Svea hadn’t meant this to be a reward for climbing out of bed in the middle of the night. She, like any caretaker, wanted the child to sleep through the night, both for his health and for her own. Still, she didn’t mind telling him stories and he seemed to love them so much. She didn’t consider the possibilities of providing him more fodder for his fear of monsters; bedtime stories and lullabies at home were filled with horrific imagery and Svea had turned out alright. Besides, Jorg had the right to learn the tales of his culture, and his parents, who had lived in the times of the myths and epics were not around enough to impart the ancient Nordic lessons.
She shifted on the sofa to provide as comfortable a seat as she could for her charge before she spoke. “He chases them away from here. Always they begin their chases here and move outward toward the ends of the world. To hide here, the monsters would have to turn back and run to your father. And that would be a very poor decision for them, don’t you think?” she asked. She meant for it to remain rhetorical, though she wasn’t sure Jorg would understand a question intended to be left unanswered.
She hugged him tighter to her as he contented himself with her and Nana always being here for him. In many ways, she felt more like he was her child than he was Thyri’s, but Svea avoided expressing thoughts like that in anyway – verbally or visually – even to Jorg. It seemed a poor way to die. It was a logical emotion. Svea was the one clothing him and feeding him, entertaining him during the day and lulling him to sleep at night. She was there to wipe tears and assuage fears, and yet it remained her secret.
As her answer to his questions began to unfold into a story, Svea let the soft cadence of her accent carry the words into a more powerful image in her mind. There was something stronger about the tales of a Viking god spoken in tongue of a Viking. The sounds were harsher at times, and yet flowed together, like waves breaking against a rocky shore, and gracefully retreating. The interruptions broke the flow, destroying the mindset the fairy was placing herself into. However, she understood the questions. Monsters of folklore were not well known in Shaman, and Jorg hadn’t even spent enough time with Shamanites to gather the information about the Earth that they did know.
“Well, a draugr is a creature born from death itself. A human or fairy who, upon dying, becomes a foul creature intent on hoarding his possessions and bringing others into Hel. They themselves were unwilling to speak to Mođguđr and cross to the realm of the dead.” She didn’t know how much of the lore he’d already heard during nighttime stories, or how much he’d remember of what he had heard, so she prepared for further questions. “They are like the dead returned to a half life.”
Eventually the questioned slowed and the tale began again, but was quickly cut off with another clarification question. She shifted the child on her lap to better distribute his weight over both legs, and Nana quickly took the opportunity to lay her head in his lap now, pressing her ears against his hands in a plea for more rubs. Svea smiled at the pair of them before delving into another monstrous definition. “The brunnmigi are spirits of women who curse the waters and make them dangerous, even poisonous to drink. Plants watered from the streams and wells infested with Brunnmigi will not grow, and animals that drink of it will perish, and their meat contaminated as well. So you see, your mother is very brave as well, keeping us safe from their foul curses.”
She hoped that would be enough to settle his curiosity, and jumped back into the story again, this time leaving little room for follow up questions. She hoped that by finishing the story, he would go back to bed quicker so she could then head to bed as well. Alas, she was not so lucky, as he quickly took notice, for the first time, of her initiation scar that she had been looking at before he’d wandered into the main room of the cottage. As he questioned it, worried over it, and quickly offered to protect her no matter what, Svea hugged her charge tightly and gave him a kiss. “Thank you, Jorg, but my Pabbi did this to me. On earth, everyone who worships your father and follows as his disciple is brought into the fold when they become a man or a woman. They are cut, and the scar serves as to remind us to whom we belong.” She sighed softly. She was still not a very good servant of Rhaegar, in what she imagined was her father’s opinion, and the scar truly served as a reminder of how badly she’d screwed up with her magic at the last initiation ritual she’d attended.
Her voice grew quieter, and further away. “It was many years ago, Jorg, and far far away. It doesn’t hurt me anymore.”
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