Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) (4 page)

Although she felt exhausted, she couldn’t fall asleep. She had seen and heard too much that upset her, and her tangled thoughts kept bothering her. This place could not possibly be real. A world stuck in the Middle Ages? Or when? The Viking Age? Wasn’t Asgard something from Norse mythology?

How much time had passed? If it was already evening, her mother surely was worried sick by now. She would probably call the police, but they wouldn’t be able to help. Nobody would, if Thoke really had told her the truth. Her mother would be in total despair. The thought brought tears to Arvid’s eyes.

The Month of the Dying Fire

The next day Thoke had disappeared. Falla was very talkative and, after some unsuccessful gesturing, finally pointed at the books on the shelf. Arvid realized that Thoke probably had gone to the lessons that he had mentioned the day before.

She tried to distract herself from her gloomy thoughts as best as she could by helping Falla with chores. The old woman talked almost continuously, pointing at various things and using her hands to show Arvid what she wanted from her. Sometimes it worked. In most cases it didn’t, but Arvid learned a few simple words.

Thoke returned in the evening. He told Arvid that he attended a school four days a week, which was located just outside the town and was called Vero-Maghen. Although it was called a school, the description sounded more like a university, and Thoke explained to her that it had been founded by a king from the west centuries ago. Thoke’s field was history.

On the fourth night, he brought Arvid a calendar. It was a thin, leather-bound book with a blue ribbon. On the cover, Thoke told her, the year three hundred twenty-three was embossed, and it was based on the foundation of Asgard. The year had eighteen months with wondrous names like “Month of Weeping Widows” or “Month of the White River”. Each month was divided into four weeks, which each encompassed seven days. The weekdays were referred to with numbers only—except for the seventh day, which was also known as the day of rest.

“The calendar is in many ways reminiscent of the calendars of the Light World,” Thoke said. “Centuries ago the transitions between the worlds were still open, and some of our gods have visited the Light World regularly. I don’t know who influenced whom, but the Jördish word for month is derived from the word moon, too, even though there is no moon here.”

Thoke explained to her that the missing moon was one of the reasons why it was almost always dark in the Shadow World. The axis of the planet pointed more or less in the direction of the sun, so that its southern side was too hot; the northern side, however, was too cold. The one-sided placement of the landmasses forced people to live in an area in between, which was only exposed to sunlight for a short period in summer.

“The people here don’t really care about such details,” Thoke said. “But there are a few that do research of this kind. When I came here, I wanted to understand why the Shadow World is the way it is. I thought it would interest you, too.”

“It does,” said Arvid, as she flipped through the pages of the calendar. “What month is it?”

“The fourteenth,” Thoke replied. He helped her find the corresponding page, as Arvid could read neither the letters nor the numbers. “It’s called ‘Month of the Dying Fire’.”

“These are very strange names.”

Thoke shrugged. “I don’t think so. This month gets its name because you normally still can see the last traces of the sun on the horizon around noontime, a fiery, red band. In a few weeks the winter night will begin. Then you won’t be able to see the sun for eight months.”

The idea was unsettling. Arvid’s sense of time was abundantly confused due to the constant darkness. When she was unable to sleep at night, Falla cooked her tea from strange, reddish leaves.

“Rustnettle tea,” said Thoke. “It has a strong soothing effect, but you should make sure only to use half a leaf, otherwise it causes a bad stomachache.”

The days passed, and Arvid quickly learned more new words in Jördish. She could not deny that all the things Thoke told her about the Shadow World made her curious. However, when she lay in bed at night, she often cried. If it was true that time passed about six times faster here, then more than five weeks must have passed in the Light World. The thought of how her mother must be feeling almost broke her heart. And all this because of those cursed gods. Why did they even create the transitions in the first place? The more Arvid thought about it, the more she felt a dull, nagging anger beginning to accumulate along with the numbing layer of pain and grief.

Falla was still very talkative, and Arvid was amazed at how quickly she learned the new language. Whenever the old woman told her the word for an object, Arvid tried to repeat it. Soon she knew the words for all the objects in the house. More and more she also learned other kinds of words, which could be combined into simple sentences.

It was more difficult with the writing. When Arvid had nothing else to do, she took one of the books from a small shelf, but the letters did not seem to have the slightest resemblance to the letters Arvid knew. They looked like runes that she probably had seen at some point, but Arvid knew too little about them, as if this fact would have helped her. Several times Falla read some of the words aloud for her, but Arvid’s understanding of the language was not good enough to understand its structure.

More than a week had passed when Arvid remained alone in the house. Thoke had lessons to attend and Falla had gone to town to shop and deliver various sewings. Although Arvid had felt more or less composed the last two days, the sudden silence in the house was like poison to her mind.

She began to wander through the house restlessly, but there didn’t seem to be anything to do. She tidied up a little, cleaned a pot, which Falla had left in the kitchen, then she sat down and began to scroll through books, though with little motivation. With each side full of incomprehensible signs, her mood sank further. After a while she felt frustration and anger beginning to rise in her.

Arvid threw the book back on the shelf abruptly. She knew herself well enough to know that her mood drop could easily end in a small disaster. The aggression inside her was only a defense mechanism, with which she tried to protect herself from grief and pain. Nevertheless, this mechanism was extremely strong. She had to do something, so she no longer felt so helpless and trapped. But how, caught in a small house in the middle of a foreign city, in an unknown realm, whose language she hardly knew? Should she just go outside? One day she would have to, but the thought of this dark, strange world scared her.

With every hour Arvid restlessly wandered through the rooms, she felt more troubled and torn, until she finally huddled up in a corner of her sleeping place and buried her face in her hands, feeling nothing but despair.

Everything was dark and quiet.

Only the blood was rushing in her ears.

Arvid suddenly felt something strange deep inside her. Was it an emotion? It had to be one, but it was nothing she had ever felt before. It seemed to her like a puddle of pure, pristine darkness—a good kind of darkness. It seemed to absorb her fear and helplessness, transforming it into something new, something that came very close to anger; however, it was not wild and flaming, but cool and purposeful.

Arvid climbed back down and began to open all the chests she could find. She felt that she had to get out of here, no matter how. She had to get rid of her pent-up aggressions, this gnawing anger about what had happened to her, about the gods, about those damned portals and everything. The answers to all the questions that kept her awake at night were somewhere out there.

She found clothes, towels, pants, socks, even a pair of gloves, but no shoes, not even sandals. Arvid’s frustration grew, and with it the odd feeling of darkness. There were blankets and furs, but no coats or capes, and when all she found in the last chest were several bolts of cloth and pieces of fabric, she slammed the lid with an angry cry and clenched her hands into fists so violently, her fingernails painfully cut into her skin. Arvid had to use all her mental strength not to give the chest a violent kick. No, the last thing she needed right now was a broken toe.

At that thought, she suddenly stopped. Confusion abruptly mingled with her anger. Almost at the same time she heard the loud, screeching noise of the front door. She walked over to the entrance and saw Thoke, who was about to take off his cloak.

“Why is my finger not broken?” she asked without greeting.

Thoke looked at her in astonishment. “What? Why would it be?”

Arvid rubbed her little finger, which she had struck so violently against the door less than two weeks ago, but it was completely healed. It didn’t even hurt.

“Before I came here, my finger was broken,” Arvid said, “but not anymore.”

For a long time Thoke looked at her in silence. “I know why that is,” he finally said, “but the explanation could be… a little disconcerting for you.”

“I don’t care,” replied Arvid, tediously restrained. “All I ever hear is that it’s too complicated, too confusing, and that I would not understand. I’m sick of it!” She felt anger and this strange feeling of darkness in her getting the upper hand again.

“You say this world is so different. You are implying things but never give me any explanation,” Arvid continued, her voice trembling with anger. “I finally want to know what to expect out there, why this world is supposed to be so different. If I keep sitting in this house and do nothing, I’ll go mad!”

Thoke slowly put his books down on the table. Arvid could tell that he could feel her anger.

“It’s understandable that you’re frustrated,” he said. The deliberately calm tone of his voice made Arvid almost livid.

“You say that all the time! If you understand me so well, why don’t you help me get ahead? Why don’t you explain to me what all this really is about? What am I waiting for here?”

“I just wanted to protect you!” replied Thoke. “When I came here, no one was considerate of me. Many of the things out there could be a shock for you.”

“What does it matter?” cried Arvid. “Coming here and almost getting eaten by crazy black monsters was shock enough. Some confused nonsense about gods and runes will hardly throw me off track, because you know what? My life is already ruined!”

“Fine!” Thoke replied angrily. Finally getting an emotion from him was almost refreshing. With a jerk, he turned around and walked toward the kitchen. “I was just trying to be nice, but all right, if you like, I’ll give no more consideration from now on.”

Arvid followed him and watched as he grabbed a pitcher, put it down on the table with a bang and began to fill it with beer. “So what do you want to know so desperately?” he asked gruffly.

“Everything!” replied Arvid, still angry and unimpressed by Thoke’s spite. “I’m not going to just accept my fate, whether you like it or not. I’ll find a way back, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Fine,” snorted Thoke. “Just do whatever you want! Run off and search for something that doesn’t exist!” He took a long drink of his beer and glared at her angrily.

“But how?” cried Arvid. “I don’t even have shoes! I’m stuck here and know nothing at all. I simply need more information—all the information!”

“All right!” he shouted. He put the jar down again, then roughly pushed himself past Arvid, back into the entrance hall, where he began to rummage in a large leather bag.

“Get one of the blankets from upstairs,” he said. “If you want all the information we need to get out of here. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Thoke’s reaction made Arvid even angrier, but she controlled herself and did what he had told her.

Silently Thoke put the blanket around her like a cloak, fixing it with a large brooch of black metal. Then he gave her a pair of simple leather shoes. They were too big and were obviously usually worn indoors, but they had to do for the moment.

As they left the house, an icy wind hit them. Arvid realized that she had not been outdoors for almost two weeks. The cold was uncomfortable, but the fresh air was good.

“So you wanted an explanation for your finger,” Thoke began, still in an irritated tone. “It’s simple: the body you have now is not the same one you had in the Light World.”

Arvid hesitated and looked down at her hands in disbelief. They looked like always.

“Back then I noticed because my birthmarks were gone,” said Thoke. “Later, I read and heard that on entering a different world some kind of copy of you arrives. The copy is similar but generally not identical. In fact, there are scholars who believe that the whole Shadow World is such a copy, and that the two worlds were once one many centuries ago. Thus the Shadow World has only developed independently from this point. That’s why there are so many parallels.”

“But… does that mean my real body… is still in the Light World?” asked Arvid.

“What happens to the other body is not known,” Thoke replied, then he suddenly changed the subject. “Come. We go to the market. On the third day of the week there’s only small market, but it will be enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“To show and explain one of the most important aspects of this world,” he said, “the different types of magic.”

The street was relatively quiet and looked like Arvid had often seen it from her window; only she was the middle of everything now. The air was filled with a mixture of different fragrances. Arvid smelled horse dung, musty water, damp hay and straw, and the smoke from fires that were sporadically burning in large metal bowls on the street corners. Under the roofs the round glass balls were glowing—Thoke had said they were called star lamps and were illuminated with rune magic.

They turned into the alley, which led directly to the marketplace, and were suddenly surrounded by people and noise. Arvid tried to stay as close to Thoke as possible and not to lose him. All around there were stalls with fruit, vegetables, meat and cheese, richly stuffed displays of preserves and dried fruit. From somewhere the smell of fresh bread reached Arvid’s nose, and right behind her a portly merchant loudly promoted his drinking goods, which Arvid didn’t exactly understand. At one corner small glass bottles with swirling, colored glowing sparks were sold. Arvid stopped, fascinated.

“Lightning bugs,” Thoke said. “People here appreciate everything that spreads light.” He pointed to a booth right next to it. The displays were filled with small, cloth-wrapped bundles, with leaves, flowers and other plants layered on top of them. They all shone in various blues and greens and bathed the merchant and the interior of the stall in dim light.

“The leaves and mushrooms look nice but they’re not very bright,” said Thoke. “The star lamps are better, but also quite expensive. They come in all shapes and sizes. Although they are not as bright as a candle, they don’t soot and usually last several years.”

He moved on, heading straight for the back part of the marketplace. Here merchants that mainly offered the craft goods seemed to have settled, and the crowd thinned considerably. They walked between piles of fur, blankets and baskets. Arvid saw huge racks of tools and weapons, and a man who exclusively offered cords and ropes in all variations.

But Thoke didn’t seem to be interested in any of this. He continued to lead Arvid on between busy visitors and loudly calling merchants, until he finally stopped at a small booth, which was surrounded by heavy, dark blue fabric on all sides. In the display Arvid saw a large number of small, strange objects, most made of metal, but some were made of wood. A woman next to them was inspecting one of them. Arvid noticed that it contained some sort of mechanism.

“That’s a runesmith,” said Thoke, and nodded to the merchant when he raised his head at the sound of his voice. “Rune spells are a kind of magic. Not everyone is able to cast it. You have to have the gift of being able to use the naturally occurring energy around you. You also have to be trained to make it do what you want with the help of runes.”

Thoke took one of the bigger items that looked like a music box. “This is a clock,” he said to Arvid. “They also work with rune magic—have a look.”

A little uncertainly, Arvid took the cylindrical object. At first glance, it really looked like a small music box. It was made of wood, but covered with a shiny black paint. In a circular depression at the top a ring of metal was embedded. Inside it there was another, slightly smaller ring. Both were densely covered with runes.

“And how can you tell the time?” asked Arvid, after she had looked at the small cylinder from all sides.

“The outer circle bears the runes for the spell; they’re not important for you,” said Thoke, pointing to the larger of the two rings. “The spell binds the inner ring to the rotation of the Earth, thus it also rotates once per day. This happens very slowly; maybe you won’t be able to see it right away.”