The giant doors swing open at my touch. The wind follows me, screeching and hissing. The great hall doesn’t care as it lacks the crowd. The battle preparations must’ve already begun. I walk in like a soldier—the one thing I’m not.

I recognise the place, but not the decorations. They were done recently. And the names of enemies written on the walls with blood. The sacrifices were done? I must’ve been there. No way I’d miss them. But those memories were gone too. My head aches at the echoes of my footsteps. The fear resurfaces and I calm myself. My feet don’t falter as I walk down the great hall. It’s okay, I repeat in my head. She’ll be okay. I’ll find her. I’ll bring her back.

The tables are empty, flea-ridden. Two soldiers sit at the end. Silent. Meat in their hands. Fatigue in their eyes. Not everyone in the kingdom is ready for war. The king knows it. Nevertheless, he goes forward. I can’t blame him. Why? It comes like a feeling. A hunch. However, I don’t remember why I can't blame him. Whatever reason I’ve discovered recently has gone into the abyss. I curse myself. I do it again.

“Bjorn.” Someone calls my name.

I blink and look around. Fylla walks out of the kitchen with a bowl of spitting steam. Hunger is lost on me. On any other day, I’d have eaten anything this woman cooks. Now, I don’t have the privilege. Time is of the essence.

“Anyone seen Torsten?” I ask her.

Fylla laughs. She walks toward me, amused. “Have you gone blind, boy?”

I wince. No one has called me a boy forever. My mother called me once, but my father warned her against it.

“Why?” I ask.

“I’m here.” My back receives the voice.

I turn and Torsten sits, biting into a chunk of meat. My skin crawls at the sight of him. He’s one of the two soldiers I’ve passed by. How foolish of me.

“What do ya want?” Torsten asks, his voice uglier than always.

I look at his side. As expected, the wolf sits by his leg, its tail coiled around his ankle.

“I need to borrow your beast,” I say.

Fylla shakes her head as if disappointed.

Torsten drops his meat and growls. “Call Loki a beast one more time and see what happens.”

He named his wolf Loki. He’s an idiot. But I need his help.

“Can I borrow Loki, please?”

He picks up his meat. “What for?”

“I need to find someone.”

Silence rules the hall. Even Fylla says nothing. It’s unusual for my kind to ask for help with such a thing. Torsten studies me. I study his beast. Eyes of the colour of the sky during a sunset, and the fur of soiled snow. Head resting against Torsten’s calf. All of it’s useless for me. I tilt my head. There are spells carved into its skin on the left side. Relief washes over me. I’ve got the same spells carved into my skin, too. The beast and I are carved out of the same pain and for the same purpose.

“No.” Torsten stands. “You do it yourself.”

He easily towers over me. I don’t tell him why I can’t do it. So, I find a less stupid reason. “I don’t remember the path.”

He laughs. Fylla doesn’t. She eyes me, concerned. Again, she’s concerned about everyone in the kingdom. Her heart is as big as the feasts she always prepares.

“Are you hearing this, Fylla?” Torsten shakes his hand over his bowl. “He doesn’t remember the path. I swear by Odin's beard I heard nothing funnier.”

“I’m not lying. Please, let me borrow Loki.”

The wolf cocks its head at me. The animal accepted its name, as it seems.

“You are the son of the devil who discovered the path,” Torsten yells. “You are the reason we’re risking a war.”

“The king wanted a path. I gave him one.”

“Then, you can crawl around it yourself. Leave my Loki alone.”

“But —” I can’t tell them what happened. They hate me enough for what I am. I don’t give them my mistake too. They’ll see it as a weakness. They’ll say the weak never survive the war. They’ll abandon me. Would it matter? If I don’t find Brenna in time, would any of this matter? I picture my sister lying in the mud, trembling and the foot of the enemy crushing her throat. The king might say she’ll die as a warrior. I say fuck the king.

                                     ***

I’m not a rule-breaker. Until my head hit the ground, I keep telling myself that. I repeat it. Like I used to repeat spells to myself, sitting in a dark, foul dungeon. Blood spills out of my mouth and paints the mud. I see Gerda above me as a blur. Her face blends into something silver, something metallic. I want to give up. Go home and join the soldiers preparing for the war.

“It’s better if you lie down,” Gerda warns me.

As I said, I’m not a rule-breaker. But the situation called for it.

I stand and make a fist. “Let me through.”

She puts herself between me and the barrier. I’ve no choice but to fight.

I charge at Gerda. She spins left and holds me by my waist. She’s too fast. Before lifting me, she squeezes me breathless. She has been training with Torsten; I could tell. I can’t lose this fight. Brenna will die. I ignore the pain and chant the spell—the first spell I ever perfected. My forearm lights up in gold, highlighting the carvings.

An axe of fire emerges above us.

I grab the axe and feel my feet touching the ground. She’s escaping. I twirl right in the air and my axe misses Gerda by a hairline. Too late. The spell dies; the spells are only as active as their caller and I’m barely taking a breath. Gerda is on her knees, bending backwards. I bow and grab her by the hair. She does the same. Even down, she’s brutal. We’re in gridlock.

“Bjorn, this is not worth it.” Gerda hisses at me, trying to get up.

The nerves in my skull scream as she digs her fingers deep into my hair. I raise her, grinding my teeth. “I’m sorry.” I throw her with all my strength. And she flies towards the barrier with a fistful of my hair.

I exhale. It hurts like hell, but I focus on breathing.

Sparks shoot off the barrier as soon as Gerda hits it. Nothing else happens. I look up and find two horn-shaped rocks above the doorway that houses the barrier. They are steady, vigilant of traitors like me.

Wind bashes me as I watch Gerda take her stance. Dust makes my eyes itch. I asked Gerda to let me through. I told her if I couldn’t remember the path, I’d find it again. I don’t care if it’s impossible, or if the king ordered not to open the barrier till the war. Brenna is out there, dying. And here I’m squabbling with a Gatekeeper.

Gerda spits blood. “The barrier stays up.”

My breath comes out in fumes. “We’ll see.”

I charge again with a new spell, which gives birth to multiple mirages of me. We run, surrounding the gatekeeper. I switch places with my nearest look-alike. Gerda tries to pursue it, but she fails. She ducks and throws a punch. She hits the wind, disrupting one of my mirages. Before she hears my footsteps, I jump into the air and my fist lands on her face.

I keep telling myself this is for Brenna. The gatekeeper attempts to choke me, but I strike her non-stop. I kick her in the stomach and her body lurches back and returns. When have I become this ruthless? Sometimes my punch misses her face and hits the barrier. Sparks again, but it doesn’t stop blocking my path.

“Please. Open. The. Barrier.” My fist never stops. The bone in her nose cracks. Gerda takes it like a true Viking. She throws a smile or two, showing off her chipped teeth. I beg her, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t let me do this.”

“You’re a pathe—”

I don’t hear the rest of it as I’m thrown into the air. Fresh pain travels down my right elbow. I see the wolf, Loki, drawing me away from Gerda. Its teeth are stained with my blood.

“Let him go.” Torsten’s voice. What is he doing here? I don’t know if he told the beast or Gerda. I don’t care. If I’m not dead in a few moments, I’ll be unconscious. By the time I wake up, I’ll either be dead or a traitor. My vision blurs again, but my hearing helps. It brings me the deafening hum of the barrier opening—the hum of a thousand storms.  

                                    ***

My body trembles in the hands of Brenna. Snow falls around us, cloaking us thick and pale. I do not know which realm we’re in or what time of the day it is. I crossed the barrier and walked a long way to reach here. I followed the message I got earlier in the morning. My forearm glows in purple. The healing spell is working its way through. My final desperate attempt at staying awake until I found Brenna.

My little sister hugs me closer. “I thought you’d never come.”

How could I tell her I don’t remember what held me up?

“I cleared my memory,” I say and laugh in her hands. “It was an accident. I was supposed to clean the house, but I cleared my memory.”

Breanna looks down at me with her serpent-like eyes. They always put her apart. Or it’s her anger. Hard to say.

I stoop lower into my sister’s lap.

“I’m glad you did,” Brenna replies. “I’m glad you drank all that mead.”

I haven’t told her I drank the mead, have I? Did I drink mead last night?

‘Brenna, how do you know? You weren’t supposed to be in the kingdom last night.’ But the words never come out.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

I see figures gathering around us. They’re wearing something green, thicker than the leaves of the forest. The enemy’s uniform.

“Brenna,” I say. “Brenna, what have you done?”

My forearm is dim, and dull like a moonless sky.

“I’m winning the war.”

My pupils expand and the adrenaline kicks in. I fall into my sister’s lap. Too late. I’m too late again. I fall until Brenna’s sword kisses my backbone. I bite my tongue in pain.

Brenna apologizes in a foreign tongue. I cringe at the sound of her voice. Traitor. Someone must call her a traitor. My little sister. The silent one. The spy. I think about killing her. Or should I forgive her? I’m indecisive like Torsten always blamed I was. I never trusted tales of Valhalla. Should I start now?

“You should’ve never killed our father,” Brenna says.

But he was killing me. My tongue wouldn’t let me speak. That was her plan all along, I guess. To bind my tongue. I rest on Brenna’s palms. I don’t check the wound. I let it be. I let my body cry in red.

I close my eyes and picture Fylla shaking her head in disappointment. I should’ve eaten what she cooked. Now, I’m not hungry anymore.

#######

Note:

I've written this story for a Wattpad prompt. It goes as: "You were supposed to clean the house, but you end up cleaning your memory of the last 7 days instead. What happens next?"

I hope you've had as much fun reading this as I'd while writing this. Thank you.