’s a few years older
than me, with dark hair, dark skin, and eyes like a stormy
grey-blue ocean. She smiles a brilliant white smile when she sees
Borga’s humorous greeting. I wish I were in the house with Thora
but know I must make friends before night falls and the wolves
descend in hopes of wayward animals.

“My name is Liam.”

The girl scrunches her face up and
says, “Liam,” like it tastes bad.

I wait, not sure what to say next,
and she says, “Una” while pointing at her bony chest. She motions
inside the dugout. “Hela has made a soup, and I’m sure we have
enough for you too.”

I go inside the small, warm space
with a fire lit in the center lifting up through a hole in the
roof. The space glows orange from the flames and makes the white
woman appear magical. I stop at the sight of her, focusing on her
elfish-pointed ears as Una makes her way to the mat by her side.
The wrinkled woman gives me a warm, though toothless,
grin.

Una whispers to her, and Hela turns
to me. “Liam, would you like some soup?”

I nod and move to the farthest
corner on a straw pile, and Borga quickly waddles in, chiding me
for leaving her. The old woman laughs heartily and instantly puts
me at ease. The soup, savory and salty, tastes wonderful with the
torn pieces of stale bread. I thank them and watch Una tucking
herself up in a ball on a mat near the fire to sleep.

I ask Hela, “What does thrall
mean?”

She looks down at the fire and
takes a moment. “When someone owns your body but not your
soul.”

“Why did Rolf call me a
thrall?”

“Rolf is our master. We have all
ended up here by chance, and we must do what we can to
survive.”

I go to take my sack and goose out
to find my own place to sleep when Hela makes a shushing sound and
puts her hands down to the straw. “You will sleep with
us.”

I’m happy to stay here, since it’s
already dark out. The old, hunched woman helps lay my blanket on
the straw and pats my back reassuringly when I settle down with
Borga.

Chapter 4

In the morning, I wait by the house
for Thora to appear and make a face instantly when I see she steps
out with Rolf heavy around her shoulders, dragging her down
awkwardly.

He notices me and yells, “Get to
the shovels, boy!”

I take off toward the barn, hearing
the flip-flopping of Borga’s graceless feet. I shut the door behind
me, and Borga goes wild, pecking on the other side of the door
frantically.

Thora says behind the door, “Liam,
let us in.”

I wait and almost laugh at the
noise Borga is making. I open the door, and she comes flying in,
honking at me with her neck overstretched.

Once she calms down, Thora says,
“I’m sorry, Liam. Rolf doesn’t allow any workmen in the
house.”

“You mean thralls.”

She looks surprised I know that
word but nods. “I don’t like being here either. I’m forced to do
whatever my parents choose for me. We are both thralls.”

I soften a bit and say, “I met the
oldest woman I’ve ever seen. I think she is an elf.”

Thora laughs. “Hopefully she is a
good elf.”

“I think she is. She made me supper
and let me sleep with her and Una.”

“I’m glad you and Borga found a
nice place to stay, then. I worried about you all night.” She opens
up the door to the barn. “Things will be better for both of us when
Rolf leaves for the sea.” She pulls her reindeer comb out from her
pocket, secures her hair up with the comb, and starts to run. “Come
on! Let’s explore this place!”

I run after her with my goose
flapping behind.

Rolf does go away eventually, and
Thora jests about finding his hoards he’d buried all over the farm.
We take shovels and dig in all of the places someone would pick to
bury a fortune. One day we’re shocked to unearth one below a tall
fir. We find metal pieces all wrapped in linen: jewelry and coins
from countries Thora can barely pronounce. Thora puts on a few of
the necklaces as I wrap a gold armband around my skinny arm. I see
dark red paint all over the side of Thora’s necklaces, and when I
point to it, Thora yanks them off. We hurry to put it all back and
try to cover it all like it has never been disturbed.

When Rolf comes home and Thora
can’t spend time with me, I play with Una after her chores are
done. She has to feed the animals, collect the eggs, milk the cows
and goat, and make the butter and cheese. I help her get through
them, and toward the end of the day, we have time to run off into
the horse fields. Borga grows so large that she’s the fattest goose
on the farm. She catches the attention of Rolf one day as he
watches her waddle her large rump behind me.

He calls out, “I’m going to butcher
that goose before she gets too tough.”

I spin around, not knowing what I
can say to him. “She’s a fine egg layer, Master. This morning, she
laid one of the largest eggs we’ve ever seen.”

He shakes his head. “We have got
plenty of eggs from the hens. No, I will see to her
tonight.”

The door opens, and Thora flies
out. She must have overheard through the open gables in the
roof.

She yells out,
“That is
my
goose. She is part of
my
dowry and
I will
say what we do with her. Borga is an egg
layer!”

She draws both hands out flat,
turns, and goes back inside. Rolf sneers at me and rubs the bottom
of his whitening beard but says nothing. I grab Borga’s fat body up
and run away with her to tell Hela and Una what
happened.

Months later, Rolf leaves again,
and since his red-haired sister, Inga, goes away to visit her dead
husband’s family, Thora lets me in to have supper with her and
sleep on her featherbed. I’m careful to watch Borga’s warning
tail-wagging closely, in fear of an accident that will give Rolf
reason to butcher her. Even with all the darting outside with Borga
throughout the night, it’s worth it to be back with Thora. I notice
Thora’s stomach is getting large when she tucks her body around me,
and we fall asleep with my arm across Borga.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

When Rolf returns, he carries a
dirty sack behind his back and yells for Thora to come out. Inga is
home by then, and she comes out wondering why he didn’t say her
name as well. Rolf bares an oversized grin, opens the sack wide,
puts his long arms in, and pulls out the strangest bird I’ve ever
seen. It’s a shiny shade of purple-blue, delicate, with a tiny,
undersized head. The strangest part is the trailing, thick tail it
has, twice its body length. He puts the scared thing on his hand,
holds it up like a falcon, and cries, “A gift for the wife of my
first child!”

Inga goes back inside as Thora
walks unsure, toward the strange creature. She holds her hand out
to touch him and laughs. “What am I to do with it?”

“This fine creature will grace our
farm with its beauty and provide you with the richest feathers for
your decorations.”

She thanks him as he lifts the
creature in the air; it flaps down to the ground and steps away
like a chicken but meows like a cat. Borga immediately dislikes the
intruder. She puts her beak flat on the ground, runs as fast as she
can after it, sending it flapping off into a paddock.

Rolf turns to me. “If that goose
gets that peacock, she’ll be turning on my spit.”

Thora motions to me to take her
away. Borga isn’t the only one who doesn’t like the peacock. Inga
seems to do all she can to drive the bird away. When Rolf isn’t
around, she throws water and plates at it, and once she tries to
catch it in a blanket. I don’t blame her; the eerie thing sneaks up
and appears like a ghost in a tree beside you.

The baby’s born at the end of the
winter. Thora lets me come in to see her one morning, and there,
lying on her featherbed is a little honey-eyed girl. I smile, and
Thora says, “Her name is Erna.”

I go to touch the dark fuzz on the
top of her head and see a little white mark on her forehead. Thora
sees me touch it with my thumb and says, “I think that’s a sign
that she will be special.”

I nod and hope that Thora will
still have some time for me. Thora pulls me to her and whispers in
my ear, “We are now a family.”