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He decided it wasn’t any of his business or his place to tell Fritjof how to handle family quarrels. It wasn’t long before Stellan was once again caught up in the gray moodiness of the chilly morning. He climbed the large boulders and peered through the fog and skipped stones as he plodded along the shore.
Stellan spent the day poking at the tide pools and watching one of Fritjof’s ancient aunts smoke fish. It was a perfect day and he was starving after a quick shower and a change into a heavier sweater and corduroys. He’d wandered too far down the shore and missed middag but the bonfire was massive and blazing when Stellan presented himself for kveldsmat.
“There you are!” Ulla said as she pushed a plate at Stellan. It was heavy and he blinked down at the egg-topped mountain of hash.
“You’ve been feeding too many Jötunnsens!” He laughed and gave his head a shake as he went to join Fritjof and Gustav.
“I think your wife is trying to kill me,” Stellan told Gustav as he lowered onto the bench next to him and gave him a playful nudge. Gustav grunted in agreement as he glared at Fritjof and Stellan wondered how long they’d stay mad at each other. It seemed so uncharacteristic for anyone in Jötunndal to even raise their voice, let alone hold a grudge. “I was wondering if there were any other mythological creatures known to be roaming the area,” he asked, hoping a change of subject might smooth things over. Fritjof laughed as he reached across the table and gave Stellan’s arm an affectionate punch.
“Not as fascinating as ours!” He declared then looked at the woods as a long, high howl broke the cozy peace and made Stellan shiver. “Let me get you some glögg to warm you and then I’ll tell you about Huld over in Huldradal,” Fritjof said as he got up and Gustav’s eyes tightened as he watched him go.
“I’m not that cold. It’s really pleasant out, actually,” Stellan observed then jumped when Gustav swung back to him.
“You really don’t want to be here, Stellan,” he whispered harshly and Stellan frowned.
“What? Of course, I do. My father and I—“
“Yes. I know. But I’m telling you, it’s time you were leaving,” Gustav said slowly and clearly and Stellan shook his head.
“This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve saved for years and there’s nothing waiting for me when I get back. Except Ted but that’s just because he feels sorry for me,” he explained and Gustav’s face scrunched as he shook his head.
“I can’t help you with that but I can get you out of here tonight. You need to go and pack now, though,” he said quietly and widened his eyes at Stellan.
“You’re not listening to me,” Stellan laughed as he shook his head. “I get that it’s really rustic here but I don’t mind!”
“You have adapted well since you arrived,” Fritjof said as he set Stellan’s glass of glögg on the table with a loudthunk!and sat across from him.
“I thought so too. I was just telling Stellan that I was impressed. Most visitors leave as soon as they learn we don’t have any WiFi and they can’t get a signal on their smartphones,” Gustav lied so Stellan grinned and raised a shoulder as he sipped. The glögg was stout and heavily spiced with cinnamon, ginger and cardamom and Stellan’s nose ran as breathed in the heady fumes.
“I told him, I came prepared. I’ve waited my whole life to get here and nothing could scare me away,” he stated and raised his brows at Gustav. He rolled his eyes and muttered something into his beer stein.
“Have you heard of Huld and her Mara?” Fritjof asked and Stellan nodded but gestured for him to continue. Fritjof wagged a finger at Stellan as he hunkered over his glass. “Of course, you have!” He chuckled.
“According to legends, Huld was a sorceress, wasn’t she?” Stellan asked and Fritjof sighed happily as he drank.
“That she was and you might be the smartest young man that’s ever set foot in Jötunndal,” he noted. He gave Stellan’s arm another affectionate shake then gestured at his glass. “Drink up before your glögg gets cold!” He insisted and Stellan nodded and took a large gulp.
“Tell me about Huld,” Stellan urged. He hugged his glass and sipped as Fritjof dazzled him with stories of a forest witch and maids who could turn into sand and slip through cracks. It was a riveting tale and Fritjof had Stellan hanging on his every word until the words began to drag and the evening became a muddled blur around them. “I don’t feel so well,” Stellan told Fritjof before he was helped into his cabin and rolled into bed.
5
“Whatsissss…?” Stellan slurred and moaned as he was snatched from a really strange dream about Fritjof and a giant glass of glögg. Everything swung around him and his stomach rolled. He grunted as he fell against something then began to bounce. He tried to put his hands out to steady himself but they were tied together and it was hard to open his eyes. The lids were so heavy and Stellan’s eyes rolled as he tried to see and focus.
“Go back to sleep, lad. You’re not supposed to be awake yet,” Fritjof murmured softly and Stellan hummed as he closed his eyes.
“Wait… Why are you…?” He got his head up and wrenched his eyes open as much as he could and frowned at Fritjof's back and trousers. Stellan wiggled and twisted and a large hand fell on his back, pinning him.
“You’ll want to save your strength,” Fritjof warned as the cabin door was thrown open. He skipped down the steps and Stellan bounced as he hung over Fritjof’s shoulder.
“Stop! What are you—?” Stellan grunted as he was dropped onto something hard and cold. He got his eyes opened and blinked up at the stars. His breath plumed and swirled in the frigid air and Stellan gave his head a hard shake to clear it. He squirmed so he could get his bound hands under him but he was rolled onto his back and Fritjof winced down at him apologetically.
“Now, you’re going to want to scream and flip around like a fish back here but that’s just going to tire you out. No one’s going to hear you. At least, not anyone that’s going to help you. Do yourself a favor and save your strength,” he repeated as he tightened a strap across Stellan’s chest, tying him down, then gave it a friendly pat. He disappeared just before Stellan heard the truck’s door open and close and the engine start.
“Is this a joke?” Stellan called as the truck rolled forward and turned. “Fritjof?”
But there was no answer as they picked up speed. Fritjof drove away from the coast and across the field and Stellan swore. His head snapped from side to side as the truck was swallowed by trees. Fritjof found a crude trail through the forest and Stellan’s heart raced as the truck crawled over tree roots and rocks. There was another eerie howl but it was much closer and Stellan struggled against the strap and tugged and turned his wrists frantically.
“Turn around!” Stellan whispered in a loud hiss. “Take us back!” He begged then muffled a shriek when the truck came to a stop in a clearing. The moon was large and low overhead and Stellan cursed under his breath when he recognized his duffle bags and backpack in the truck’s bed, next to him. The truck’s door opened and Stellan heard boots hit the forest floor and twigs snapped before Fritjof reached into the truck and loosened the strap. Stellan wiggled and writhed but he was easily lifted and thrown over Fritjof’s shoulder. “You can’t do this!” He screamed in a loud whisper but Fritjof shushed soothingly and a rifle swung casually at his side as he carried Stellan.
