Midnight Eclipse (Paranormal Viking Romance, Completed)

Chapter 25: Northern Lights

I watch Gudrun from afar. I have done so for weeks now. But I never stray too close, as I'm wary of the beast I have become, instead I blend into the wilderness. Snow paints the cliffs and forests as white as my fur, aiding my efforts. As a human, I didn't excel at sneaking, but as a bear, my skills are more advanced.

She walks along the shoreline, wearing a fur-lined cape over her blue wool dress. Her red hair burns like fire among the icy surroundings. Her curls may be the only thing that's warm on these shores. As cold winds catch her cape, I can see the roundness of her belly underneath.

Our child. Because I know that child is mine. I know my father never touched her. Not because he didn't want to but because he couldn't.

Our child is all that remains of my human existence, even if that child will never know who I am. But perhaps they will hear the saga of my heroic demise as they spend the dark hours of polar winter inside, huddled beneath furs and blankets, listening to the sagas told by the elders. The saga of Björn the Bearslayer, who killed a bear at twelve and died in a struggle with the very same beast at twenty-one, is definitely the kind of tragic tale told by the fireplace during long winter nights, of which there will be plenty soon enough.

Although a man turning into the beast he's known for slaying and being forced to walk frozen shore in that form forever might be an even more tragic saga. Made even more tragic by the fact that his father before his demise tricked him to sire a child that could pass for his own. Because I do believe now, after having too much time in solitude to ponder my fate, that was his intent all along. He knew I couldn't stay away from Gudrun. He knows I could do what he couldn't.

But why would my father need another child so badly? Especially before he knew Ivar was leaving. Perhaps he just wants everyone to recognize his superior manhood but I fear there is a more nefarious intent.

Our ancestors used to sacrifice their children to the old gods, hoping to appease their fickle minds.

My father may be a vile man, a despicable man even--having murdered his own son--but would he go that far?

My trail of thoughts whirls away with the arctic winds and Gudrun looks my way. Does she see me? Crouched between snow and ice on the other side of the shoreline, I should be hidden from her view. But Gudrun always saw more than a mere human could. She sees days of yore and nights of the future, blended into a saga that perhaps holds the truth about our fate. I was never privy to her exact visions, as she feared that speaking them out loud would make them turn into dust.

Her gaze lingers as if she knows I'm there. Even in this form, I long for her touch. But I can't venture closer, because I know that my longing can turn to bloodlust in an instant. My massive body appears to not recognize the sensation of fullness.

For a brief moment, our eyes lock. At that moment, I remember everything we used to be. Every touch and kiss that we shared reverberate through my body, making my heart pound quickly in a way I don't think usually happens to bears. Love isn't a concept familiar to the animal world. Only eating, sleeping, and procreating exist.

The next moment, he's there. My father. His hand touches her shoulder, making my nostrils flare and a growl escapes my throat.

I could kill him, it would be so easy. But I worry how many more of my brethren I would slaughter in the process. Because once I let loose my primal side, I don't know if I can contain it again. I may kill them all. I may kill Gudrun. I may kill my child.

So with bared teeth and a snarl, I back away. I run across snowy fields and frozen mountains to get away from the sight of him. I escape to the safety of my cave, where fur turns to skin and anger turns to sadness. In the darkness, I allow myself a few hours of respite, resting with my head on a mossy rock, before I venture outside again, this time in my human form.

I watch the village every night, hoping that Gudrun will appear in the veil of darkness. Because only during the nighttime hours can I safely talk to her. But my father cannot know I'm alive--if that's what my existence can be called?--as that would jeopardize everything.

I need to make her leave like Ivar and Aakku. The path toward safety is clear to me now and I can lead her on that icy trail, even if I can't join her in the life she'll lead among the free people of the Arctic. Because Aakku's people aren't trapped like us, they came here of their own volition.

Walking along the shoreline, my steps are illuminated by lights that sparkle green and blue in the dark sky. The northern lights, flying across the sky on clear winter nights, have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. They're as familiar to my eyes as the frozen sea, low forests, and rising mountains adorned with ice.

No one knows why the sky on these shores burns like ice. One saga told around the fire on cold winter nights told us it's the light from fires burning around the oceans and since this forsaken island is closer to the edge, the fires will burn brighter here. But how can this be the end of the world if Vinland exists? I chose to believe in Vinland, the dream of freedom I can never have, and to ignore the deceitful tale.

Another saga told us that it's the persistent cold from glaciers and frozen seas that create the dancing lights. The cold freezes the air, turning it into the opposite of sunlight. These are not the rays of the sun but rather the rays of frost. I can believe in that tale because I certainly know the power of cold winds and relentless snow. These forces permeate everything in our lives.

But I rather believe in the tale my mother told me when I was tucked in her embrace as a small boy, fading away into slumber. She told me the lights were the creation of the god Kari, one of the many fantastical entities our ancestors used to believe in, and that the blinking lights were the traces of his sons, Jokul and Frosti, playing among those twirling streams. That story always made me smile because I could see myself and Ivar running with the god's offspring, laughing and playing as children should.

That story made me believe the lights were benevolent toward us remaining Norsemen. They were a gift to remind us we were not forgotten.

I wonder if Ivar also sees these lights, having become one of the skrälings. I supposed our gods were never theirs and theirs were never ours, but I'm not sure the gods--if they even exist--care about such worldly matters. Underneath the dancing lights of approaching winter, we're all just trying to survive.

Sitting down on the icy cliffside, I lose myself in the lights. The sheen reminds me of my mother and how she used to hold me tight. I wonder if anyone will ever hold me again.

My mother had hope. She believed we could make it off these shores, and that's what killed her as she volunteered to step on a ship toward Iceland, where her brother escaped to many decades ago. She'd been told he became a chief there and that he would perhaps help us in our perilous situation, either shipping goods or sending a fleet to take us all in.

Hope died when her ship sank among icebergs. The coming winter, my sister Signy perished and the lights went out in my father's eyes.

But the lights of hope still sparkle above glowing stars. When gazing at the wondrous theater before me, I can't help but hope as well. If something so beautiful and unexplainable can exist, then hope can as well, even if my situation may seem hopeless now.

"Björn," a soft voice speaks my name behind me. I know who it is without turning around. I would recognize that voice calling for me even in the roar of an avalanche.

Gudrun's hand grazes mine. A burst of warmth rushes through my cold body, reminding me of what it feels like to be loved. She will hold our child in those hands, just like my mother held me, and tell them the remaining fragments from the sagas of the old gods.

If the lights in the sky are the works of those gods, I believe they're good. I believe they're not the kind to expect the sacrifice of children in exchange for good fortune, but rather the kind to watch over the ones who are little and spark hope through wondrous tales.

"Gudrun," I reply, not letting my eyes stray from the lights of hope. 

Author's Note: Please excuse all the philosophical yammering about Northern lights and old gods. I've been struggling hard with this story lately, and this is what my brain could conjure. I'm not sure it even makes sense, but hopefully, it will move the story forward as I hope to finish it during February (so I can focus on an ONC story fully).