Northern Fiction - The Saga of Freydis Eiriksdattir
Chapter 2
Figures appeared, emerging from out of the depths of the darkness. Youths. Young warriors. They came as young lovers to Freydis with outstretched arms and groping hands and warm wet open mouths. Twenty-five youths with tall lean bodies, with long flowing flaxen hair, naked and flawless, erect and hard, and graceful in the night. Then, five young maidens, willowy and supple, joined Freydis and the death-pale, dancing youths glowing silvery in the moonlight.. Long blond hair wafted unbraided and outflowing on the soft breeze, shimmering like silken veils trailing on a breeze. Firm young breasts upturned and full with nipples hard and dark against milky leper-white flesh in the moon’s glow. Lithe maidens swaying rhythmically, their thighs long and slender and well suited for wrapping around a man thrusting body, dancing around her. They danced, she danced round with them, back and forth and in and out, in measures that pulsed in time to the staccato pounding in her temples. Freydis and the shades danced in wild abandon into the night.
Once more her body was recharged and surged with the vigor of the young. Supple and filled with lust she trod the measures of her mind. Sweet hot and salty sweat ran down her spine, pooled into the cleft between her full rounded buttocks, and beaded down the smooth curve of her slender thighs. Her heavy breasts swayed, like skins filled with skyr that swung to and fro, and heaved in labored breaths, dewed and beaded, with rivulets of sweat trickling along her flanks, over hips, and flying off into the night in sea-salt sprays like a ship knifing surging waves. Flesh hot and wet, explosively sensitive to the whisper of the breeze that sent shivers up her back. The zephyr’s breath left her goose-fleshed as thousands of tiny hairs quavered, erect and tingling, on arms, thighs, and belly-skin that was now taunt smooth flesh. All firm, belly flat, buttocks round deeply yielding meat and marble cool to the touch.
Long blond tresses in the moonlight trailed like banners on parade as Freydis cavorted, jestured, bandied about with individual maidens. Chased them one or another in and out amidst the other dancers playfully and stopping to embrace the young men, rubbing her naked sweating body against each of them and opening her body wide for their erect and throbbing, jabbing thrusting,.groping touch. The youths danced close packed one against each other, daisy-chained one with another, and each reached out seeking to cavort with her. Inside the magical circle of power she rolled in the dirt with the two special wiry youths who’d suddenly welling up outted from her past. She called to them by name: Helgi, the slim supple youth, and his brother broad shouldered Finnbogi the young man who’d tempted her with secret smiles and soulful sighs so long ago. Laughing. Twisting. Racing and wrestling about abandondly like Ratatqsk, the World Ash’s squirrel, and his frolicksome mates. The threesome groped each other, as so often in the past, so many years ago, with entwining sweating limbs wreathing into contotrted twists and coils and pressing, rubbing, licking, grasping, biting, lapping at sweat slick thighs, hot wet crouches with spittal drenched mats of tawny pubic hairs, saliva smeared faces with open mouthed tongue lolling kisses. Sucking, probing, lapping, licking slippery wet body to wet slippery body. Face to face to face all pressing together with desperate heat. Lusting wide open lips seeking hot anus with lapping tongue, and with desperate thrusts cramming throbbing knobby-headed penis into gaping distended maw and engorging a stretched-to-gagging throat that hungers for more, and breast stuffed mouth sucking and gnawing at a fleshly swollen nipple in a frantic effort to fulfill long-nursed desires for love. Filling themselves with each other even as Odin thirstily quafted Odrerir the magic mead of poetry. Then, suddenly Helgi leaped away and Finnbogi rose up tall. Their shades seeming to tower above the thrashing limbs of Freydis. A distant cockcrow, as ominous as the red cock, called All-Knower, who boldly crows the warning of doom from Birdwood, and the soot-red hen who calls from Hel’s Hall, deep under ground. Then Helgi and Finnbogi were reddened with the steaming life’s-blood that gushed forth from great hacked ax-wounds that rended their flesh and shattered the hard white bone.
Freydis screamed: “No wait. Just a little longer. Wait!”
In an instant, the dancing company had fallen to the darkly magical, Mirkwood-like, forest floor. Thrashing and jerking about in grotesque death throws the golden youths were in an instant a twitching heap of mangled and torn corpses. A pile of hacked bodies drenched in black clotted-gouts of coagulated gore. Then phantoms rose up, gibbering and howling, as they encircled Freydis staring from unseeing dead-eyes and keening in agony. Their distended maws snapped and gnashed sharp white gleaming teeth in vain attempts to bite and gnaw at her, like the great dragon Nidhogg’s rips at the roots of Yggdrasil the World Tree. They reached out with clawing hands with rotting flesh, grasping at her to drag her deep down within the forest’s leafy floor. She waved them away aided by the first orange edge of light bursting over the hillside and splashing golden day on night’s deep dark forest glen. Youths and maidens vanished, descended into the earth, disappearing as with the bursting of a bubble. Then they rose up and once again cavorted in a macabre version of the dance so quickly ended. Freydis broke the spell with a scritch. The scream started low in her throat and rose into a high hysterical ululation, a wailing that tapered off into a keening moan, and ended in a piteous whimpering sob.
The effects of the unguent ebbed from her body and the power of the sacred mushrooms abated. Throwing herself to the forest floor clawing and crawling across Ymir’s flesh, across the frost giant’s cold dead body from which the earth was made, back into the circle of power she had draw and dragging her years with her. Then, when Helgi and Finnbogi were summoned back to Niflheim’s realm of Hel, she made one quick reach into the void between life and death. She grasped the object of her desires and struggled to hold onto the power wrestling with the demons to retain possession of her youth forr one more year. Then her hand emerged from the black pit of Hel revealing that she held clenched in her talon’s grasp one more of Idun’s golden apple’s of youth. She had once again renewed the physical charms, unimpaired complexion, youthful attractiveness, and sexual-appeal that had been ebbing quickly and deserting her. She’d managed to retained most of her renewed vigor, but this renewal had been a greater struggle than ever before. The spirits vanished. Hel’s door slammed shut. She was renewed, but more tired than ever. Each year at the Night of the Dead the burden increased, renewal became more difficult. She was alone in Skatalund, the warrior’s grove, naked, cold, and drenched with sweat, her breath roaring in great gasps and grinning with success. “Sweet goddess thank you so, forgive my greedy yearly quest to steal, no only borrow, the source of youth and strength. God’s know I need it more than ever!” Then thrashing about wildly in a rage, she called out to her long dead brother, as rising on her knees Freydis shook her fists to the heavens. “I have won again. For now, Leif, I have won for now.Leif. Leif. You bastard! Leif. Leif, free me from this curse. Let me have peace. You Loki-kin, evilest and most mischievous of gods! But never think that I will crawl or beg for quarter. This woman is twice the man you ever were, remember that! My Leif, you big blond beauty. Hah, you bastard you. Hahahahahahaha” Oh, gods. Hroptatyr-Odin, god of the dead, where are you now? Has Ragnorok come to Asgard and to Middle Earth?” She squatted exhausted on the leafy ground, then plopped down on her rump with legs splayed out before her. Freydis knotted fingers as she dug with long gray nails into the rich black soil, racking her talons through the earth that lay exposed where she had danced with the shades moments before. Keening a wailing wordless cry of anguish that tapered off into a surly muttering in a childish whining tone Freydis pouted: “Leif, are you without pity for you poor little sister? Don’t you remember when I was the Valkyrie and you were the slain hero?” The in an infantile yelp: “Let your little sister have her fun. You and your damned curse.”Then between sobs, Freydis grumbled petulantly: “I hate it when he does that. Just when things are going so well too. Every time, Leif, every time. Well I guess I’ll have to seek out some consolation in fresh youth now that I’m renewed.” Then she laughted to herself: “I’ll never need to worry about Gefjun’s help. Whatever would the goddess of maidens think of me?”
Dawn came. The sky turned from black to violet and then to blue. Freydis slowly rose from the ground, gathered her clothes and drew them on with clumsy fingers. Her back aching at the task. Leaning on her staff she watched the Elf-Candle turning night into day as the warming sun dispersed the mists still lingering in the hollows. Sunlight shown on the distant hilltops covered with leaves of autumn orange and yellow and rust and only smoldering ashes remained of the night’s fires. A brisk breeze scudded wispy clouds high across the brilliant blue sky. “That was some night.Its still great to be alive!” Freydis yelled out to the birds. Then she thought: “Now, what about some breakfast?”
Norumbega was coming to life as Freydis ambled through the town gates. Before going home to Kraekleroost she walked to Saint Olaf’s churchyard gateway, there she stopped to observe Hrolf speaking with a few parishioners. They had just come from Hallowmas, the morning Mass after All Hallows Eve, dedicated to all the hallowed saints and holy people. Freydis hailed him fretfully, she seemed to hobble toward him, then knelt reverently in the muck of the street. In a quavering voice she called to the priest: “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Then she pitched forward into the muck, her entire body seemed racked and shaken with great sobs like an hysterical child.
The young priest raced to her, leaned forward compassionately, and assured her in earnest tones: “Freydis, Mother Church understands transgressions..”
She looked up him with trembling lips, her eyes streaming hot tears: “Yes, perhaps. . . but you do not. Father, I have sinned. . ., sinned terribly, Father.” Then in a firm voice, mockingly: “And, I have enjoyed every wondrous moment! I only regret that now these joyous times come so few and far between.” Her “sobs” metamorphosed into wracking laughter, “Hahahahaha. Yes, Father I have sinned, and it was wonderful!” Spring up from the muck she began cackling loudly and straddling her witchhazel staff she hopped and cavorted and whistled a merry tune as she wended her way homeward.
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