This world is not mine, it is different, new. I wish I could sing songs like they did. Make it make sense. I am an island in the dark, far from everyone and everything. Inside me, a dark tide rises steadily. I cheated them all, my brothers and sisters, I have something I need to find. This world is the place where I will find it. That star that I keep chasing. The life I’m longing for.
As I open my eyes to this world anew; her face is all I see, her soft, beautiful face. Her light ashen hair in a long braid dangling in front of me. I reach out for it, her face, her hair. She laughs sweetly, laughter fills our room, our house. It’s all clad in mist, I can’t see what’s beyond. He carries me up, swinging me over his head. Laughter fills our room. His thick rugged beard tickles my cheeks. Their faces are all I see. I get lost in the laughter, in the warmth. I get lost in this life of joy. My mother sings the most beautiful songs, her voice carries over the mountain landscape. She often sings of summer. The winters here are long and cold, yet I find great joy in the wet snow. My hands can form it into whatever I want; deep caves, great bears, fading memories of a different life. The more we laugh, the more they fade; my memories of there, my life as a different person. I don’t want to remember, do I? I’m chasing that star, the life I always wanted.
Right now I want to be with my mother and father forever. Their laughter, their warmth. When spring comes we get to work, we need food for the next winter to come. We all help to farm the land. We all help to hunt the forests. The three of us. My mother teaches through song. My father shows me how it’s done. Yet I know; I am different from them.
At only eight years old I can carry twice what my father can, and he is a strong man by any definition. My mother thinks I am marvelous. My father looks at me as if I am not his, as if I am a changeling child.
In Heidmork, the kingdom we live in, there is an old belief that if you’re not careful the creatures that dwell in the forest will steal your child and replace it with one of theirs. The more time that passes, the more my father is sure that I am not his child. He thinks I am strange and inhuman, a monster. My hair as black as night, my eyes green as the forest. I do not look like either of them. Yet my mother never believes him one single bit. However much he pushes me away, she is always there to pull me back in.
She gazes into my eyes and says, “Ragnarr, you might be different, but that doesn’t make you any less my child.”
My father is a man of fear. He starts locking my bed closet at night for fear that I would eat them both. But perhaps I am growing more scared of him than he is of me. His fears become more and more irrational. Though I can’t blame him. Through the mist, I remember a different life, a life that was not human. I’m sure there is something I don’t remember, something vital. I know that I am different from them. Yet my mother makes me feel like we are one and the same. Her songs fill me with love. I wish I could sing songs like hers.
My father suddenly leaves us for a few days, no explanation. I can breathe again, my door remains unlocked, and we laugh and sing when he is away. I help her cook our meals and mend our clothes. She tells me scary stories of trolls and draugr. I am more amazed than scared, this world is so magical. I can’t wait to discover what is out there one day.
Then it comes, the day when he returns. My father returns with a determined look upon his face. He grabs me by my shoulders and firmly pushes me into my bed closet before he locks it. I can hear him through the door, talking to my mother. He has come back with a Volva, a witch. He wants her to tell him whether I am a changeling or not. I start breathing faster, fear grips me. I hear my mother shout at him. I want her comfort. I am an island in the dark. I step back, into the darkest corner. Let the Volva come, let her tell him I am not a changeling. I am his. I am theirs. Tears form in my eyes, I hold them in, I keep them from rolling.
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