Shadowlight

Thou wert fire-willed and free on earth—now ’tis thee, I know, who sets the dead of night ablaze before me.

Still, I miss thy shadow ‘bove the snowdrift. I miss thy footsteps by me side.

Thy earthen shade hath turned to mistglint on the skyline. For this, I can only curse the gods. It is they who’ve seized thee from me—fated me to walk these wintered groves alone; to track and wrestle game down to the glass-clad glade without thee.

Still, I shall prove to be a worthy huntress, fierce one. This, I promise thee. I shall make thee proud tonight, even though I’m sure to find meself distracted by the snowbanks—searchin’ for thy mark. Searchin' for the piece of thee still hidden somewhere ‘midst the hoarfrost.

I dust a cloud of milk-white powder from me overcoat, then shake me fist up toward the sky.

“Where didst thou leave it?” I ask thee, “Why dost thou not come down from there? What would it take from thee to show me?”

But there’s no reply—only the howl of the ice-bitten air.

Aye. Thou never spokest much, anyway.

Still, your spirit lingers, fierce one. It nudges me to carry on.

Every scent of elk stag on the wind has got me thinkin’ of thee. Every twig of spruce that snaps beneath me is a memory—a wakin' dream, callin' back the time we worked to feed the homestead in these sunless months as one: bonded, as a unit. Now, even me crossbow weeps under the glowin' sky-haze—its strings grown brittle from the constant freeze and thaw. Or, perhaps it’s just grown witless, much like I have. It knows thou art watchin' us—judgin’ from thy newfound castle ‘midst the northern lights.

Thou wert ever drawn to them, as I was; their opal flame awakenin' the feral fire of thy soul—the wildness thou didst try to tame, as not to frighten me. The very part of thee I grew to love.

’Twas beneath their lambent drape thou taughtest me how to be a huntress—how to read and listen to the snow, how to hold me breath and wield the winter’s stillness as me camouflage. ’Twas underneath them that thou bade me to become a hailstone. To be frozen ice before the sudden onslaught; a silent storm before me crossbow lunged a bolt of white-hot lightning.

Before our sparks uncaged, unleashin' unto prey.

Beneath the northern lights is where I learned thou wert me soulmate. We were lovers in another life, perhaps—but in this one, we had somethin’ even stronger. Bonded not by love or blood—but unified as one.

I shall always think of thee when I am huntin’ 'neath the lights, me Shadow. One day, I shall rise to meet thee there.

“I shall rise to meet thee,” I whisper. I say it for meself and meself only—not for thee, not for the trees, not for the cursed snow, and least of all, for the gods.

The violet-greens of the auroras are the swords of Valkyries, they say. They are their shields and armor, gleamin' steadfast ‘side the moon. Now, the bond we built beneath them has me squint to see if I might find the shape of thee among them somewhere. I track their sky-born, cloud-like drift the way I would the reindeers’ prance that stirs the silk-smooth snow, seekin’ any remnant that remains of thee: a single tuft of hair, a rabbit bone thou gnawed at whilst we stopped to roast our kill and rest; a footprint—whatever it may be.

Whatever it may be, fierce one—I shall find it.

The gods would know what and where it is, I bet. I want, so deeply, to resist the urge to ask ‘em—but I find cannot help meself. I aim me crossbow at the glowin' arcs on the horizon.

“Tell me,” I snarl, “grant me one last token of me Shadow—tell me what and where it is, damn ye.”

Silence. Only silence—‘cept for the bay of a lone wolf somewhere 'cross the frozen vale.

I no longer fear ‘em. The deities, that is. They’ve already taken the one beloved thing that meant the most to me: thee.

I tighten me grip around the tiller of me crossbow. For a moment, I swear I see the battle maidens racin’ through the clouds. Art thou there among them, Shadow?

As the old tale has it, the Valkyries tread horseback ‘cross the skyline, callin' forth the souls of fallen warriors. It is these luck-wrought spirits whom they’ll carry to the gateway of Valhalla on their gilded wings.

But it’s not every laid low heart they gather. Only the bravest—only the most worthy are delivered, through the storm of ever-dark, to join the revered army of our Allfather. To claim their spot in the einherjar.

On nights like this, when the world’s so silent I can hear the snowfall settle on the quarrel of me iron weapon—when the Nótt-flames spill like fire-milk across the sky’s edge—I ask meself: did the Valkyries judge thy spirit with keen eyesight? Did thou ride upon the golden wings of Valkyries ‘cross the twilight-veil… hast thou won thy lot among the soldiers of Valhalla?

We used to dream together, underneeth the northern skyflame.

Dost thou hunt alongside Odin now, fierce spirit? Dost thou guard him from the mighty jowls of Fenrir, the demon wolf who ushers in the dark?

‘Twas thy greatist wish—thou never spoke it of it, but I could read it in thine eyes. I pray thou hast found glory ‘mongst the gods, as much as losin’ thee hath ripped me heart asunder.

“Glory ‘mongst the gods,” I breathe. I must remind meself I am a she-wolf. I must remember that the gods above are real and that the words spillin' from me mouth are true, for me voice is but a frightened cub. It tiptoes out across the ice-clad tarn—a skittish, wobbly thing too tender for the winter storm that’s creepin’ in o’er the crags.

So tender I do fear I'm losin' sight of me faith, fierce soul.

Aye. If thou wert here, thou’dst wake the firestorm within me—chase the chill out’ve me bones, and all without ever sayin’ but a word. The look was in thy smile—always in thy smile. The wildness of it. The way thou bared thy teeth. The way thine amber eyes pierced into mine and stirred me inner tempest.

No one knew me more than thou. ‘Twas enough to make me question who I was—what, even. Perhaps I was indeed in love with thee—deeply so, and with me all. Love among us would be strange, aye—I admit that. But… perhaps not in that other life.

Perhaps not in that other life, me fierce one—me devoted, constant Shadow.

Me guardian—ever keepin’ one eye on me, the other on the night. The one who let me dream aloud and free into the vast, wide open spaces—me defender ‘gainst me inner demons.

I stop dead in me tracks and grasp me heart.

I think thou sensed it in me—me need for somethin' great beyond the homestead. The need to cast me wishes toward the winter firs like seeds, hopin’ they’d take root. Hopin' they would grow and blossom.

How didst thou know that I was achin', Shadow?

And how didst thou know—without me ever tellin’ thee—that I needed desperately to rid meself of evil? Of the bitterness built up from bein’ bound to spoon and spindle as a woman—as is expected of me?

Thou just knew. Thou always knew. And thou wert always there to comfort me. To honor me—to look out for me. Here, beneath the northern lights, I was thy queen—me fears and woes the trespassers of me heart. The trespassers thou gladly didst hunt down.

With thou, I felt safe enough to let those dark thoughts loose—safe enough to send them scatterin’ out into the snow like frenzied beasts. Thou wouldst pin ‘em down and drag 'em back so I could skin ‘em up. Make ‘em into winter coats and pelts to wear as trophies—like night terrors now conquered.

Thou didst that for me, me beloved battle fere. Thou taughtest me how to slay mine hidden foes. Thou becamest me light as much as thou wert me shadow. Thou becamest me wings to grasp the sky.

I reach me hand up to the waves of astral glow, as if to stroke thy hair. So familiar—art thou there? Is it thee? I imagine pulling shadowed strands out of the ribboned, violet-greens. I hone me senses in to feel their grain—the coarseness of thy coal-dark hair I loved so much. The hair that earned thee the very nickname Shadow.

There are more tales about the northern lights than bones that forge me body—tales that make one’s earthen echo quail with awe.

I used to be that wide-eyed, boyish girl that lived and breathed ‘em, dost thou remember? The way I’d gallop wild ‘mongst the fjords—the dagger I’d stolen in a spell of mischief from me brother in me right hand, the stories of the Valkyries stormin’ through me heart?

I dreamt of growin' up to be a battle maiden. I used to sneak out sideways through the thick turf-roof to gaze and marvel at the gemlit shimmer. That’s how we met—dost thou remember? The way I caught a glimpse of thy shining, amber eyes—the way I gasped because I thought they were the sun?

That’s why I called thee Light sometimes.

Now, the violet-greens have lost their magik. Without thee, they no longer stir me soul.

Without thee..

Without thee..

Without thy light to guide me, the land I prowl is void of its abundant, fruitful promise. Without thy shadow by me side—I am alone.

And I’m no longer rooted to these kill grounds in the same way that I once was. The skógrs—the deep woods I once called sacred—are now a tangled, wooded chase-land where I hunt to feed me body, no longer where I lay me heart to feel. The glades are full of memories of ours—memories now melted with the snow.

Because the winter’s veil once glistened with thy swift and agile gait, and now—even the snowfall fails to glimmer ‘neath the stars without thy tracks.

I slap me forehead. Enough, I think—enough self pity. Time to move. The hunt won’t wait.

For as much as I do miss thee, Shadow, a lass still needs to eat.

I lower me gaze and surge forth—breakin' past the evergreen and hoarfrost.

pit—pit—pit...

Me heart stops. I glance behind me only to find a freshly fallen clutch of pinecones. I sigh. I know better than to think it’s thee. To think thou art there, trailin' behind me—ever watchful at an arm’s length—the way thou used to. It couldn’t be thou anyway. Thou wert ever more silent than a ghost, even when thy soul was earthside.

Still, I can never help but wish.

scritch—scritch—scritch…

I stop and listen—I hold still the way thou taughtest me. I feel mine eyes and ears become a wraith. Me senses drift into the forest's mist—waitin', watchin', lurkin' from all angles.

But it’s a chipmunk. It scitters past a thicket of bleak brambles, then disappears into its burrow.

I sigh once more, mine eyes and ears sinkin' back into me flesh.

“Send me somethin’ bigger, Shade,” I mutter—usin' the variation of thy name I knew thou fanciedst the least—as if thou wert to blame for sendin' me poor kill.

I carry on, convinced I’ll have more fortune finding reindeer past the woods—near the tundras. There, they graze on winter lichens.

“Thou hast made me greedy,” I mumble to thee, “I’m spoiled now—interested only in the biggest beasts.” Me breath clouds up and rises to the sky. I hope it finds thee there and wraps around thee; I hope the warmth of me survives the journey to thy heart.

I smile, knowin' it’s the truth—the bit about me bein’ greedy, that is. There are some hunters that wouldn’t think of passin’ up the slightest critter. Not a chipmunk, not a famished rabbit, not a shrew.

But thou. Thou taughtest me to be a prowler for the prize. To seek only the biggest, proudest brutes.

Still—it’d be much quicker with thee by me side. With me Shadow—lurkin’ to and fro about me, pickin’ up on elk and whitetail whereabouts with more stealth than I, alone, could ever muster. Thou wert an honest and skilled warrior, Shadow—'tis certain as the stars.

In truth, we all desire to be gods, I know.

I often think thou lovedst bein’ me Shadow—that thou fanciedst runnin’ wild 'neath the moon—but that in secret, thou wishedst thou couldest chase the sun.

I know the fever all too well, Shadow—the fever to be, and to be a part of, some other realm.

When I was a wee girl, Afi, me grandfather, taught me that the lights were Bifröst—a shimmering bridge ‘twixt Earth and the land of the gods—leadin' to the bright and star-lit hallways of Valhalla. In me dreams, I'd cross that gleamin' path and sit among the great and mighty deities—the ancient, most powerful ones, such as Tyr, Freyr, and Baldr. They beckoned me to their grand feasts; we’d eat and laugh and sing with a love as warm as sunlight—their tales of strength and wisdom weaving threads of silken might within me soul.

During one dream, Odin—great Allfather—revealed to me he had a plan for me future: that one day, he’d bestow upon me the great sky-spirits Sköll and Hati, each of whom was charged with the rising and setting of the sun and the moon.

I stop and lift me arms up to the lights.

"'Twas thou, fierce one, wasn’t it?” I ask. A single tear slides down me cheek. "Always chasin' the moon whilst dreamin' of catchin' the sun." I pause. "Hast thou caught thy sun yet?"

Me heart is busy growin’ soft when I remember I've yet to find the thing I’m most resolved to seek: a fragment of thee. Some type of remnant—a flicker... anything the world might’ve kept of thee. If the gods were good enough to send thee to me—surely they can spare me a small keepsake to remember thee by.

Right, gods?

I’m thinkin’ about it when there’s a bugle—a haunting, high-pitched whistle followed by a guttural, monstrous grunt—in the snow-laden gloom. I turn around to see the greatest elk stag I’ve ever set mine own eyes on: tall and proud—makin’ a measured tread 'cross the glaze. He’s 50 strides or so away from where I stand, bewildered, in the frost.

I nearly gasp, but manage not to. By the grace of Odin—almighty Alfather—he hasn’t yet seen me. Hasn't yet spooked.

I hold me breath and freeze, just like thou taughtest me. With me eyes on ‘im—always with me eyes on the prey—I crouch down slowly. Not to hide, mind thee, but to steady me crossbow. To guarantee the kill.

With me shoulder braced, I grasp the bowstring of me crossbow with both hands, then haul the string backward. It groans and grows taught, then locks in the nut. Next, with a swiftness I sense I've summoned from thou, I reach for me bolt. I lay it into the track of the tiller with the same ease I feed meself spoonfuls of stew by firelight—with the same precision. With the same savory taste dancin' upon me tongue.

Then, with me eye squinted—bolt aimed at his heart—I wait.

I wait for the silence—for the sound of the wind to wane—so that not a breath of air can so much as dream of turnin’ me bolt astray.

I wait for the stillness—for the beast to forget it’s alive, if even for the slightest moment. I hold fast for that fleeting heartbeat where he stops, mid tread, to graze on winter moss.

I wait for perfection—for the snowflakes to drift just so: creatin' a mark within the landscape that even the gods themselves would smile upon—just as thou taughtest me, fierce one.

I wait—and finally, it comes. He stops to nip at a flake of birch, and I know this is it. Me finger nudges the trigger and thunk: the string snaps forward. The bolt fires with a whisper-snap of the air, and before I can blink, the magnificent beast is struck.

But I haven’t yet won. The question remains: will he be grounded, or must I run? Always the riddle—for the gods forbid me to shoot the same animal twice.

I watch—me heart poundin'. This is always the part where I needed thou, Shadow—to do what I wasn’t fast enough for. Wild enough for. Wolf enough for.

I grit me teeth and begin to count. Five is the magik number—I must count to five. If he drops before then, I’m in the clear. If he spooks and bolts, I’ll need to chase ‘im. To ground 'im somehow.

I’m countin’ and waitin’. I’m watchin’ the beast—me gut twisted with tension, me muscles braced, ready to run—when somethin' on the horizon catches me eye. It's the moon... and it's the sun.

The former is large and full—newly arisen—gleamin' as the auroras fade into the fiery dawn. It ascends just as our great daystar does. It hangs big and bright at the very moment the sun—the grand, golden orb I know thou hast achest to hunt and catch, just as does Sköll, the wolf spirit who reigns o’er its magnificence—climbs proudly on the eastern edge.

A blaze of mixed light—so much light—transcends the snow-clad landscape.

And in the midst of it all, there's a shadow. A howlwind rises through the trees, and I recognize, then and there, me gift from the gods—I find me token of thou: the ghost of thy wolf-form. Thy silhouette 'midst the shades and ribbons of light.

Me beloved, fellow hunter. Me companion. Me soulmate—me best friend—

thy spirit remains ever the wolf.

And now, me Shadowlight, mayst thou chase both the sun and the moon to thy heart’s desire… forevermore.

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