Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) (8 page)

The next morning Gyda woke her early. Arvid was still so tired, it seemed to her as if her arms and legs were made of lead. Her back hurt, because the bed was narrow and hard, and something under the straw was constantly pressing against her shoulder. Gyda brought her a pair of shoes and two old, repeatedly patched dresses. It was poor equipment, but it was better than nothing.

“Come down to the kitchen when you’re done,” said Gyda quietly. “And careful on the stairs. If the landlord is awakened by the creaking, he gets very angry.”

Arvid nodded sleepily. As Gyda left, Arvid dressed slowly. She had automatically taken one of the new dresses, even though the blue one she got from Falla was still fine. The new dress was brown and fitted pretty well. The shoes were in order, too, even if they were a little too big.

When she came into the kitchen, Gyda was preparing breakfast, which apparently consisted of some kind of porridge and dried fruits. Again Arvid noticed how skinny and pale the young woman was. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the skin was so pale and translucent that little bluish veins were visible.

“Hagen’s outside feeding the pigs,” she told Arvid flatly. “I’ll soon have breakfast ready, but you better go and do the laundry right away, otherwise we won’t get done with today’s field before dinner.”

“What field?”

“There are a total of twelve,” said Gyda, without looking up from her work. “Today we take number four. We have to harvest the graycorms.”

Arvid nodded and remembered the tubers Gyda had peeled the night before. Although she was hungry, she went outside to fold the laundry. It was not easy to do so alone, since the sheets were rather big. There were so many that Arvid could not help wondering what Horalf needed them for. When she was finally done, her back hurt even more and she was so hungry she felt nauseous.

When she came back into the kitchen, Horalf and Egil were sitting at the table eating breakfast. Gyda poured them warm milk. Arvid wished them a good morning, but while Egil at least briefly nodded and looked her up and down, Horalf didn’t even look up. Gyda put the jug down and hastily pulled Arvid with her into the next room, where they had eaten the night before.

“You can’t just stand in the kitchen,” she whispered. “You have no business there while the men are eating.”

“Are we slaves here or what?” said Arvid. “What’s all this fuss about? Do you constantly have to hide when you’re not needed?”

“By the gods, be quiet!” hissed Gyda, scared. “They can hear you.”

“So what? Do you like to be treated like that?”

Although Arvid hardly thought it possible, Gyda turned even paler. “Please,” she whispered, now almost desperate. “Please be quiet. They can hear you.”

For a few seconds, Arvid looked stunned at Gyda, not knowing what to make of it all. In the eyes of the young maidservant she saw nothing but fear. Finally, she sat down at the table and wordlessly began to ladle a portion of the thick porridge into a bowl. It was completely silent; only the voices of Horalf and Egil could be heard, dampened by the boards of the wall.

“Gyda, what’s going on?” said Arvid after a while, now deliberately quietly, so as not to frighten her even more.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the maid.

Arvid sighed. “What are you so afraid of? Aren’t you even allowed to speak?”

Gyda said nothing. She pressed her lips together into a thin, bloodless line and stiffly poked around in her porridge with her spoon. Arvid waited a moment, but soon realized that Gyda would not answer.

“Do they beat you?” whispered Arvid.

Gyda fixed on her bowl even more urgently, shaking her head. Arvid wasn’t able to make heads nor tails of her reaction and decided to leave it alone for the moment.

Finally, she heard Horalf and Egil leave the kitchen. Shortly afterwards the door to the small chamber was reopened and Hagen came in. His hair and his clothes were soaking wet. Obviously, it had started raining. The boy was as pale as Gyda, and like Gyda, constantly avoiding Arvid’s eyes.

“Hurry up with your breakfast,” Gyda said to him in a normal voice, but still depressed and monotonous. “You know that number four always takes longer.”

Hagen mumbled something and took the porridge. Gyda left the chamber, and Arvid followed her after brief hesitation.

“You should get your cloak,” said Gyda, “and there’s a hat in the chest in your room, which will help against the rain.”

Shortly after they left the house to begin with the day’s work. The rain had subsided and had become a light drizzle, but a biting, cold wind blew, so it was far from pleasant to linger outside. The ground was muddy and soft. The path to the fields was not long, but Arvid’s feet and ankles were soon covered in thick mud.

“The fields are divided into pieces,” said Gyda. “The work never stops; there is a field for each day. After the last one we return to the first.”

“And what do we have to do?” asked Arvid.

“Harvest tubers,” Gyda said joylessly. “All the white ones you can see.”

Each field was surrounded by a knee-high stone wall. As they approached, Arvid saw why: The top of the wall was covered with shimmering runes. Gyda told her that it was a rune spell that warmed the ground. This way the plants flourished most of the year.

The work was tedious. After only a few hours, Arvid’s back felt as if it would break soon. They looked for ripe tubers, cut them off and put them in baskets that Hagen carried back to the farm. It was monotonous but extremely exhausting work, and the constant bending over got to Arvid.

Around noon Hagen brought bread and sausage. They sat down on the corner of a wall and ate. Arvid’s back ached almost unbearably. She was wet and cold and could not help wondering whether every day would be like this.

“What do Horalf and Egil do?” she asked. “Don’t they help with the work?”

“Sometimes when we’re in a rush,” said Gyda. “They manage the farm and stand for the slaughtering.”

“And what exactly do they do when managing the farm?”

Gyda shrugged. “That’s none of my business.”

When they returned in the evening, Gyda set about preparing the food. Arvid washed their clothes, cleaned their shoes and put everything out to dry. After dinner, she was so exhausted and tired that she fell asleep as soon as she had fallen onto her bed.

Each day was like the rest, and every day they worked on a new field. It was easier when the weather was dry, although the work was tedious and exhausting. The pain in Arvid’s back wouldn’t go away, and after dinner she always went straight to bed. It suddenly seemed to her as if her life only consisted of work, eating and sleeping. In the few quiet moments she had, she let herself fall into the soft, numbing darkness that seemed to have taken root inside her.

Arvid rarely saw Horalf and Egil, usually only briefly in the morning and again in the evening, but it was because the two landlords didn’t want to see them. With each passing day Arvid’s anger at the two men grew. Time after time she had to tell herself with all her might, that she wouldn’t be here for long, that she was just waiting for the answer from Asgard and would then immediately get out of here. Nevertheless, it became increasingly difficult to suppress her anger, especially when she realized that Gyda and Hagen actually were abused.

Horalf was always harsh and unfriendly, but the rough work he left to Egil, whose behavior got worse with each passing day. Again and again he violently grabbed Gyda by the arm and shook her, pushed her to the side or up the stairs. Several times he tore Hagen’s hair so violently he cried out in pain and Arvid hardly managed to stop herself from slashing at the burly man.

Toward Arvid, Egil showed more restraint. She assumed that it was because of her strenuous attempts to act strong and confident. His menacing demeanor awoke defiance and a strong protective instinct in her. She remained rigid and cold and refused to retreat even an inch or to bow her head.

On bathing day Arvid helped Gyda fill a large tub in the annex with ice-cold water from a nearby stream. It was exhausting, but for some reason Gyda seemed to be in good spirits—at least by her standards.

“It’s good you’re here,” she said softly. “Otherwise, it always takes a lot longer and I get behind with work. Besides…” She broke off, turned around quickly and began to undress. “I bathe first, then the water is not as cold.”

“Besides?” Arvid asked. “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Gyda said quietly and took off her clothes. Arvid saw that her upper arms and shoulders were covered with blue, green and yellow spots.

“Oh,” Gyda suddenly exclaimed. “I forgot the towels.” She began to feel for her shoes with her foot, but Arvid cut her off.

“I’ll go get them,” she said quickly.

Arvid hurried over to the main building, ran up the stairs, down the corridor and past a couple of doors. Gyda’s chamber was right next to hers. The towels were already on the bed, so Arvid only had to take them and make her way back. As she passed the kitchen door, she suddenly heard muffled voices and stopped.

“But bathing day used to be your favorite day,” Horalf was saying. A snort followed.

“Not anymore,” came Egil’s voice, “since this snake of a woman is in the house.”

“Snake?” asked Horalf. “She is no trouble. And she is stronger than Gyda.”

“Yes, snake!” Egil said sharply. “A poisonous snake, to be exact. I tell you, she’s not like Linna or Alsa… or Gyda, if you want. She looks at me as if she could kill me with her gaze.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You think so? The brat will cause us trouble, believe me. We should have refused Asgard’s request.”

“I don’t want any quarrel with the gods, Egil. Besides, you forget that even Gyda was unruly and cocky when she first came here. She has learned her place. The new one will learn hers, too.”

“Oh, believe me, I’d love to show her where that is,” said Egil, “my own way. She’s pretty and toned, not as bony as Gyda. But I’m not stupid. Something’s fishy.”

“Bullshit!”

“I have sharp instincts like a wolf, and my instinct tells me that something about this woman is fishy, you hear?”

“Stop it already!” Horalf cried imperiously. “No more of this nonsense.”

There was a brief pause, then Egil said, “You’ll see.”

A chair was moved, then Arvid heard steps and realized with horror that the men would probably leave the kitchen any moment. She grabbed her towels and slipped into the pantry at the end of the hall. It took only a moment before the kitchen door was opened and Egil’s bulky figure appeared. The stairs creaked loudly as he went upstairs, and Arvid hurried to leave the house and get back to Gyda.

Her heart was pounding like crazy when she came into the bathing room. She didn’t have to see the bruises on Gyda’s thighs to know what was happening on this farm. The realization shocked her so much that she couldn’t say a word. She silently helped Gyda dry off, and then took a bath in the icy water herself. But deep inside her she felt the darkness beginning to stir. Suddenly it was no longer soothing and quiet but seething and boiling, a mixture of anger, pain and determined hardness.

It happened after more than three weeks. Arvid came back after a long day in the drying room, when she heard a clang and clatter from the kitchen, then the loud rumble of a chair.

“You stupid brat!” she heard Egil and entered the kitchen just in time to see how he slapped Gyda upside the head. Gyda didn’t make a noise. She only backed away in the farthest corner of the kitchen anxiously and began to tremble all over.

The sight was simply too much. Arvid could feel how the seething darkness awoke in her and engulfed doubt, fear and every sensible thought. She walked toward Egil and pushed him aside so roughly, he crashed into a chair and stumbled.

“Keep your hands off her!” she shouted at him.

For a moment, Egil seemed puzzled, then anger darkened his face. Arvid realized with sudden clarity that he would hit her too, and she couldn’t physically oppose him in the least.

But there was no fear.

Arvid perceived Egil’s movements so clearly and distinctly, as if they were in slow motion. She watched as he raised his arm to strike, saw the rage in his eyes. Arvid despised this man with all her heart. Inside she felt nothing but darkness and the satisfying knowledge that he could not touch her. She took a step back, then the strange spectacle was over.

Egil’s arm swept into the air. He was thrown forward by his own weight, lost his balance and stumbled, and would have fallen had he not clung to the table at the last moment. Bellowing, he pushed himself up. Arvid had to use all her willpower to resist the impulse to punch or kick him. She knew Egil would show no more restraint if she did. Not even the mysterious darkness might help her then.

“What’s going on here?” someone thundered suddenly. All eyes turned to the kitchen door, where Horalf had appeared. He had muddy boots, held a shovel in his hand and looked almost as angry as Egil.

“Useless pack! As if we had nothing better to do! Clean up this mess and to bed with you!” he shouted at them. With an imperious gesture he signaled to Egil to come with him.

It was obvious that Egil was still seething with rage. His cheeks were bright red and his hands were shaking. He threw Arvid a last withering look, turned around with a snort and left the room.

Arvid felt her body tremble with excitement. Her hands were balled into fists so convulsively her knuckles ached. She had to force herself to take some deep breaths before she managed to relax a bit and turn to Gyda.

She still cowered in the corner, trembling, obviously unable to move from the spot. Her eyes were filled with fear; her cheek was red and slowly began to swell. Arvid took a cautious step toward her, then Gyda suddenly began to sob loudly and slumped down against the wall. Tears streamed down her face. For a moment Arvid felt totally helpless. Then she knelt down beside Gyda, put her arms around her and gently squeezed her.

“Easy now,” she murmured and softly stroked her hair. “They’re gone, don’t be afraid.”

But Gyda’s sobs only got louder. Her whole body was shaking. Arvid just sat there on the floor amid the shards of the dropped bowl and held the young woman. Seeing her suffer almost tore Arvid’s heart apart.

It seemed to take forever until Gyda finally calmed down again and for Arvid’s anger to fade back into the darkness from which it had emerged.

Arvid brought Gyda to bed and then went back into the kitchen, picked up the broken pieces, and washed the floor. She cleared the dishes from the table and did everything that was normally Gyda’s task. She was still upset and couldn’t get the events of the last hours out of her head. Arvid was sure that Gyda had been beaten before, more violently even. Egil had been holding back since she came here. For some inexplicable reason, he did not dare to attack Arvid. The thought of Gyda and Hagen having to spend years of their life on this farm without her made her ill.

Arvid was almost finished when Egil came back into the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t you go to bed at once, you useless woman?” he shouted. “Get out!”

“If you prefer to clean the kitchen yourself next time, my lord,” Arvid said in an ice-cold voice and slowly turned to face him, “then I’ll leave with pleasure.” She threw him the dirty cloth, with which she had rubbed the last bowls dry, and without another word turned around to leave.

Egil had instinctively caught the cloth. For a moment he was taken aback, but then he snarled and pulled Arvid around by the arm so roughly she had to suppress a cry of pain.

“Don’t take it too far, you little beast,” he hissed. He came so close that Arvid could smell his breath reeking of beer, and there was pure hatred in his watery blue eyes. “You think you can intimidate me, make your own rules, but you’re wrong.”

Without warning, he grabbed her hair and forcefully pressed his lips on Arvid’s mouth. Arvid made a frightened, half-strangled gasp and tried to push him away, but Egil was large and bulky and held her in an iron grip. With all her power she pressed her lips together, while Egil’s wet tongue stroked over her skin.

He finally let her hair go to grope her breasts, but Arvid didn’t hesitate. As soon as Egil had loosened his grip, she pulled away and kicked his knee as hard as she could. Egil yelled out in pain and doubled over. Arvid seized the moment, whirled around and left the kitchen. She ran up the stairs, rushed into her room and slammed the door shut.

“You’ll be sorry, you cursed snake!” she heard Egil yelling. “I will get you!”

While Arvid pushed the massive wooden chest in front of the door, she could hear Egil stomping and shouting downstairs, but she was no longer listening. She sat down on the chest and waited, but nothing happened.

Finally Egil fell silent. Suddenly Arvid noticed that her heart was pounding wildly and her hands were shaking. Only now she realized what had just happened, and nausea began to spread in her stomach. With a low groan she got up, dragged herself over to her bed and let herself fall onto it. It seemed to her as if she had used up every last bit of strength in her body.

In the middle of the night Arvid was awakened by something. At first she was confused. Why did she wake up? For a while she stared up at the ceiling of the chamber, but then she heard it. A noise came through the wooden wall. As Arvid realized what she was hearing, her heart felt as if it were grabbed by an iron fist.

She could hear the regular creaking and groaning of wood, mixed with gasps and moans of a man. Arvid immediately knew that it was Egil. Much worse was Gyda’s whimpering and crying, though. It was low, so very low, and yet Arvid was unable not to hear it.

She knew what Egil was doing with Gyda. After all that had happened, there was no doubt at all. The thought filled her with horror, disgust and hatred.

What was this place the gods had sent her to, what kind of horrible people? How long had Gyda and Hagen already endured this hell? Suddenly Gyda’s strange behavior made sense, her panic, every time she was a little too loud or made a mistake. She knew every little thing could result in Egil visiting her at night. The more Arvid thought about all those terrible things, the more something seemed to break inside her, and gave way to the darkness that seemed to grow inside her.

It seemed like an eternity before the noise finally stopped. Soon after, Arvid heard heavy footsteps, then the chamber door was opened and closed again. For a while she could still hear Gyda’s faint whimper, then it turned quiet in the house. Sometime Arvid went back to a restless sleep as well.

The next day, Gyda was apathetic and silent as always. Her cheek was swollen, and the area around her eye had turned bluish. When Egil came into the kitchen for breakfast, he measured Arvid with a hateful glare, but she returned it with an ice cold glare of her own. Had she previously had problems keeping her aggressions under control, that day she succeeded effortlessly at putting on a mask of indifference.

The day passed as usual. It was characterized by aching feet and cold, numb fingers, the smell of mud and graycorms and the sight of Gyda’s and Hagen’s pale, emaciated faces. When they were eating lunch, shivering in the icy rain, Arvid finally asked Gyda a question she had wanted to ask for days: “How long have you been living here on the farm?”

“Six years,” she said. “Both of us. Before you came, there was another maid, but she… left.”

“And you and Hagen came here together?” said Arvid.

“Yes. Our parents’ farm was destroyed by demons; there was nothing left. Asgard sent us to Horalf.”

“So you’re siblings,” said Arvid.

“We have different mothers,” Hagen said.

Arvid realized that it was the first time she heard the boy speak. But as always he didn’t look at her, but stared blankly into space.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” said Arvid.

Gyda shook her head. “Where should we go? The gods have assigned us this place.”

“The gods don’t give a damn,” Arvid said, but there was no response.

In the evening, when Arvid had gathered the dirty clothes, she didn’t go outside for washing, but put the basket in a corner and went upstairs.

She took the bag with her few possessions and opened it for the first time since she had arrived on the farm about three weeks ago. The case Aeldjarn had given her was still untouched. She wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on any of the exercises at any time. What she was looking for was tucked at the bottom though: a small, paper-wrapped package Falla had given to her as a farewell present. It contained a bunch of rustnettle, those red leaves from which the old woman had cooked her tea the first days after her arrival.

Arvid plucked three of the serrated leaves, but then she stopped. She looked at her hand and felt darkness rising like mist within her, devouring all feelings.

Gyda was cooking stew when Arvid came back into the kitchen. She only looked up briefly as Arvid filled a pot with water and put it on the fire. Arvid opened the package with the rustnettle leaves and threw the whole bunch into the water. Expressionlessly, she watched the leaves slowly coloring the water dark.

“Do Horalf and Egil drink beer for dinner?” she asked Gyda after a while.

“Yes,” Gyda muttered absently. “But you better not drink any of it; it’s only for the landlords.”

“I just want to go get it.”

“In the chamber at the end of the hall,” said Gyda, “the barrel with the cup on top.”

Arvid took a pitcher and the pot with the rustnettle leaves and went into the pantry. She pulled a wooden spoon from her apron and fished the lump of soft boiled leaves from the pot. An almost black-looking, steaming liquid remained, only three fingers high, but highly concentrated. She carefully poured the dark broth into the pitcher and finally filled it to the brim with strong beer from the barrel.

While eating, neither Arvid nor Gyda nor Hagen spoke a word, and so the only sounds were the scratching of their spoons and the voices of the two men in the next room.

As always, Hagen was the last to finish his meal. After he had pushed his plate away, they were suddenly surrounded by complete silence. For a while they just sat there, then Gyda looked to the door. “I wonder if they left?” she murmured. “I didn’t hear anything.”