Thanks to Jess Hyslop for editing, proofreading, and sharing her thoughts on this story. Thanks also to my wife, Susan, for her feedback and suggestions. And to Kevin Smith for some grammatical help.
Stolen Bride
Thick fog drifts over the frozen ground beneath a gibbous moon, stirred by the passing of a tall, dark shape. Then another. And another.
Kälvesten Königsson sits upon the snow-covered earth staring at the dying fire. He heaves a heavy sigh, intent upon fetching a fresh log after resting his weary eyes for just a minute. Drooping eyelids slide down.
Within a minute he sleeps. While flames die out and glowing embers fade to black he dreams. A smile creases his youthful lips as he spies a gaggle of giggling girls approaching from the edge of the forest. Clad only in firelight, the long-haired maidens whirl around the blaze. Every so often one or another of them stops and bends to scratch the grizzled golden beard on Käl’s handsome face. He reaches out but each deftly avoids his desperate grasp and retreats, giggling all the while. One blonde beauty in particular catches his fancy. “Oh to have such a one as you for a wife! How happy I would be!” He struggles to his feet and chases foolishly after her, but she dances away from him and eludes him easily. Despite his best efforts he cannot catch her and succeeds only in tiring himself out.
At length the nymphs fade back into the forest, drifting like the fog into the shadows of the silent trees. Käl follows, but once inside the darkness of the woodland he can find no trace of them. Vanished, they are as invisible as the icy wind.
In the soft light of a newly risen sun three pairs of steel blue eyes survey the scene of slaughter and calculate the cost of the carnage. Kälvesten stares at the snow tainted pink from the blood of the sheep that have been taken. His mother Lillemor stands by in stony silence while her elder son, König, upbraids him.
“Why did you not cry out?”
“I fell asleep.”
“But how could you sleep through such an attack?” König spreads massive arms to encompass the area. “This is not the work of a lone wolf that struck silently in the night and stole off with a single lamb, but of a pack that ravaged the flock.”
Käl shrugs and shakes his head, struggling for an explanation he cannot find.
König folds his arms across his expansive chest and kicks a lump of ice. “This would not have happened had Skeld been alive.” The faithful dog passed away just weeks earlier and has yet to be replaced. “He would have at least raised an alarm if not fought the beasts off.” König turns to Lillemor. “I will gather a party to hunt down these brutes.”
Käl nods his head. “I will join it.”
“You? Why? Would you not rather sleep? No, I think you should stay here with the women.” König turns his back on his brother and walks toward the house. Lillemor follows silently behind. Kälvesten remains steadfast atop the hill, eyes fixed on the shadowy edge of the forest.
Later, after watching the hunting party depart, Käl’s resentment rises to the surface. König does not believe I slept but that I cowered in fear. With this thought tormenting his soul, Käl hefts his battle-ax.
Lillemor eyes him with suspicion. “Where are you going?”
“König Eldjärtan never raised any cowards.”
She studies her son for a moment. Käl has his father’s eyes. He has also inherited the man’s fire. “No, he didn’t.”
The young man slings the blade across his shoulder and strides through the front door, across the field and into the thick forest, alone.
Before long he locates tracks left by his brother’s party. They are on the trail of a wolf. But inexplicably, the wolf tracks follow a fork to the left, while those of the men keep to the right. Why did they stop following? König could not have missed this trail, he and the others must have gone after something that lay in the other direction; but what? Käl hesitates a moment longer before heading left, after the animal.
Continuing on he enters a clearing and stands face-to-face with a she-wolf. The startled beast crouches, hackles of reddish-gray fur rising on its massive neck, yellow eyes staring at Käl. A low growl emanates from deep within its throat.
Käl brings his weapon to the ready. He whirls at the sound of bushes rustling behind him. A second snarling wolf emerges from the shrubbery. Then another. And another. And another.
The pack circles him slowly. There is no way I can bring down five wolves alone. I might get one or two, but the others will tear me to pieces. Serves me right for failing to protect the sheep. If only I’d remembered my horn! In his haste he has forgotten it. A blast would have brought the other men to his aid. Käl tightens his grip on the ax and raises it a bit higher, prepared to smash the first head that moves close enough. At least König won’t go on thinking me a coward. His eyes lock on those of the nearest wolf, challenging. A bead of sweat trickles down his brow.
With a great leap, the beast bounds back into the thick vegetation and the others follow. Amazed, Käl stands alone in the clearing. He lowers his weapon, resting the tip on the ground. After a moment’s contemplation, he starts off after the wolves. They may be afraid to fight, but I am not!
For fifteen minutes he chases after them until again he comes to a break in the trees. Several yards ahead lay a vast lake. What’s this? He rubs his eyes and takes a second look. A group of young maidens frolic in the freezing water. I must warn them about the wolves! He takes a single step in their direction, then halts. These are the same girls from my dream, I am sure of it. His eyes widen further when he recognizes the voluptuous blonde with whom he’d become infatuated. But he is not dreaming this time, of that he is equally sure. Have the wolves attacked and killed me, sent me to Valhalla? Is that where I am? But there has been no battle with the beasts. Käl’s eyes remain glued on the golden-haired beauty whom he would happily join in the lake, but his feet remain planted and a niggling feeling eats at him. I must not let them see me. He slips silently behind the cover of some trees.
By the time Kälvesten returns home, his brother is already there. König looks at him with eyebrows knotted in an expression of curiosity. “Where have you been?”
“Hunting wolves.”
“Alone?”
Käl nods.
“Find any?”
“I was surrounded by no less than five, but they ran off and I could not catch them in the forest.”
“Indeed? I’m sure you cut a formidable figure in your dream world. They were surely frightened of you! But just in case they haven’t run all the way to the sea, I think I’ll tend the flock tonight; what little is left of it anyway.”
Käl hangs his head and shuffles past.
In the morning Kälvesten sets out early to seek the advice of the oldest woman in the village. Margarete puffs away on a pipe, nodding and grunting, while he explains about his dream, the slaughter, his encounter in the forest, and his vision at the lake. Once he has finished, the gray lady leans forward, regarding him with milky eyes and croaks a single word: Úlfhéônar.
“What?”
“Úlfhéônar. Shape-shifters. In days of old the Úlfhéônar went into battle clothed in the skins of wolves. In this way they took on the animal’s strength, courage, and cunning. In time, through sorcery, they discovered dark secrets and learned to change their very bodies.” She pauses to relight her pipe. “These Úlfhéônar you encountered used witchcraft to keep you from waking while they fell upon your livestock.” Margarete raises a bushy eyebrow and lowers her voice to a raspy whisper. “And it seems one of them has enchanted you with a spell.”
Käl blushes. “What shall I do? I would have her for a wife.”
“A wife! A wife! Young fool you are smitten indeed!” The old woman breaks into a fit of laughter, nearly dropping her pipe.
Käl’s blood rises and his cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson, but he checks his temper. “Will you help me or not?”
Margarete recovers from her laughing fit and waves a crooked hand in front of her face. “The pelt.”
“What?”
“The pelt. You need the pelt. The skin of the wolf, the source of her power. Return to the place where you saw her bathe and get your hands on her discarded pelt. Her hold over you will be broken and she will be yours.”
With visions of a beautiful girl and a blissful marriage, Käl leaves the old woman, still puffing away and chuckling.
That very afternoon Kälvesten hurries to the lake, chooses a good hiding spot and waits. For what seem countless hours he waits, before finally spotting them. Five wolves lope out of the forest and approach the water. He watches closely while the animals rise up on hind legs and shed their wolfen skins. Five stunning women stand in their place. Giggling like little girls, they run splashing into the frigid water.
Käl steals from his hiding place and creeps up to the pile of pelts. Unnoticed by the frolicking females, he picks up the one belonging to his would-be bride and swiftly carries it away. He hides the soft fur under a pile of brush and returns to his vantage point to watch and wait.
After a time that seems to fly by, the maidens emerge from the water and four of them slip into the wolf skins. No sooner are they covered than they drop to all fours and bolt into the forest. Alone and abandoned, the other girl searches frantically for her discarded skin. Failing to find it, she falls to her knees and begins crying.
In the guise of a hunter just happening by, Käl comes out of hiding and approaches the distraught girl. He crouches down by her side and wraps his own cloak tenderly over her shoulders. “What’s the matter? Why are you out here in the cold with no clothing?”
Startled by his sudden appearance, she covers her breasts, then lifts her delicate face and looks at him with tear-streaked eyes of the brightest blue Kälvesten has ever seen. “My sisters have run off and left me.”
“Come with me and we will find them.”
Droplets of ice water fall from the ends of her long hair when she shakes her head. “They are far away by now.”
“Come away with me, then. You’ll freeze if you stay here.” He helps her up and with downcast eyes she allows herself to be led.
“Who is this?” König stands in the doorway, eyes wide with disbelief.
“She is Sigrid. I found her alone and crying in the forest.”
“Where is she from?”
“Somewhere to the north.”
“How came she to be way out here?”
“I know not; but isn’t she pretty? I think Saga has sent her to me and I intend to make a wife of her.” Sigrid’s blank expression registers no emotion at this revelation.
“Wife? You find a girl wandering alone in the forest and decide she’s a gift from the gods and will make a good wife?”
“She will. I love her.”
Kälvesten leads her past König and into the house. She follows meekly, never lifting her eyes from the ground.
Everyone is curious about Kälvesten’s new bride, but he refuses to say more than that he found her in the forest. He builds a small house and starts his own farm with a few animals Lillemor has given him as a wedding gift. He loves his beautiful bride and should be happy. But he is not because she is not. Sigrid never smiles, but cries almost constantly. Käl tries repeatedly to soothe her, but fails at every turn.
“Please, please, Sigrid, tell me what bothers you so.”
She looks at him with her blank expression. “I do not know. I know only that a great sadness has come to roost in my bosom.”
“But why? Do you not know I love you? Do you not love me?”
More empty stares.
A year passes. Then another and another; several. Finally Sigrid tells Kälvesten about her dream. “I am running with my sisters and we are happy and free. But then they go ahead of me and I can’t catch them. Soon I fall far behind and am alone. I wake up terrified and out of breath.”
In light of her dream Käl reflects on the years gone by. Sigrid has never had a single enjoyable day. Not one day has passed that she hasn’t cried. I stole her for my own happiness without considering hers. He leaves the house and heads deep into the forest, to the place where he’d hidden the pelt so long ago. He searches until he finds the spot and uncovers the hide. He lifts it up and examines it. To his surprise it looks as fresh as the day he’d buried it. The beautiful reddish-gray, black and white fur is still soft and hasn’t weathered at all. With tenderness he folds it carefully and carries it home.
Darkness has fallen by the time he returns and opens the door to find Sigrid staring out the open window, crying as usual. She looks up at him with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. In a soft voice Käl says, “I know why you cry.”
She blinks away a tear.
He holds the fur in outstretched arms. “This belongs to you.”
Sigrid leaps from the chair, eyes fiercely focused on the pelt. She snatches it from Käl’s grasp and rubs its softness against her cheek. With a flick of her wrists she whips it to full length and drapes it over her head.
The girl crashes to the floor. Then she arches her back and stands up on paws. She swings her massive head in Käl’s direction, amber eyes locking with his cobalt blue. Her jaws open wide and snap shut. She raises her hackles and snarls at him, lips curled, pearly teeth bared. A low, gutteral growl eminateds from deep within her.
Kälvesten stumbles backward, nearly falls. He is struck by the realization of what he has done. Stolen her power and made her miserable, essentially held her captive for all those years. How she must hate me! He is keenly aware that he cannot fathom the depths of her anger or savage fury.
She lunges. A swipe of her paw rips a gash in his shirt. Another severs the brooch from his shoulder and his cloak slips. She tears it from his body and thrashes it violently about, shredding it with tooth and claw. She stands over the destroyed garment and slowly returns her gaze to the man standing before her, breathing heavily, his shirt torn, red lines crossing his chest. He is as defenseless and vulnerable as she herself once was when she sat shivering on a frigid day by the lake and he covered her with the very cloak that now lay in tatters at her feet.
For long moments the two stand staring at each other. Then her eyes soften. She turns from him and leaps through the open window, disappearing into the night and the thick fog which drifts over the ground under a gibbous moon.