Birth And Death

The harsh winter had passed.

Her belly had grown ever fuller, until at last even the nightly hymns were too burdensome.

Unlike a human conception, this divine pregnancy advanced nearly twice as fast, her body swelling for birth.

Of course, the strain on Elin’s body grew accordingly. No matter how much she ate of what the animals brought, there were limits to what they could provide.

Unable to take in enough nutrition, what little she had stolen away by the child within, Elin weakened day by day in the cave.

Alongside malnutrition, Elin bore another great burden: she was losing the will to live.

Once she had done what she must—fulfilled the prophecy—she wished only to end her life and be reborn in Manafreya’s embrace as a Valkyrie.

Then, when the Gods’ feast was held, she would meet Ingmar again in Valhalla, now a hero and Warrior of the Gods.

‘Ingmar, my man, Ingmar…’

Lifting her heavy body, Elin walked to the cave’s mouth, where she saw shoots and buds breaking through the earth and trees long buried by winter’s snow.

Beyond lay ridges and rocks, the peaks of Yotun Mountain… Farther north yet, the hut where she and Ingmar once lived.

Elin’s red eyes took in the whole scene.

“The land of ancestors who lived for thousands of years… Singing of the fall and sundering of the gods, of Olrun and Manafreya who rule Nordenhaim. Grant to men the strong hearts of the gods’ warriors, to women the wisdom and beauty of Manafreya’s daughters.”

The invocation she had always recited as priestess echoed weakly into the world outside.

As if concerned, the silver wolf came to her left, standing tall so her hand could rest on its strong head. To her right stood the blue reindeer; behind, the brown bear guarded the staggering Elin.

Elin gazed serenely at Olrun’s three messengers.

Her eyes, foreseeing and yearning for the death that would come with birth, were deep.

Deep—profoundly deep.

At last, the time of birth was near.

That day, the real pains began.

Elin realized the moment had come and looked fearfully at the animals.

As the contractions came stronger and faster, Elin groaned again and again, clutching at the earth and straw beneath her bed.

“Aaagh… Aaagh!!!”

Her water broke, and with it, a torrent of pain.

Unimaginable agony seized her. With no one around, no knowledge, no preparation, Elin could only endure with her whole body, praying to Manafreya.

Then the reindeer returned, laying herbs before her.

‘Ephennesia…’

Ephennesia contained a numbing substance effective against pain. Chewing a mouthful, Elin lay back with her legs spread.

Her mouth dried, her pelvis felt as though torn apart.

“Aaagh!!! Aaaagh!!!”

The birth had truly begun. One reindeer bolted out of the cave.

About an hour from the cave lay the nearest village, Songdal. At its outskirts, a reindeer appeared before an old woman tilling thawed soil.

“Good heavens! Wh-when did you come, reindeer?”

She dropped her plow and stared. A faint blue glow emanated from its fur.

Though she had long abandoned belief in Olrun and Manafreya, she remembered clearly the tales of Olrun’s three messengers from her youth until her apostasy.

“Th-that blue glow… Could it be? Olrun’s messenger from legend? No, impossible—surely not!”

The reindeer approached slowly.

Terrified, she stumbled back, tripping into her own furrow.

“Ow!”

As if to calm her, the reindeer lowered its great eyes and bowed its head, as if asking to be touched. With trembling hand, the old woman stroked its brow.

“So gentle… Heavens, not fleeing even at human touch.”

The reindeer knelt beside the old woman, folding its legs as if to say, Climb on.

“What is this? Why are you doing this?”

The reindeer turned its head toward her, urging her to mount. The old woman grew more and more certain—this blue reindeer was indeed Olrun’s messenger.

“Can it be…the tales of the old gods are true?”

There were other stories about the reindeer.

They said that if one mounted a kneeling reindeer, it would carry them to treasure-hoards, or to hidden banquet halls where gods descended to feast in secret.

Perhaps that was its intent? The old woman gently stroked its back.

Sure enough, it remained still, as if to say again: Climb on.

“Then I’ll mount your back for a while. Was it Nils or Hans in that old story…?”

Half in jest, half in hope, the old woman swung her leg carefully across its back.

As she settled, the reindeer rose slowly to its feet.

“Oh heavens! Put me down, quickly!”

But the reindeer ignored her cries, plodding forward, then speeding into a run. Terrified of falling, the old woman clung to its neck, weeping prayers atop Olrun’s messenger whom she had forsaken long ago.

Flying like the wind through the forest and up steep slopes, the reindeer reached the cave where birth was underway, and bent low for her to dismount.

“Aaagh!!! Aaaagh!!!”

Elin’s cries of agony shook the cave. The old woman nearly fainted at the sight.

“Heavens, what is this! Oh Lord above…”

Frightened, she hurried to the dying Elin. The silver wolf and brown bear withdrew, giving her space.

“Oh mercy…giving birth alone in a cave… What horror!”

The child was lodged, unable to pass. Elin had lost consciousness, her color fading, blood pouring dangerously.

The old woman drew a small knife, cutting above the blocked opening to widen it, then drew the child free.

The baby did not cry, limp and silent. Worried, the old woman cut the cord quickly, cradled it close, and rubbed its back hard, singing.

“Cry, cry.

“Till your cry reaches mountain, valley, and lake.

“Cry, cry.

“So that trolls flee and dwarves leap in fright…”

Without thinking, she had sung an old forbidden song. At last the baby wailed, and she sighed in relief, wrapping it in her cloak and laying it on the straw.

“A girl… Little one, how did you come to be born in such a place?”

The reindeer stepped in, licking away the afterbirth and filth clinging to the child.

The old woman’s eyes turned to Elin.

She was drained—her life force spent by blood loss and endless labor. With her midwife’s experience, the old woman knew Elin could not recover.

“Heavens, so pitiful… There’s a village below, but the climb was too steep, wasn’t it?”

No belongings, no sign of her station or origin could be found.

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?”

The old woman shook her gently. Elin barely cracked her eyes open, breathing her last with no words.

“Wait…just wait!”

The old woman brought the baby, wrapped in her cloak, and shook Elin again.

“Here, look! You must see your baby’s face, if only once!”

Elin’s eyes opened with effort, fixing on the child.

Her lips moved to form words, but no sound came. Tears welled and spilled as her gaze drifted past the child.

Behind the bear, wolf, and reindeer watching her stood a falcon—Manafreya’s messenger—perched on the cave wall, staring.

‘You’ve come for my soul… Manafreya’s messenger.’

Her eyes, fixed on the falcon, slowly lost their light.

“Stay with me! Hey! Hey!”

The old woman laid the baby aside and shook her, but Elin’s empty eyes had stilled. She no longer breathed—the flame of her life was gone.

She checked her breath and heart, then rose, sorrowful, with the child in her arms.

“I don’t know what happened, but surely this too is the will of the gods…”

Her eyes turned to Olrun’s three messengers.

“Whichever god it may be…”

The baby cried. As if in answer, the reindeer came forward and knelt again.

The old woman understood—it meant to carry her home. She gently closed Elin’s eyes, straightened her limbs, and covered her with straw.

“Forgive me, this is all I can do. But the child fate has given me—I will care for her somehow…”

Cradling the baby, the old woman mounted. The reindeer rose carefully, stepping from the cave toward Songdal village.

As they left, the bear and wolf curled beside Elin’s cold body, guarding her from scavengers.

The reindeer delivered them home, bowed as if in thanks, and vanished into the forest.

The old woman hurried to light a fire and boil water.

With steam rising, she bathed the baby and spoon-fed her stored goat’s milk.

But spooning milk to a suckling infant failed. Thinking hard, she poured goat’s milk into a clean leather pouch, tied its end, and pricked holes with a needle.

When she pressed the beaded drops to its lips, the baby’s tongue squeezed them in—she drank.

Color returned to the old woman’s face.

“Yes, that’s it. Thank goodness, thank goodness… But now…”

Looking at the child’s lovely face, she pondered.

“What should I name you…?”

Then a red sunset lit the baby’s face, and her eyes gleamed like stars.

“It’s as if the North Star is in your eyes. I’ll call you Lyset—Light. Lyset…”

The baby cooed as if smiling.

“Oh, Lyset…how sweet you are.”

At that moment.

Within the castle of Nastrand, another birth was underway.

Maidservants rushed with supplies, while a beautiful lady panted, surrounded by midwives.

“Ugh! Aaaagh!”

With a great scream, a baby emerged between her legs.

The newborn let out a strong cry. One midwife lifted it gently, another carefully cut the cord.

“My Lady Duchess—it is a boy! A strong, handsome son, the future Duke of Nastrand!”

The duchess, weak-eyed, smiled with joy at the sight of her son.

A maid hurried with a cup to her lips, but she pushed it away, reaching instead for the baby.

The midwife carefully placed the baby, wrapped in fine cloth, into the duchess’s arms. She opened her bodice, exposing her swollen breast, and brought the infant’s face to it. The midwife gently guided the baby’s mouth, and he began to suckle with vigor.

“Ah, my child…”

As she smiled with satisfaction, all around her rejoiced.

“Have you already chosen a name for the baby?”

The midwife asked carefully.

“Yes. The Duke said that if it were a boy, Christoph would be best. Isn’t that right, Christoph?”

The little baby, understanding nothing, only kept his eyes shut tight as he nursed with all his strength.