have no idea how I miss it,” she would say. “Everything was beautiful. Fruit everywhere and sunshine. Adam and Eve were happy. They ate food without having to plant it. Their bodies were one. They loved without touching.”
Why hadn’t Kama sensed that these weren’t just ordinary wishes, but signs of a mind rotting, like wood turning black from worms and too much moisture, like cheese turning to mold, the blue slowly overtaking the white until the original no longer existed. Mother’s god invited people into the silent darkness of their own minds, and Mother had become lost in there, convinced she had a separate being inside her, something she called a soul. Someday god would set it free. But gods care only about themselves, and all Mother’s prayers would never stop Loki from playing and upsetting her best-laid plans.
2
The day came when they would take Mother into the wilderness and leave her alone to die, the way they did with all those who had gone mad. Kama hid inside her bed closet. She pulled the cover over her face, hoping to muffle all sound. Why do the weak and small just wait? Could we push back in that quick second before the intruder’s hand punches open the door? Is there a way to stop all time and breathe him away? This was not the right time. It would never be but this was the worst—early and dark, and Mother asleep with her ragged hair.
Monsters are always ready to show off their brutality. They are fulfilled only when there is war or broken laws. They believe only in right and wrong, good and bad and never understand nuance—that a mind can crack, that a heart can break. Any mind. Any heart. Anytime.
Kama heard pots and jars crashing to the floor. Tables and benches overturned. She heard him grab Mother—tiny Mother who was too small to pull herself free and too broken to know why this ugly soldier needed to break her further.
And then there was screaming in the room. It was Mother’s voice.
Why did Kama want to comfort her, this woman who gave nothing and wanted everything from her? Why could Kama never bear the sound of Mother’s cries? Mother and daughter could never truly be separated. First they pull the child from the mother and later the mother from the child. What was this unexplainable connection?
Kama wanted Mother to stop crying.
And then there were more voices. Loud. Louder. Kama had to look now. She pulled back the bed closet curtain. She saw Tova punching the man with the chest wider than any shield. Inga was there somehow, biting him, biting his arm. The man shook her off and threw her against the wall. Inga fell and then bit his leg, deeper this time. And then someone somehow on the man’s shoulders. She was beating his face and covering his eyes as though he were a horse. She poked at his eyes.
Why did men always win? Of course, that thought wasn’t true. Father had lost to Mother. But most men? Usually? All the time? All the women in the townhouses could not wrangle Mother free from the one brute with arms as wide as massive stones and hands like shovels. Why was there never any way to resist and win?
The cacophony ceased, but Kama was not alone. One of the townhouse women, Tova, was there at her side, offering tea, then broth. She stroked her arm and hair and told her she would get through this. She said Kama had strength; no one was stronger than Kama. She let her cry. She told her it was good to cry. Kama had never heard these words before but wanted to believe them. And so she sipped the broth and let the tears fall. The heavens seemed to be opening and the world shaking. Kama wondered if she would still exist after or would the tears flood Midgard, carry her away, and leave her on the shore like washed up refuge for gulls to explore?
Tova stayed, and the tears came and went with memories. She recalled Father telling her what a beautiful princess she was and what a beautiful queen she would become. But Father would never speak again. She would never again hear his stories of Constantinople, city of beauty and buildings and glorious glass. And then sometimes she felt relief that she would never need to leave Mother. Kama had always wondered how she would manage that day when she would need to sail away to Hedeby, leaving Mother all alone, but now that day would never come.
Instead she had this day, the day Mother left her.
3
Katerine was on a sleigh. Rope held her down. Wind was spitting in her face. They had given her something to drink that made her feel tired. She was hungry but no one cared. If only the horse would slow, so the bumping would stop. Our father who art in heaven, she prayed. The words gave her something to hold on to. She tried to imagine god’s face to block out this. Our father who art in heaven. She had done god’s work. She had stopped Sigtrygg and saved Kama from his cowardice. No one understood. They were all low creatures tricked by the devil. She had done the angels’ work, but these pagans were as stupid as dogs. They couldn't comprehend paradise or hell or see Katerine’s power the way god saw her.
The horse stopped. There were no trees anywhere, just white snow. He dismounted, the man with hands like shovels. He bent over her and untied the ropes. His cheeks were spotted red from the cold. The tips of his fur jacket were white with frost. She tried to meet his eyes but he looked away. The ropes dropped. He stood, turned and walked back to the horse. He remounted. The hooves barely made a sound as they tore across the open field. She stood. Her legs were numb and unsteady after the long journey. There was nowhere to lean. She fell. She knelt then stood up slowly, one leg first then the other. She needed to walk. She couldn’t just stand still. Perhaps she would find some shelter. She wasn’t made for the cold. How could anyone live here surrounded by white and ice? The freezing wind cut through her. There were trees in the distance. They could hide her.
Katerine walked and walked but the trees never came closer. They seemed to be stepping further back as she advanced.
She felt hunger and thirst. She sat down in the snow. She scooped snow into her mouth. That eased her. More snow. More snow.
The cold turned to shaking. Lie down on the snow. Don’t fight it. Let it come. But it wasn’t that easy. She wanted to be still and quiet. But the cold tremors rattled her frame. Constant. She was shaking with cold, but it wasn’t just from the wind and ice. Her inner soul was frigid now.
Finally she closed her eyes, and everything stopped. He was there ready to receive her. Soon she would be in the garden with the flowers and fruit. Sweet perfumed scents would touch her like a hand brushing her cheek.
4
Kama wasn’t sure how many days had passed, but then the time came, and she woke to the sound of sticks beating against shields, rising from faraway and traveling all the way to the townhouses.
Kama preferred to ride bareback, her legs hugging Thor’s warm body as she leaned into the horse’s neck and grabbed its mane. That morning, she and Thor passed through the city gates towards the river. The bank was difficult but not too tricky. Bare wild rose bushes crowded the pathway down to the bank. During Harvest Month, slaves had picked the bushes clean then boiled the hips into a sweet red soup that would become a fortifying meal. Now, the roses were only thorny obstacles slowing her descent down the riverbank. Farther down, a safe distance from the bank, where the ships sat locked in the ice, the funeral pyre stood. Large wooden posts held the ceremonial vessel, and on the shore stood several tents.
Kama dismounted. Hidden by the poplar trees, she watched men enter and leave a tent. “Tell your lord I have done this out of love for him,” each man said.
Sticks against shields. Louder and louder. As the day progressed, the beating would become louder, and then, consumed by fire, Father would leave this world for Valhalla, where there would be no more battles, and every moment would be celebration and feasting. But Father had not died in battle.
Kama
