Freydis envied the dead. She’d danced with Death countless times throughout her long life. Flirted and teased, and yet Death refused to take her home. Instead, Death often came for those she loved or simply used her as its instrument.
She’d lost track of how many funerals and how many cemeteries she and Vetus had attended, although this was the first at which she’d worn the face and body of an old woman. Her wrinkled, age-spotted hands trembled as she wiped the tears from her wind-burnt cheeks.
Vetus, however, looked as he always did, ageless and stoic. Huddling against him, Freydis was grateful for the subtle warmth his magic wrapped around them. Icelandic autumn air tore through the cemetery, and overhead, black clouds threatened rain.
Good. Astrid loved the rain.
Freydis closed her eyes, listening to the words the cleric spoke. His steady, rhythmic voice carried away on the wind. Her mind wandered several decades into the past to when she’d served as a nurse aboard a hospital ship in the European theatre of the Second World War. For Freydis, it was her penance: atonement for the darker parts of her past she longed to forget. It was on that ship full of death and destruction that she met Astrid.
Astrid had been a light in that terrible darkness, and she was the only human, other than Freydis’s father, who knew what Freydis truly was and loved her anyway. Immortality had given Freydis many things, but Astrid gave her the sense of belonging she’d always sought.
And now Astrid was gone.
A wave of nausea jolted her back to the graveside. Despite the cold, a film of perspiration formed on her brow. An accompanying chill snaked down her spine. The magic she’d used to craft the glamour she wore was failing. She’d never tried to hold a glamour for so long before, and it drained what little strength she had left amongst the grief. Resting her head against Vetus, she inhaled deeply. He smelled cool and crisp, like a winter-kissed evergreen and freshly fallen snow.
“I’m so tired, Vetus,” Freydis sighed. “I don’t know how to live or where I belong anymore without her.”
She searched his familiar face, a silent plea for an ounce of his ancient wisdom. The distant look in his eyes told her everything—more than words ever could. While he might have been standing beside her in that tiny cemetery, his mind was far away.
Turning his eyes to meet hers, he murmured, “It is never easy to say goodbye, Freydis, especially when it’s forever. But time passes, and you learn how to bear it. You learn how to continue without them.”
Vetus wiped a lingering teardrop from Freydis’s cheek, his hands warm and gentle. They watched as the casket was lowered into the cold, damp earth—her last connection to that place safely resting within. Freydis fought the urge to climb down after her.
Vetus placed his arm around her shoulder, gently squeezing for encouragement, as they turned and walked to the car that was waiting for them. Freydis was grateful for his presence and the comfort it always brought her.
Slowly, she began to release the glamour she had worn to blend in for all those years. Vetus eased Freydis into the car, and once inside, signalled to his driver to leave. The smell of leather and newness from the rental car assaulted her heightened senses as her magic unravelled. The crunch of the gravel beneath the tires and the incessant sound of the windshield wipers grated on her as she gazed distantly out the window. Freydis wondered how she could feel so numb and so raw all at once.
“Dea,” Vetus murmured, breaking their silence, “Have you given any thought to what comes next?”
His use of her nickname, the one her mother gave her, always felt bittersweet. Exhausted, she offered a shrug in reply. She hadn’t let herself think that far ahead. She didn’t even know who she was anymore without Astrid.
They completed the remainder of the trip in silence until they arrived at her modest wood-framed chalet. Vetus, ever the gentleman, walked around to open the door for her. Her glamour was completely gone. Her previously snow-white locks now hung in chestnut waves around her face. The wrinkles had smoothed from her fair skin, and the strength of youth chased away the weakness of old age from her body.
Vetus met her tired gaze with a warm smile, no doubt in response to her looking like herself again. Freydis could see the care and concern he felt in his emerald-green eyes.
“There is nothing left for you here, Freydis.” His tone made the hairs on her neck stand on end, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Perhaps it’s time you—”
“I know that,” she snapped. “I just need some time.”
A tight smile remained on his face, though it did not quite reach his eyes. An icy, unrelenting stare betrayed his true emotions. Freydis forced herself to return the smile as Vetus leaned over to kiss her forehead, leaving without another word.
*****************
Her grief made arguing cruel and pointless. Vetus stalked back to the car without a backward glance. He’d always struggled to understand Freydis’s incessant need to live as though she were human. Especially with her complicated past. Humans feared and hated what they did not understand. History was proof enough of that. She couldn’t possibly believe she would be welcomed as one of them if they ever discovered what she truly was.
Astrid was unlike any human he’d ever known, and he’d known many. Humans like Astrid were a dying breed, but the years spent with Astrid held Freydis back. He knew he had to help her find her way forward from this.
Comfortably seated in the vehicle, he pulled a cellular device from his suit jacket pocket. He hated being tied to it, but operating in the human realm made it necessary. His long fingers knew the number by heart. Ophelia would know what to do. She knew Freydis almost as well as he did, albeit from a distance.
“How is she?” Ophelia’s familiar voice greeted him.
“Exhausted. Using so much magic for such a long time has drained her dry—she worries me.”
“She will be alright, Vetus. I will keep eyes on her. We will see her through this, just as we always have.”
Vetus leaned his head against the car window. “Do we still have that residential property in Boston?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?” He could hear her smile in her voice.
“Freydis needs a fresh start, a new life. I have contacts there who can help. Can you arrange it?”
“Anything for you.” Ophelia paused. “Meeting others like herself would help her too, Vetus.”
Vetus sighed, “Thank you, Ophelia.”
He disconnected from the call and returned the cellular device to his inner jacket pocket. Still leaning his head against the cool window, he closed his eyes, twisting the amethyst ring on his finger as his thoughts drifted.
****************
Freydis crossed the threshold to the place she’d called home for decades, and the silence she found waiting for her was suffocating. Aimlessly, she paced the rooms, the evidence of a happy life all around her, but she only felt numb. A picture of a much younger Astrid sat on a shelf in the hall. Delicately, she picked up the picture and held it close to her heart.
Freydis squeezed her eyes closed and whispered, “Please tell me it’s all a dream.”
They had never defined their relationship—it was complicated. Freydis wouldn’t have called it romantic, although there were moments. A penetrating gaze, a lingering touch, or comfort in a lonely moment was not uncommon. They gave each other the simple pleasure of another’s touch.
Astrid had been a widow when Freydis had met her, her young husband killed in action, driving her into service as a nurse. She’d told Freydis she’d promised her God that she would never remarry. She’d said their friendship was all she needed to be fulfilled until she joined her husband in eternity. It suited Freydis.
She’d been with men and women over the centuries. Nothing serious, but they satisfied her physical desires. She never let any of them become more. But it was different with Astrid—a steady and comfortable companionship without judgement or expectations.
And now it was gone.
Unable to bear the empty house, she grabbed her coat and retreated outside, startling a snowy owl from a nearby tree. She was a child when last she saw one of those majestic beasts. Iceland was full of beauty and often reminded her of Norway, her homeland.
In the shadow of two great mountains, her tiny Icelandic town sat alongside a harbour that opened to the Northern Atlantic Ocean. The wind had picked up since earlier, carrying the frigid salty air off the harbour. Wrapping her coat tightly around herself, Freydis walked along the water for the better part of an hour. It gave her time to think, and she realized that, while she was pretending to be human for so long, she had forgotten why she had come to Iceland in the first place. Her mother’s ancient edict, “Find my people to find yourself,” echoed in her mind.
Listening to the water splash against the pier, Freydis remembered the calmness of her mother’s voice whenever she spoke. Even as they hauled her away, her voice remained steady and calm. Thinking of her mother always brought a tightness to her chest and a tidal wave of painful memories.
Closing her eyes, Freydis could see the soldiers once more, binding her mother’s hands as they placed a black bag over her head, leading her away to Vardøhus Fortress. Witchcraft was the charge they laid against her; Freydis’s first example of many to come of how humans destroy what they fear or do not understand. She’d been so young.
Lost in her memories, Freydis was unaware of the eyes that watched and followed her from the water, eyes that watched her the whole of her life. Eyes that understood the source of her pain.
The street lamps burned brightly in the twilight when Freydis returned home to find the snowy owl perched in the tree once more. Its large green eyes fixed on her. Before she went inside, she turned to face the creature.
“My mother used to say that your kind knew the way to the underworld,” Freydis scowled at the owl. “Is that why you’re here? Did you take her from me?”
As if trying to understand, the creature cocked its head and ruffled its feathers. Freydis watched its display and nearly jumped out of her skin when it abruptly screeched as it flew from the tree and dove toward her before sweeping up and over the treetops. Freydis shook her head and unlocked the door.
Once inside, Freydis made herself tea in her favourite mug. A gift from Astrid, it was white with black letters that said, Go Away, I’m Reading. She grabbed Astrid’s pink knitted cardigan from the kitchen chair where it always hung and wrapped it around herself. It smelled faintly of her flowery perfume. She picked a book from the bookshelf and, with her tea, sat in Astrid’s recliner chair, trying to distract herself from the aching loneliness she felt. The weariness of the day seized her within moments, and she fell mercifully into dreamless sleep.
The days melted into weeks while Freydis navigated through her grief. She hadn’t eaten anything substantial, and all she wanted to do was sleep. The reality of waking each time to an empty house always brought fresh tears and anger that she’d woken at all.
On one occasion, she nearly tore the house apart, hoping against the odds that she would find even a single dose of that sweet relief she used to know. Something to help her forget. Something to make her numb. She wouldn’t find it.
She tried seeking solace in what little magic she knew but could barely manage a glamour to change the colour of her hair.
Concerned neighbours brought food and gestures of comfort, but she wouldn’t answer the door. Even if she did, they wouldn’t recognize the young woman she had become without her glamour.
When she finally managed to get out of bed, she filled her emptiness with paranormal documentaries and takeout until she finally started to accept her new reality. It would be Vetus, as always, who would finally break through the wall of her despair.
A shrill cry from the telephone startled Freydis awake, and her knees shook as she tried to stand. By the third ring, she answered. Her voice sounded raspy as her vocal cords awoke from their lack of use.
“I know you need time, but I think a change of scenery would also help,” the familiar voice said.
Rolling her eyes, Freydis felt the faintest grin pull at her lips. Recognizing the musical tone of her cautiously optimistic friend, she relented, “Okay, Vetus. I’m listening.”
“I have an acquaintance at Harvard University in Boston. He owes me a favour,” Vetus said.
Freydis sighed, “Okay, so?”
“Well, I know how much you love history. I thought, since he is the dean of the History Department, and he happens to have a vacant assistant professor position, you’d be a perfect fit.”
Freydis had never been to America. She certainly wasn’t prepared to teach. It had been over two hundred fifty years since she last found herself at university.
“I’m not interested in being a professor’s assistant right now, Vetus.”
“I figured you’d say that,” he chuckled, “which is why you will be an assistant professor in name only.”
“Yeah, right,” Freydis grumbled.
“I’m serious,” he protested. “As a faculty member, you would have access to the libraries. I thought it might be the perfect opportunity to continue researching your mother’s people.”
Vetus knew her well and played her love of history and old things against her. She didn’t mind, though; it was one of his more endearing qualities.
The prospect of a new opportunity, though intimidating, was also exciting. For most of her life, before Astrid, Freydis had been hoping to find others like herself. The place where she truly belonged. Perhaps America might have some of the answers she was looking for.
Standing in the disarray of her scattered memories, Freydis realized that, throughout her many lives, she’d never accumulated many personal possessions of any significance. She had a small collection of items she held very dear: her favourite mug, several books, a small Scottish dirk, and a few other mementos from each life she’d lived and the people she had loved. Her most prized possession, though, was a hastily written note from her mother, which she kept tucked inside a well-worn copy of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations for safekeeping. It didn’t take her long to pack.
Freydis’s favourite mug still sat on the counter next to the sink, half full of last night’s tea. After dumping the contents down the drain and giving it a quick rinse, she dropped a fresh teabag into the mug and waited for the water to boil. She chuckled to herself at how Astrid would have scolded her for not washing the mug properly if she’d been there. She glanced around the tiny robin’s egg blue kitchen. The room looked the same as it had every day for several decades but felt emptier now.
A knock at the door interrupted her rumination, and without waiting for her to answer, Vetus strolled in. Still in her pajamas, tea in hand, Freydis sat down at the table and watched as Vetus instructed his driver to collect her luggage.
He placed himself at the opposite end of the table and began absentmindedly flipping through the morning newspaper. Freydis continued to watch him as she sipped her tea. Most would have found the silence awkward, but there had been many similar moments between them. It felt natural to be with Vetus. Something deep within her felt connected to him in a way she couldn’t seem to put into words. It was as if the magic within them, or perhaps the immortal part of each, recognized one another.
Regardless, his presence always made her feel safe and at ease. After her mother died, Vetus had been the only consistent person in her life. He was the only other non-human and immortal being she knew. In all their years of friendship, he never talked much about himself. Freydis realized she knew truly little about him, personally, except his Irish heritage.
“Thank you, Vetus—for everything.”
Without looking up, he cleared his throat and waved his hand dismissively. He closed the newspaper and glanced at his watch. Freydis was notoriously late for things, but she passed it off as a symptom of feeling like she had an infinite amount of time. Hastily, she rinsed her mug and stuck it inside her carry-on before she finished getting ready to leave.
Stopping at the threshold, she turned to take everything in one last time, knowing in her heart she would never return.
“Goodbye, Astrid,” she whispered to the empty house and, with a heavy sigh, locked the door behind her and handed the key to Vetus.
He reached for her hand, and they walked to the waiting car. Once again, he opened the door for her. It was in those difficult moments, endings and such, that she appreciated their comfortable silence most.
