Blood Moon

Eyvor liked to wait for Steven at the base of the steps of the museum when he ended his work day. It gave him time to ramble to her excitedly about all the people he saw and all the good questions that the children asked. It was precious. She loved hearing about it, even if the people who rode the bus every day gave them dirty looks for disrupting the quiet on the bus. Steven was finally able to do what he loved: talk about Egypt all day every day. Eyvor loved watching his eyes light up as he excitedly told her about whatever interesting question some bright young child asked him that he had never been asked before, or about the newest exhibit that was coming into the museum that “you just have to see it, love, it’s bloody brilliant.”

She loved him so much.

Her days were rather lackluster, now that Steven was working most days and she was left to her own devices for most of the day. She still ran errands for her old landlady because the woman was getting on in years and didn’t have anyone else to help her. Jake had given her a list of places she could visit that he’d found in his late-night cabbie experiences. Some of them were better than others; some of them she thought would have been more fun if he had been with her. 

She had started reading some of Steven’s books, but she quickly found that most of them were terribly boring, and some of them weren’t even in English. Instead, she made a fun game of using post-it notes to teach Steven runes. Every label in the apartment that didn’t risk getting wet was covered in a post-it note with runes carefully and clearly written on it for him to practice. It annoyed Jake and amused Marc, which made it even more fun for her. 

Eyvor sometimes called Layla and talked to her for hours on end when she wasn’t busy with Scarab things, but it just solidified to her that she really needed to pick up a hobby. 

The perfect one came in the form of a little display that she found while walking around an outdoor festival in a park. It made her gasp, because it was something she actually knew how to do already and hadn’t really thought about since leaving Asgard. 

It was a lyre, an instrument her father had taught her to play when she was barely up to his knees, and something she hadn’t touched since she started training with Tyr. More importantly, it looked like the lyres she remembered, not the silly U-shaped things they had in Steven’s museum. 

Excitedly, she walked over to the stall, where she was met with a man whose beard was filled with braids and bright eyes. “Mornin’, miss. Can I help ya find somethin’?”

“This lyre,” she said, pointing to it. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it.” She couldn’t help the smile.

“By yourself?”

“I did. You like it?”

“My father has one almost exactly like it,” she replied. “He taught me to play when I was young, but I haven’t touched one in a long time.”

“Your father is one of the people who enjoy the old ways of music, huh?”

“You could say that,” she said, smiling at the man. She almost mentioned that her father was the one who taught the skalds to play in the first place, but she knew better than to say such things.

“I’d be happy to sell it to ya,” the man said. “I can see how happy looking at it makes ya.”

“I would be even more happy to give money to someone who can make such fine instruments,” Eyvor answered, looking over his other wares. “Did you make all of these?”

“I did.” Her eyes landed on an instrument she hadn’t seen in years. It had never been her father’s favorite instrument, but she had always been intrigued by it. 

“What about this one?” she said, pointing to it. “I haven’t seen one in a long time.”

“The mora-harp? It’s like a taglharpa, in a way. Have you ever played one?”

“No. I’m trying to find new hobbies, though.” She looked up at the man, and he was giving her a searching look.

“Are you from Norway?” he asked. “Your accent is like my grandmother’s.” Eyvor smiled.

“I’ve got some roots there, yes.” For all that the Asgardians pretended that they were better than the Midgardians and other peoples of the realms, so much of their culture came from those who lived in Norway and Sweden. It was easier to accept that people would think she was from Norway, from her accent alone that she had never been able to fully shake off, even as the Asgardians changed their way of speaking. Her mother had the same way of speaking.

“So’s my family. My pappa is from Norway, but my mum’s from Ireland. My grandmother, though. You sound like her.” Eyvor smiled.

“Thank you.”

“My name is Aksel.”

“Eyvor,” she said, the pair shaking hands. He was smiling at her happily, glad to find a kindred spirit, it would seem. “Hyggelig å møte deg.”

“Du også. Pappa would kill me if I let you pay full price for these, especially if he could see how much they mean to you.”

“I won’t let you,” Eyvor answered. “I can see the craftsmanship, and it should be rewarded.”

“But–”

“I won’t let you,” she repeated, pulling money out of her pocket. “You’ve given me a little taste of home, and that’s worth more than anything you could sell me.”

She left with two instruments carefully placed in handmade cases, and a new friend for when she missed home a little too much. 

When she returned to the apartment, she carefully set her purchases down on the table, where they wouldn’t get buried until she could find a good place for them, and she sat down with her lyre, her fingers fumbling as she remembered how to tune and adjust the strings. Her father had spent many afternoons with her on his knee, helping small fingers tweak and turn things until it was perfect. She smiled at the memory. Then, she began plucking the strings, old tunes that he had taught her springing to her mind as her fingers relearned how to play. 

As she regained her confidence, she closed her eyes, letting memory guide her movements. 

Bragi inspired the skalds, that was true, but he didn’t only do that. Under the guise of a travelling skald, he would bring her to villages, and they would sit around the campfire with others and play. Not everyone had instruments, but they could bang sticks on logs and trees; they could hum; they could whistle.

As if she was still there, she could hear the rhythmic clacking of wood and the plucking of her father’s lyre. She could feel the heat of the fire on her face, the humming of the other men. The lyrics her father inspired slipped from her lips as she pictured the flame-lit faces in the darkened forest, the wind through the trees, the stamping of feet, the rapt-gaze of small children. The dirt beneath her feet after walking so far. The callouses on her fingers. Braids she’d long-since taken out dangling in her face. An owl hooting overhead. Faster and faster. Her father’s bright smile gleaming at her, light reflecting in the eyes of the other skalds. Her mother’s hand on her shoulder as she listened to the music. The smell of the sea, wild and untamed. The pride of helping her father do what he loved. The joy that she could join in with him. Faster, more voices, more instruments, more stamping and drumming, the flames surging in front of them. The rush of pride and exhilaration with the song swelling around them. Nothing outside of this, just the music. Something that was written into her very blood, her being itself, a gift her father had given her twofold. It called to her, the music wrapping around her until she felt like she was flying, the thrill of looking at her father’s smile towards her. Silence, the end of the song, nothing but the clacking and lyre again, until it was over. With a gasp, Eyvor opened her eyes, surprised to find herself crying, and even more surprised to see–that was Steven–sitting on the ground in front of her.

“Hi,” he said.

“H–” Her voice cut off, and she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“You alright?” She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “That–looked like a lot happenin’ there.”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk ‘bout it?” She carefully set the lyre on the couch and sniffled, sliding down to sit on the ground in the space he’d left between them. He pressed a tissue into her hands that he got from somewhere.

“My father taught me how to play when I was little. He was the best, of course. I stopped playing with him when I started training with Tyr. I found a place in a park today while I was walking that was selling instruments, but the kind I know, not the others. There was a man selling them, and I need something to do now that you’re gone all day, so I bought this, because I used to play, and then I bought a mota-harp to learn how to play. It’s on the table.”

“Yeah, wondered what that was. Was more worried ‘bout you, though, love.”

“Me? Why?”

“Well, didn’t hear me come in, didja? And you didn’t meet me at the museum.” She gasped, tears spilling over again. She’d lost track of time.

“Oh, Steven, I’m so sorry. You all must have been worried about me. I’m sorry.” He reached out to take her hands in his, giving them a squeeze.

“No, it’s alright, love. I meant that you were almost in a trance? I said your name, and ya didn’t even hear me.” She blinked, tilting her head in confusion.

“That’s never happened before. I was just remembering.”

“It was beautiful, what you were playin’, but you weren’t reactin’ or nothin’. Just a wee bit worried about you, love.” Eyvor thought for a moment.

Her listlessness during the day. Her restlessness at night. The way the instruments had called her to, and now this.

“Steven?”

“Yes, love?”

“Would you like to go to Asgard?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t as simple as it would’ve been. Steven had a job now. He had days off, of course, but Eyvor had never actually tried to keep track of the difference in time on Asgard and time on Midgard. They’d worked so hard to make sure Steven could get a job at the museum (and he was happier that Donna and JB weren’t there anymore); if she was the reason he got fired, she would be upset at herself. 

It took planning. Steven handled things with work while Jake handled his cab-driving, even though he was more of a work-when-you-want kind of employee. Marc was the easiest, since he still didn’t do anything. But Eyvor was willing to wait. She called Layla to ask if she could take time off from being the Scarlet Scarab to make sure that their fish wouldn’t die (Steven would be very sad, and all of them hated that). 

“Sure,” Layla replied. “Things have settled down out here. I think the last of Ammit’s followers are finally handled. I could use a break.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. When’re you leaving?”

“I don’t know. Steven isn’t home yet, so I don’t know. I think Jake wants to take a drive when they get back, though.”

“That sounds fun!”

“I think he wants to go out of the city, which he’s never taken me to, so that’s exciting.”

“Have you ever left London? Besides coming to Egypt, I mean.”

“Oh, sure. I came to Midgard in farmland north of the city.”

“But I mean, there are other large cities in Britain. Have you been to Ireland? Scotland? Did you ever go to Norway?”

“No,” Eyvor replied. The boys weren’t home, and wouldn’t be back for a while, but Eyvor still lowered her voice in case Steven had, on some random chance, decided to come home early. “I’m honestly scared to go there.”

“Why?” Layla asked.

“You have to promise you won’t tell them. It’s not anything bad, but I think Marc would tease me over it, and he and I aren’t close enough for that, yet.”

“I promise.”

“I was there when the Norse first went víking.”

“You mean viking.” Layla used the long “I” instead of Eyvor’s short “i” sound in the word.

“No. It’s an action. It’s something they did. Everyone else calls them Vikings, but it’s wrong. The Swedes, the Norse, they were all one people, and they all went víking.”

“And you were there when they first started?” Eyvor hummed her agreement.

“I was very young, but Father used to visit them all the time.”

“But, that was–” Eyvor waited while Layla counted quietly. “That was over a thousand years ago!”

“It was. And we visited regularly until most people had moved on to other things.”

“Which was?” Eyvor had to stop and think.

“I think I remember Istanbul still being Constantinople? And that’s not a new change, right?”

“No. Did you ever go there?” Layla asked, the wonder of someone who knew and appreciated history in her voice.

“No, but I met traders and merchants who did.”

“I don’t think Marc would tease you over this, Eyvor. It’s amazing! So much history that we don’t know about, you lived through!”

“I wouldn’t get that excited about it,” Eyvor said. “I don’t actually remember a great deal of it. I was a child, and I was focused on other things.”

“But–” Layla paused. “That’s why you’re afraid to go back.”

“I know London has changed. I can see the parts that are old and new. And it’s such a young city. You couldn’t recognize it, if you had been here when I first started visiting. So many of the places that I went didn’t have formal names, and they weren’t nearly as established as London.”

“There are places that are still standing, Eyvor. The countries work very hard to maintain their history.”

“I just–I can’t go back,” Eyvor told her. “I don’t think I ever will.”

“I’m sorry,” Layla said, and Eyvor smiled, even though she couldn’t see it.

“It’s okay. The parts I do remember, I remember well, and that’s enough for me.” Layla was quiet for a moment.

“Let me know when you leave, and I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Layla.”

“Of course. Give them a hug for me.”

“I will.”

She was glad that she and Layla were friends. That conversation would have been a lot harder with Steven.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eyvor sat Jake down in the middle of the apartment, intent on giving him some information before they even tried to go to Asgard. “Are Marc and Steven awake?” she asked him as he sat on the couch, watching her in amusement where she stood in front of him.

“Yeah.”

“Where are they? I need to know where to look so they know I’m serious.” She couldn’t see them, since all of it was in their head, but they used mirrors and reflections to communicate more easily, and it was the only way she could include them in the conversation. 

“Marc’s there.” Jake pointed to the fish tank, where she could see his reflection pointing when she looked at it. “Steven’s in the mirror.” They had shuffled some of the bookshelves around and put up a large mirror on the wall to make it easier for them to talk. Eyvor looked over and nodded.

“Okay. So, I’m taking you to Asgard. I think all of you would enjoy it, and I wanna go visit my parents, but it’s different from here. A lot different. I had a bit of a culture shock coming here, and I don’t want it to be as terrible for you as it was for me.”

“You look nervous, gotita,” Jake said.

“I am.”

“It’s just us, mi amor.”

“I know. But Marc overthinks and Steven gets nervous, so I’m trying to prepare all of you for it and make sure I do a good job.” Jake’s eyes shot to the right, towards the mirror.

“Steven says he’s too excited to be nervous.”

“Look, just–let me do this, okay? Midgardians don’t go to Asgard for a reason. It’s a lot.” Jake motioned for her to continue. “Okay, first, no one there speaks English. Or Spanish.” Jake blinked at her.

“Gotita, you speak English.” She shook her head.

“Only in part. What I use is All-Speak. You understand it as your native language. I understand English because I learned it while I was here, but I don’t speak it, not easily. It’s why I get so frustrated when you speak Spanish. I don’t understand it. I understand Norwegian because I grew up visiting what is now Norway, but the language has changed a great deal, and I had to relearn that as well. Old English and Old Norse aren’t that different, so it was easier for me to learn.” Jake scowled. She knew the look though. He was confused, and he didn’t like it. “Here. I’ll try this.” She shifted, thinking for a moment. She’d been using a mix of English and All-Speak as a crutch for a while, but she could try, to prove her point. “Do you understand this?” She watched with some level of satisfaction as Jake’s eyes widened, hearing her speak a language he knew she couldn’t, and he straightened. “I guess you do.”

“Mierda,” he said. “Eso es raro.”

“I use a mix of English and All-Speak, usually. I’m getting better with English, but I’m not able to speak it usually.”

“Why the English, then?”

“I know you, Marc, and Steven can all understand it. Easier to talk, don’t you think? You and Marc would have to translate Spanish to Steven, and he would have to explain French, and none of you speak Norwegian. And I landed here first. If I had started in Norway, I probably wouldn’t know any English.”

“So you’ll have to translate?” Jake asked.

“It’ll be fine. Heimdall at the very least understands most languages, since he watches everything. We’ll be fine. Anyway, talking may be different but we’ll learn. Also, Asgard’s big, but not as big as you’d think. It’s not a whole world like Midgard. It’s just a Realm.”

“That doesn’t make sense, gotita.”

“I know. It will when we get there. What else? Oh! Mother will tell you to call her ‘Mother.’ You don’t have to. Unless you want to.” The boys’ relationship with their mother was difficult at best, and she wasn’t going to make them do something that would make them uncomfortable. “And Heimdall is a meddling gossip, so don’t let him mess with you too much.”

“You worry too much, rosa de sangre. It’ll be fine.” She huffed a laugh and smiled at him.

“You haven’t met my parents.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind whipped her hair around as Jake drove across the country road with the windows down in a car he’d produced from somewhere (she didn’t ask where). It was a rare clear day in a very rainy winter, and they had decided to take advantage of it with a drive out into the countryside. Eyvor half-leaned out of the window, enjoying the wind buffeting her as he drove, one hand on her hip to keep her from falling out of the car entirely. The radio was playing some station that she couldn’t hear over the rush of wind in her ears, but this was as close to flying as she could get, and Eyvor was enjoying herself too much to bother with how she looked. Jake’s hand was warm on her hip, and the wind was chilly and slicing at her nose and cheekbones, and she loved it. 

“Come back inside for a moment, gotita,” Jake said, and she shifted, sliding back into the car and turning to him, her face stinging from the warm air blowing in the car. 

“Yes?”

“Grab the sandwiches out of the back?”

“Sure.” She leaned over the backseat and pulled out the small bag of food they had packed for their driving driving around aimlessly. She was just about to hand him the unwrapped sandwich for him to take a bite out of when there was a sound like a thunderclap, and Jake slammed on the brakes. Eyvor braced herself against the front of the car to keep her head from slamming into it, and Jake swore angrily. 

“Are you okay, gotita?” Jake asked immediately, once the car was stopped.

“Yeah. You?” He nodded, and the pair of them looked out the front window to find a man standing in the middle of the road, looking at them. He was tall, with a thick black beard, and hair that was perpetually windswept. She didn’t have friends on Asgard, but she’d interacted with him enough to know exactly who he was, and she was instantly angry for how reckless he had just been. “Oh, for all the Nine Realms,” Eyvor grumbled, kicking open the door and getting out. “You know you could’ve killed us?!” she said. “Heimdall had better aim than that! Take the Bifrost next time! And the middle of the road? Are you insane?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Hermóðr replied, his brows furrowing in response to her scolding. “I haven’t been to Midgard in a long time! They didn’t travel that fast!”

“It’s hard for Asgardians to die, but they can when they’re flung head-first into a Realm Tear!”

“Next time, I’ll look before I leap, but are we going to fight this whole time, or can I say hello?”

“Yes, hello, we’ve done that. What do you want?” Eyvor asked, crossing her arms, still mad at him.

“Eyvor?” Jake asked, standing next to the car with his hand tucked into his coat pocket in a way that told her he was holding his gun tightly. She sighed.

“It’s fine. Come make introductions.” Jake stepped up to stand beside. “This is Hermóðr, messenger of Asgard. A bit like a mailman. And an idiot for appearing in the middle of a road!”

“It won’t happen again,” Hermóðr replied. “And I have a message to deliver.”

“Obviously,” Eyvor said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “For me?”

“No,” he answered, looking over at Jake. “Is your name Jake Lockley?” Jake was instantly on edge. Eyvor was suspicious.

“You have a message for him? Specifically?”

“Yes.”

“From who?”

“Your mother,” Hermóðr said. “Why are you being so weird about it?”

“Because my mother doesn’t know–” She cut herself off, sighing, and she tilted her head up to stare up at the sky in anger. “You are a meddling old man, you know that?!” she yelled towards space, knowing Heimdall could hear her. Eyvor looked over at Jake. “It’s fine. You can take the letter. I know what it says.”

“Do you?” Hermóðr asked.

“Of course I do, because I know that my mother doesn’t know his name, and I know that Heimdall would have told her. Tell Mother that we will be there soon.”

“Apologies, Eyvor, but I’m supposed to take a message from Jake Lockley, not you.” She rolled her eyes and sighed through her nose.

“Fine.” She hopped up to sit on the front of the car while Jake took the letter that Hermóðr held out to him. He blinked at it when he opened it. “Can’t read it, can you?” she asked with a laugh.

“No.”

“Give it here. I’ll read it aloud.” Jake handed the letter over, and she was met with her mother’s familiar looping scrawl. 

Jake Lockley,

You’ll forgive the informality, I hope, but my daughter spoke highly of you when we spoke last. I would be very honored if you would come visit myself and my husband in our home of Asgard, bringing Eyvor with you, of course. We would like to see the person who has so affected our little dewdrop.

Eyvor groaned at the inclusion of her nickname, but Jake only chuckled. 

You do not have to, but we would very much like to meet you, and see our daughter for longer than a moment, which I am sure would be the result if she returned without you. 

You may send a response back with Hermóðr. He has been instructed to get a response from you, not Eyvor, who I’m sure would send him back on her own if I had not told him such. 

 Iðunn

“Sí, we'll go,” Jake said, looking at Hermóðr. “Not now, but soon.” Hermóðr gave a small bow.

“I’m sure Iðunn will be overjoyed. I am sorry that I nearly caused a collision. I will take my leave. See you soon, Eyvor.” He gave her a smile, and she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t show up in the middle of the road again, idiot.”

“Noted.” With another loud clap of thunder, he was gone, and Eyvor heaved yet another sigh.

“Dewdrop?” Jake asked, and she groaned, putting her face in her hands.

“Don’t you start. I can’t believe she wrote that.” Marc snickered at her.

“You know, he calls you ‘droplet,’ that’s why he’s teasing you.”

“No! Is that what it means?!” Eyvor said, her eyes snapping to him, only to be met with Jake’s scowl. “Is that was ‘gotita’ means?!”

“No te lo diré.”

“Jake!”

“Get in the car, rosa de sangre. I’m hungry.”

“Jake, why do you call me that?!” He didn’t give her an answer, no matter how much she begged.

Meanie.