Reykr - 45

Childhood Excerpt – Age 45

“Móðir, why is my skin white?” He asked his mother one day.

She didn’t look surprised. Instead she took him into her lap on the old wicker rocking chair in the living room with the twin branches of silver running up the sides, and told him, “Reykr kind, you are intangible as smoke. Your skin is light because you are above us all, as high as the heavens. Your hands have touched the clouds, my darling, and now it is bright and clear. You are truly a gift from Vanir.”

He sat for a while, thinking. Was he truly a gift from the gods? Is that why his skin was the color of opaque crystal and that of his brethren was that of dark blues, greys, browns, and blacks? He watched his half-sister, Blóm, play in the corner with a smooth maroon marble. She cast it up with her little fingers and giggled when it hovered mid-air, having been enchanted by a witch a couple years back.

He stared at her long, midnight blue hair, so like his, and her skin so black she looked like a shadow, so unlike his. Then his gaze shifted to his mother, taking one of her black hands in both of his pale ones.

“Which of the Vanir gave me to you?” He asked as only a child could ask.

She smiled. “It must be Forseti, you are so full of morality, my young one.” She poked him lightly in the chest. “Your heart is pure as snow. They will see that when they come.”

“Who, Mooir? Who will come?”

“You will see.”

When they finally came I had not even started to grow into myself yet. I was a small 45 year-old elf with his whole life ahead of him and an attitude to match, but when they came riding on gleaming steads, that all changed.

I was standing in front of our little house when they arrived, dressed in the finest clothes I owned, which, admittedly, was just a simple white tunic braided with colored cotton threads and hand-sewn trousers that only reached my calves. Mooir stood by my side, hands twisting nervously behind her back.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the woman riding in front. She was almost shapeless, but thin and tall in a overlarge brown cloak that hid much of her face. But a wisp of hair as white as a dove’s wing escaped and flew in the wind and her skin was the dark grey of nobility. Her companions rode a couple feet behind, all with the grey-blue skin of warriors and eyes like stones set in their sharp faces marred with battle scars.

I didn’t know well enough at the time to be nervous, only sensing a sudden thrill at the sight of the strong, dappled horses, the likes of which I had never seen. Our only horse was a skinny tan with a bad temper.

“Mooir, look at the horses!” I exclaimed, reaching out to tug her dress. She didn’t even look at me, completely focused on the formidable group.

They stopped just short of us, their horses spraying mud on our feet. The woman who led them removed her hood and revealed a pair of golden eyes. Droplets of clear crystal hung from her pointed ears like water hanging from a leaf, but everything about her suggested something alien. I tipped my head to look at her from the side, as if trying to find something familiar about her and she gazed back, so still and quiet that she reminded me of the time I’d met a deer in the forest. Her guards followed suit, each one looking at me with little to no interest, but looking all the same.

Finally my mother spoke, seeming unable to stand the silence any longer. I noticed her hands were shaking even though her eyes were calm. “Welcome.”

The woman on the horse shifted her eyes to Mooir, impassive as before. “I take it you are Myuka Oirx and this is your son, Reykr.” Her voice was low and powerful. As young as I was, I could still sense the ripple of mistrust behind her words.

“Yes, Dróttning.”

Queen. I looked sharply up at the woman. She looked back at me as before, a small line forming between her brows.

“He is Ljosalfar?” She asked, though it barely seemed like a question.

“He is a Halfling, minn skuro.”

“Hmm. And you know it is against the law to elope with the Ljosalfar?” Now I could definitely feel the hint of hostility.

“Yes.” Mooir said softly. The Queen’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “Which is why I offer up my offspring to you, minn skuro.” Mooir continued quickly, knowing she was walking a thin line.

The Queen was quiet, contemplating her course of action. She watched me carefully.

“Kind,” She addressed me suddenly. “Who are you?”

I was confused, but I didn’t falter under her sharp gaze. “Reykr, Dróttning.” And because I was only a child and all I knew were my mother’s words, I said, “A gift from Forseti.”

I would not understand until later that that had been exactly what the Queen needed to hear. Her kingdom was on the verge of war with the Ljosalfar and she desperately needed to strike a balance with them or else her kingdom would suffer.

She smiled at me, a real smile with the tips of her pointed canines showing. I would learn to adore that smile.

“It is decided. The boy will come with me and as long as he is in my custody, the punishment of death for your actions will be withheld.” The Queen’s voice rang with authority and I could feel relief course through my mother as her shoulders slumped and her tight mouth relaxed.

“Thank you, minn Dróttning.” She sighed, bowing low. The Queen dismissed the gesture and beckoned to one of the warriors.

“Gather the boy’s things. I want to get back by dark.” She commanded and the warrior dismounted and obediently entered our little house.

The Queen turned back to Mooir. “You have until he returns to say goodbye. He will not be allowed to come back until he comes of age.”

Mooir seemed to droop a little. “So long?”

The Queen glanced at her sharply and she quickly ducked her head again. “Yes, minn skuro.”

Mooir turned to me with wet eyes. I could see that the warrior was already returning from inside the house. It wasn’t surprising; I didn’t have many things. “Be well, Rekyr kind. You will always be mine.” She murmured and only had time to press something hard into my hand before another warrior lifted me off my feet and swung me up on the Queen’s horse at her command.

I could feel the Queen’s sharp body digging into my chest as she snapped the reigns and for the first time I realized that she couldn’t have been more than 15 elfish years older than I.

“Mooir?” I called, but she was already far behind us, disappearing in the mist that surrounded our scratchy patch of land.

“Shush, sveinn, you will see your mother again. But for now you will learn to live like us.” The Queen said.

I opened my hand to look at what my mother had given me. It was the wire wing of a dragonfly.