The Damaged Soul by Troy Calkins

She practically drags us out all the way through town as people wish us luck. She leads us all the way to the carved wooden altar of Fridgerd, the goddess of marriage, love, and fertility. The mother of the gods. There, our aunt, the wise one Sigvor, awaits along with our father. My mother pushes us forward to stand in front of them. Sigvor wears a very nice linen dress with her dark hair done in a braid. Her eyes show joy as her lips try to touch them in a smile full of warmth. She has on an elegant headdress with antlers decorated with flowers.

Sigvor smiles down at both of us from the altar. “Today is a day of celebration. We have come here to witness the union of brothers with sisters.”

For the love of the gods, when she says it like that, it makes it seem like I’m wedding my sister. “These two brothers bound in blood, the same blood that I share, have come here to forge an eternal bond between two sisters who are also bound in blood, uniting two families as one.”

She takes a step down so she is standing on our level and looks us both in our eyes. She turns to Thorkel first, taking his hands in hers. “Do you, Thorkel, son of Beorcol, come to bind your love with that of Asfrid, daughter of Hrut?”

“I do with all my love,” he says with a smile.

She nods and releases him before turning to me, taking my hands in her own. Her warm touch spreads through my own body. “And do you, Bothvar, son of Beorcol, come to bind your love with that of Arngunn daughter of Hrut?”

I nod over-enthusiastically. “I do with all my heart.”

My aunt’s smile widens. “Good. Now you two may join your father upon the altar.”

“Now bring out the brides to be,” she says as Thorkel and I take our place next to our father.

Thorkel and I wait with eagerness. It suddenly dawns on me how many people are here watching us as we stand at the altar on top of the hill in front of the mountains. Nearly every street is filled with people. All the way to the docks, people stand to watch. Not just people from our entire town, but leaders of other clans as well. I’m surprised to see that even the Earl and his family from the Wolf Clan have come. A man about my age catches my attention as his eyes meet mine. I can feel him sizing me up. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, hair that looks like the night, and a stare as cold as ice with eyes glimmering green. Next to him is a very beautiful woman the same age as him, with hair as red as fire and matching glistening green eyes. There’s no mistake about it, it’s the twins Baldric and Siv, grandchildren of Earl Bjarni. They’ve grown a bit since the All-Clan Meeting, where we tried to sneak up on their tribe, if that can be imagined. I still can’t figure out why there’s something so familiar about Baldric and Siv. I just have this nagging feeling we know each other.

I tear my eyes away from them and see some familiar faces. The Valkyrie clan watches from the opposite side of the aisle. The War Chieftess, Amalasontha, stands as she acknowledges us with a nod of her head. Her eyes seem to pierce into me like they did when Thorkel, our friends, and I got caught on her land so long ago. Next to her is the smiling face of Tonna. She is beautiful, to say the least, with her long brown hair in elegant braids. Her face appears delicate but also has a sharpness to it. She gives us both a wave. I find myself smiling as I wave back. I will never forget the time she taught Thorkel, Vog, Solmund, and Griotgard how to fight with a staff. I wonder what Asfrid will think when she finds out she’s here. I remember quite clearly; she wasn’t very fond of her. Did she ever learn that we were spending time with her at the All-Clan Meeting? Next to her is another woman as old as Amalasontha, two younger women, and one that I recognize. I met her at the All-Clan Meeting. She’s the girl from the dock… What was her name… Almedha! She looks as beautiful as ever with braided brown hair and her smile. She gives me a nod and I return it.

My breath catches as our aunt Ingithora ushers out the two most beautiful women in all of Aratheon. One, in particular, I can’t look away from. Her face is veiled in a see-through sheen, but I can clearly make out every gorgeous detail of her beauty. Her eyes are as deep as the sea with a blue that makes all the sapphires in the world seem dull. Her golden blonde hair is swirled up in a bun with flowers and lacy pink ribbons wrapped and decorated in it.

Her dress is a pure white of the finest linen. It’s even got a red silk belt wrapped around her slim waist that contrasts with the deep blue silk belt wrapped around Asfrid. My mother rarely ever parts with her silk. It tells me how much she really likes the two.

Arngunn’s smooth creamy skin shows the touch of sun with a golden glisten. When her eyes meet mine, it feels as if we are the only two people here. The rest of the world seems to fade away. And when she bites her lip, a fire burns inside of me.

They are brought in front of Sigvor. “Asfrid and Arngunn, daughters of the late beloved Hrut who is now feasting in Valholl with his beloved wife, Grimhild. You have come to intertwine your fates with Thorkel and Bothvar, sons of Earl Beorcol, and my sister Thorkatla Alvisdottir. Since both of your parents have passed away, Thorkatla, the mother of Bothvar and Thorkel, and Earl Beorcol, their father, have taken both of you in and adopted you. Thorkatla is here to give their hands away in marriage.”

Our mother steps forward and takes both of their hands in hers. “Thorkatla, do you hereby pass over their hands in marriage to Thorkel and Bothvar?”

“I do,” mother says.

Sigvor looks at Arni and Asfrid. “Asfrid and Arngunn, daughters of Hrut, do you two vow to love and care for Thorkel and Bothvar, sons of Beorcol, until your last voyage to the halls of the gods?”

Both women nod. “We do.”

Sigvor then turns to us. “Do you, Thorkel and Bothvar, take Asfrid and Arngunn’s hands in marriage, to protect and love until your last voyage to the halls of the gods?”

“We do,” we both say in unison.

“You may take their hands.”

Thorkel and I step down as our mother holds their hands up for us and we take them in our own. The warmth of Arngunn’s hand within mine makes my soul come alive. Her skin is as soft as the silk she wears around her waist. We all take a step up to the altar.

“Bring the sacrifice,” Sigvor says.

A goat is brought forward. Sigvor steps up to the altar and grabs a knife and a bowl. She steps down to the slave holding the goat and places the bowl underneath its neck. “With this sacrifice, we seek the God Fridgerd’s blessing upon these sacred unions of marriage so that they may prosper with good fortune and bear many children.”

With a sharp cry from the goat, she slits its throat. Blood sprays out and spills into the bowl, and the goat flops down onto the floor. She takes the bowl, walks up to the altar, and mixes different herbs within the bowl before placing it in Fridgerd’s open hands. Then she chants in the old tongue. Words I cannot understand.

Suddenly, a light shines down on the bowl so bright it nearly blinds us. Gasps are heard throughout the crowd. And then it’s gone. It takes several moments to be able to see.

Sigvor turns around so quickly it causes Arngunn to squeeze my hand. She looks hard at the four of us as if she cannot decide what to do. “I have just had a vision.”

Our father steps forward. “What did you see?”

“A daughter… A Daughter of the Sea will be born from the consummation of tonight. She’ll bring…”

I hear her mumble war and death under her breath as she stares off into the sea. Whose daughter? Ours? Thorkel’s? What could she possibly mean?

She shakes her head and rubs the dip between her eyes. “Where was I?”

She looks over at the bowl. “Right… It seems Fridgerd has put her blessing upon these two marriages.”

She grabs the bowl from the hands of the statue of the goddess. Then she dips a brush and she gasps. That’s when I see it. The bowl that was filled with goat’s blood instead has a golden liquid within it. She looks up at us. “Fridgerd has truly shined upon you.”

She dips the brush into the golden liquid and splashes it upon each of us. It burns, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels as if it washes through me.

“With that, the ritual is complete,” she says wearily. Her eyes searching us for answers.

“I think this means it is my turn now,” our father says as he steps up, hesitantly.

“Ri… right,” Sigvor says as she steps aside without taking her eyes off of us.

“Now, bring us the swords and rings. I promise, there will be no surprises with my part,” he says, getting a reluctant laugh from the crowd. He gives a half-hearted smile and quickly runs a hand through his now braided hair that is showing the first signs of gray.

My brothers and sister, along with Koll Alriksson’s youngest daughter, all walk forward. My brothers carrying swords and the girls carrying the rings.

They hand each of us a ring and a sword. We place the ring upon the sword. My father looks at us all. “Thorkel, Bothvar, you both hold two swords that have been passed down from father to son. They hold the protection of our ancestors all the way from the great Bjorn himself who discovered this world.”

I hear a mutter from Vidkunn Bjarnisson of the Wolf tribe, which also catches my father’s eye and earns a smirk from him.

He turns to the women. “The sword you hold into your hands is forged anew with my blessing. Hrut was a good friend of mine and as close a brother as one gets. I know these swords have his protection and mine.”

He smiles down at us and turns his gaze to my brother. “Thorkel, my son. Do you swear to the gods that you want to marry Asfrid, daughter to Hrut?”

“I do more than anything,” he says.

He then turns to me. “And you, Bothvar, my son. Do you swear to the gods that you want to marry Arngunn, daughter to Hrut?”

“I do with all my heart,” I say, earning a nod from my father.

His gaze turns to Asfrid. “Asfrid, daughter of Hrut, do you swear to the gods that you want to marry, Thorkel, my son?”

“I swear I do,” she says, biting her lip.

My father smiles at her before turning to my soon-to-be wife. “And lastly, you, Arngunn, daughter to the great and late Hrut, my dear friend. Do you swear to the gods that you want to marry my son, Bothvar?”

“I want to marry him as much as I want to breathe,” she says.

“I’ll take that as an I do,” my father says, earning a few chuckles from the crowd. He smiles at that as his eyes shift up to them. “Well, who would have thought these four would marry each other?”

The villagers of our town roar in laughter. “I definitely wouldn’t have bet against it. Now. With the sacrifice made and the vows said, I proudly announce you all as married. Exchange the rings and one more thing for my sons.”

We exchange the rings on the tips of the swords, place them on our fingers, and look up at my father. “For the love of the gods, kiss your brides.”

More laughter from the crowd as I wrap my arms around my wife and kiss her deeply, lifting her up off the ground. She is my wife!