Once they’d strained the fat and rendered it completely, we mixed it with the tallow Leif had been warming and then filled the smaller pot with my shredded moss. Bjorn ladled the tallow over it until the pot was once again filled, stirring to incorporate it well, and once it was cool enough, we set to work.
This was definitely the dirty part of the work. The sour meat odor had cooked out of the tallow, so it wasn’t nearly as foul smelling. However, the texture of cooling fat mixed with soggy moss was… gross. The grease coated my hands and squished between my fingers with unpleasantly fibrous bits.
One handful at a time, we stuffed every gap in the ship. The four of us worked in silence, each turning to grab another scoop from the pot we’d set in the middle of the boat. Hair that freed itself from my braid tickled my forehead, and I wiped my brow with the back of my wrist, hoping I wasn’t smearing fat all over myself.
Even as careful as I tried to be, I somehow ended up with globs of tallow dotting my dress. It was a relief to know I had a second dress to change into, so I could wash this one again… by hand.
Fucking dresses. I longed for buttery soft leggings, tank tops, fitted hoodies and oversized sweaters that sagged off one shoulder while I sipped a giant mug of coffee laden with syrupy sweet creamer…
I’d tried so hard not to wallow in memories of the long-distant future that was now in my past, but sometimes they caught up to me.
Fuck it, it’s not like I have anything else to think about. The men worked quietly, occupied by their own thoughts, and I decided to indulge in memories of my favorite moments that wouldn’t exist for so many lifetimes. I felt tiny stabs in my chest when I considered them.
Warm, melt-in-your-mouth croissants, served with tiny cups of rich espresso. I pictured myself on a café patio in Paris, springtime, the fragrance of summer blossoms in the air. Strolling the cobblestone streets, the Eiffel Tower in the distance while a street musician played ‘La Vie En Rose’ for tourists.
The hot, dry markets of Marakesh, spices poured in gravity-defying, rainbow piles on wide shallow plates, their scents filling the air and combining with the mouth-watering fragrance of grilled meat. The clang of my bracelets as I adjust the scarf concealing my hair and face. Stalls filled with colorful silks, embroidered with golden threads in delicate floral patterns. Smoking hookah on satin pillows with a wealthy merchant who offered me piles of riches to join his harem.
The steaming volcanic springs in Iceland, a brilliant aquamarine color against the glimmering snow-covered ground. Bundled in fur and wool, watching dazzling displays of northern lights from the warm circle of Helgi’s arms.
The stinging prickle of tears rose in my eyes. I hadn’t thought about Helgi in a long time. After I made my way west, escaping the scrutiny of Odin and setting off on my adventure, I traveled around Europe for a few hundred years before I escaped the dark ages and landed on the shores of Iceland. And I’d been happy there.
Helgi was a giant of a man, not unlike Bjorn. He was strong, and fierce, and proud, and so very good.
And I’d loved him. I’d loved him enough to spend far too many winters in Iceland. I told Helgi I would never change, I could never bear him children or grow old with him; that I could never grow old, period. I told him I could stay only as long as he never asked me why.
And he never did. I stayed with Helgi for nearly thirty years until his heart finally gave out. He wasn’t an old man by modern standards, barely in his fifties, but that was a long life for the mid-1300’s. I gave him a traditional Viking burial at sea—he descended from Vikings that had settled Iceland and still held firmly to the culture. When his burning ship disappeared on the horizon, I left Iceland and never returned.
That was a dark time for me. I’d given more of my heart to Helgi than I thought possible, and when he died, he took it with him. I vowed from then on to never let another man to get so close I’d break when I lost him.
Because I would always lose them. I would live forever, and they would wither like summer fruit.
Despite my best intentions, I came very close to making that same mistake again and again. In fact, I could tie my depression-fueled benders to leaving behind a lover to whom I was far too attached. As I got older, it got easier; the walls of my heart thickened, and I knew belief in magic and gods had faded. People were far too curious, and no longer worshipped many gods. They wouldn’t accept my explanation that I simply wouldn’t age without asking questions... at least, that’s what I told myself. It was better to not let anyone in again.
Now, with the core of my soul returned to me by my armor, I could revisit these memories without drowning in alcohol. I’d been far too weak to face them as a broken, empty person.
Now restored, whole, the memories still ached. But it was a sweet ache, equally sad and happy. I remembered Helgi’s boisterous, booming laugh that always made me grin despite how angry I’d been. The cozy home we’d made far away from the village, so there were fewer people to question my astounding youth. Curled up in furs by the roaring fire, still panting from our lovemaking, my face resting on his burly chest.
Helgi had been such a lovely gift in my life, and now that I could think about him with a grateful heart, it was nice to mull over those memories.
I was still lost in my own mind when I reached the prow of the ship and finished stuffing the cracks with sticky lumps of tallow-soaked moss.
Turning, I saw the others were nearly finished as well. Leif’s deft fingers were plugging the very last slats on the back of the starboard side, and Soren was at a similar spot on the port side of the stern.
And Bjorn—Bjorn, who reminded me so much of Helgi I didn’t know how I avoided realizing it this long—Bjorn was right beside me, watching me with an inscrutable expression.
“Brenna, are you okay?” His face was stern, but his deep blue eyes were concerned. I realized I’d been crying slow, silent tears as I pored over my memories.
“I’m fine.” I faked a smile. “Never better.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s okay for you to be sad, if that’s how you feel. You know that, right? Clearly you’ve gone through something, and you’ve lost everything you had. It would make sense for you to be sad from time to time.”
My heart throbbed in my chest, and I bit my lip to reign in the emotion threatening to flood me.
That’s exactly what Helgi would have said.
“Thank you, Bjorn. I appreciate that you understand. I try not to dwell in the past, but sometimes it creeps up on me.”
Bjorn nodded sagely. “Yes, but our past made us who we are. It’s impossible to separate your past from your present or your future. It’s part of you. Perhaps it would be easier to accept it and mourn your losses, than to try to forget them.” His gaze was filled with meaning, and I remembered that he’d lost both of his parents barely two years ago. If anyone understood the pain of tragic loss, it was this man.
“Perhaps,” I agreed softly, lost in the depths of his open, emotion-laden gaze.
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