There was a certain quietness to the room as the light from the night sky gently flooded through a crack between the window curtains. Sounds of spring peepers chirping outside beyond the hillside reverberated to the house. (Unusual for fall, but not unheard of for the frogs to start a chorus outside of mating season.) Under a thin sheet and on the bed, Torbjørn concentrated on the rests between the frogs’ chirping while he focused. Slight movements beneath his eyelids seemed to keep beat with each thought.
Everything seems to be going smoothly, finally.
Chirp.
Father’s caretaker is scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning.
Chirp, chirp.
And studying can finally be a priority.
A gentle breeze flowed through the property. The dying leaves on trees rustled against each other just as the window curtains gracefully danced in the breeze.
Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp.
Indeed, it can, a disembodied and alien voice casually agreed.
Quicker than a bolt of lightning Torbjørn’s eyelids snapped open and his body tensed where he lay. The blue of his eyes captured the dim starlight and flickered in the darkness as he shifted his eyes from side to side.
“Wh… wh-what the hell was that?” he whispered in a strained hushed tone.
By ‘what’ I think that you mean ‘whom.’
No words could escape his mouth or enter his mind. The only response he could manage was a guttural sound as a shade of panic colored his face.
Hm. You react as though you’ve never been chosen by a god before.
Tor’s brows furrowed and his lips fumbled to formulate a word.
Ah, ah, ah, but shh, the unwanted voice interrupted. With the same breath it continued, I am Baldr and you are my chosen communicator. Studying is indeed a priority for you now—as a fledgling communicator—and you will begin by ascending to the Lopt Kastali, or Sky Palace as the others refer to it. This voice, that is Baldr’s voice, sharply inhaled before continuing. If you are asking yourself where this so-called Sky Palace is located, look no further than the White Mountains of New Hampshire.
Silence filled the space of Tor’s mind.
Chirp.
Still, silence. Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds…
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
Slowly Torbjørn blinked his eyes for the first time since the voice materialized. The muscles in his body relaxed uneasily and he cleared his throat.
“Far er det du?” he asked with a shallow breath, the words barely pushing past his lips, eyes now fixed on the bedroom door.
Do you really expect your father to respond? Now stop pretending as though you don’t hear me in your head. The voice continued in the same fashion as before as to not allow Torbjørn to get a word in edgewise. Let’s do it this way then. When you wake in the morning, you will find a smooth stone and engraved upon it will be the sowulo rune. Should you observe it in darkness, you will find that the edges of the rune possess an unnatural glow. In a short pause, the voice breaks what has sounded like a run-on sentence. The rune will prove that I am who I say I am, and that you, Torbjørn Varg, you will do as I say. You will access the foot of the mountain from the village of Burlington. Ascend the mountain.
His mind emptied itself of the unexpected visitor as quickly as the voice had materialized in it; yet, somehow, the feeling of complete privacy within his own thoughts felt distant.
Opening heavy eyes, Torbjørn rolled over in bed extending his arm to haplessly find the source of a morning alarm. After multiple attempts to find the source, he grunted and forced himself to focus. The clock read 6:30 a.m. in blue numbers as the digital alarm continued to blare. Eyes burning, the man sighed and turned off the alarm with one hand as the other ran through his hair. Just as sleep began to envelop him again, a jolt went through his body triggering a rush of adrenaline.
Last night, what was last night?
Tor squeezed his eyes shut as though to recant last night’s occurrence.
It was… just a dream. Yes, a very realistic and vivid dream, he half-heartedly reassured himself.
The edge of a forced smile crept onto his countenance. He inhaled slowly and placed his right forearm behind his head, then casually looked to his right toward the nightstand. It was then that his smile dissipated; his heart nearly stopping for a second.
Atop the nightstand sat a round stone.
”No…,” he uttered in disbelief.
Swallowing, Torbjørn rolled onto his side and swung his legs out over the bed. Sitting upright now he could clearly see the stone and a rune of some sort etched into it. His blood ran cold. A moment passed as he sat motionless. Observing the stone he couldn’t find anything to formulate into words or thoughts… it all seemed too surreal. Finally steeling himself, he stood up and began to reach for the stone only to stop within a millimeter of it, never breaking eyesight with it.
The morning sun blanketed the room with its warm glow. Its rays glinted off of the stone in an unusual way. It was as though the stone was absorbing the light. The edges of the carved rune slowly pulsed with a soft glow; yet, something about it felt restrained.
The millimeter of distance remaining between him and the stone closed. His heart raced when his fingertips scrutinized the surface of the mysterious stone. Echoing through his mind were the words of the voice from last night.
The rune will prove that I am who I say I am, and that you, Torbjørn Varg, you will do as I say. You will access the foot of the mountain from the village of Burlington. Ascend the mountain.
With eyes still transfixed upon the stone, now holding the stone in his palm, Tor muttered, ”Never in a hundred years would I have thought I’d do this.” He closed his hand around the stone. ”Dette er galskap.”
“Å hallo!” a middle-aged woman greeted Tor. “I assume you are Torbjørn, ja?”
The woman spun around as Torbjørn brushed past her in the hallway.
“H-hallo?” she nervously stuttered.
”Beklager frue. Ja jeg er Torbjørn,” he replied. His eyes never made eye contact with hers as he rushed around.
The woman looked at him with an unsure expression. “You look like you’re going somewhere. Will you be back today?” She spun around again as he brushed past her.
Not to be bothered with neatly organizing items, Tor stuffed clothing into a black backpack with an internal frame. Practically about to burst, he had to really force the last few articles into the bag. He had heard the woman’s question, but his main concern was his father as thoughts and questions raced through his mind.
She continued to stand in the middle of the hallway, wide-eyed and mouth slightly parted open. Zipping the main compartment closed, Tor maneuvered past her one last time. The bulky backpack made just enough contact to knock the caretaker slightly off balance.
“Ugh, brute…,” she whispered beneath her breath.
Tor kneeled next to his father who was sitting in a recliner. “Far. Jeg skal på tur og vet ikke hvor lenge jeg er borte. Jeg beklager at jeg ikke kan forklare. Det ser ut til å være ... presserende skjønt. Jeg lover å sende deg brev hvis jeg kan,” he gently explained. (Translation: I'm going on a trip and do not know how long I will be away. I'm sorry I can’t explain. It seems to be... urgent though. I will sending you letters if I can.) Trying to formulate his next words, he looked over to the woman and made eye contact with her for the first time. He turned back to his father once more. “Din vaktmester er her. Hun virker som en veldig snill kvinne. Hun vil sørge for at du har alt du trenger.” (Translation: Your caretaker is here. She seems like a very kind woman. She will make sure that you have everything that you need.) Turning his attention back to the woman, he smiled with a sort of sadness.
“Kanskje han ikke er en så brutal tross alt...,” she shyly said to herself. (Translation: Maybe he’s not such a brute after all…)
Slowly Tor stood up again. He shifted the backpack higher onto his back as he gripped the straps with both hands. He observed his father. He had aged so much just within the past decade or so. It would be easy to understand if someone mistook his father to be much older than he really was. A somber sadness spread through Tor as he looked upon a man whom he always thought was invincible and outside of death’s reach.
“Don’t give this woman any trouble, you hear?” He chuckled and tried to appear optimistic and strong for his father. Placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, he looked into his father’s eyes—eyes that seemed to look beyond anything in the room. “Glad i deg pappa.”
With those last words, Tor squeezed the shoulder of his father and headed out the front door shutting it behind him.
“Jeg elsker deg også sønn.”
