Snøgud: Chapter 2

Bylur-of-the-twinkling-eye

Continued from Snøgud: Chapter 1

Created by author with Midjourney

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The old man’s hands were trembling as they held the mug of tea but his face was perfectly serene. A fool might mistake his expression for one of ignorance, but Odr was no fool. At least, not anymore. As a young man, Odr had believed that the Elder’s simple smile belied nothing at all and that Bylur’s legendary skill at Evne, a game of strategy played on a checkered board, was greatly exaggerated. He would never forget the amused way the Elder had nudged his pieces to victory with hardly any hesitation. Odr hadn’t even come close. To this day, Evne challenges came to the Elder regularly, and he humored every one. At ninety-six years old, he remained undefeated.

Now, the bright eyes with which he regarded Odr were as sharp as they had been the day Odr had so confidently sat before him, the black and white checkered board stretched between them and a hundred villagers looking on. Besides his wrinkled skin and stooped shoulders, the only meaningful indicator of Bylur’s advanced age was his constant trembling. Odr knew what such palsies meant.

The death of an Elder was always a somber affair, but Bylur was especially beloved, and would be mourned accordingly. Few others were able to remain as collected as he, regardless of the circumstance. Some of his fellow Elders claimed that everyone loved him because, being a mute, he could never say the wrong thing. But it was more than that. His presence had a tranquility to which no one was impervious. He showed as much patience to the children tugging on his beard as to grouchy Gleb who complained often of his vegetables being stolen, although most of the Edur suspected the real thief was forgetfulness.

“Skadi has been sitting, Ears-Open, like you taught her,” said Freya to the old man.

He seemed pleased by this, smiling pleasantly and nodding.

“Sometimes she’ll sit for hours, just listening to the wind and the trees.”

Odr marveled at Freya’s ability to communicate so easily with the mute. He struggled to think of what to say when he found himself in the Elder’s presence, but Freya had no trouble. They could converse at length.

Bylur nodded and looked out the window with raised eyebrows.

“I doubt she’s practicing now,” Freya answered, “but perhaps.”

Her gaze joined Bylur’s, watching an ice-encrusted tree sway in the breeze.

“She’s been different these last few weeks,” Freya continued, more softly. “I can’t read her like I used to. She’s become a stranger.”

Her breath hitched on the last sentence and her chin quivered ever so slightly. Odr knew how hard this was for her. How much she had tried to prepare herself, to lay the stones around her heart without blocking everyone out - how delicate the balance between strength and vulnerability. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. She gave him a small smile and squeezed back.

With threads of gray in her dark hair and a collection of fine lines at the corners of her eyes, Odr recognized her beauty as no less striking than when they were young and first falling in love. She wore her hair in the same long braid, smiled in that same light, dancing way. Although, in recent months, there was a sadness to the smile that touched her lips.

“You’re the only person who might know what she’s going through,” Freya murmured. Bylur’s face grew serious. With a gnarled shaking hand, he touched his forehead, then his sternum in an ancient gesture of faith. Use your senses, it said, and trust your heart. It was a gesture Odr hadn’t used himself since the Passage of Giants. Freya wore the same expression now as she had then - defiant, anguished, hopeful. Her lips pressed into a thin determined smile and she nodded. Her eyes flashed to Odr’s with a look that told him she was also remembering that night.