The Slain Maiden

By Eleanor Currit

In the small village of Holm, Tora and her family live a safe, regular life despite an outside world awash in myth. Young Tora has heard many wondrous tales of the strange people and places beyond the walls of Holm. She always hoped that maybe, someday, she might have the opportunity to see it all for herself—but she never expected that hope to become a nightmare.

 

What begins as an act of neighborliness takes on an ominous tone when Tora and her mother visit Helga, a neighbor with a newborn. With gray skin and black eyes, the baby’s horrid screams leave no doubt there is something wrong. Helga claims an evil creature took her baby, leaving a monster behind, and Tora soon learns Helga is right.

 

Tora’s life takes a traumatic turn when the seasonal workers arrive for the summer. A young man with piercing blue eyes and mysterious tattoos is among them, and things will never be the same. In a valley long ago teeming with magic and trolls, Tora uncovers secrets she couldn’t have imagined and sets off a series of disturbing events that alter her life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480870079

Eleanor Currit

Eleanor Currit grew up on an island in the wilds of an Alaskan rainforest. She has loved writing her whole life and published two children’s books in 2017 before beginning The Slain Maiden. She and her husband live in Alaska with their children, two cats, and a lizard named Smaug.

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Copyright © 2019 Eleanor Currit.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-7008-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7006-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-7007-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018968600

Archway Publishing rev. date: 01/28/2019

TO DANIEL,

for being so supportive and loving

while i pursue my dream

CONTENTS

1     The Girl and the Golem

2     The Orchard

3     A Mother’s Tears

4     Aslaug and the Fire Demon

5     The Cave

6     The Consequences

7     Fenrir and the Maid

8     What Happened Next

9     Old Man of the Storm

10   How Life Continued

11   The Salamander King

12   Helga’s Fate

13   The Fiddler

14   The Red Ribbon

15   The Devil’s Instrument

16   Elise’s Advice

17   The Abandoned Village

18   Bard’s Story

19   Dreams of Friends

20   Klaus’s Regret

21   Ola’s Story

22   Tonsta’s Story

23   Ola’s Regret

24   The Crazed Woman

25   The Murder

26   Rolf’s Story

27   The Kiss

28   The Fire

29   The Lake

30   Farewell

31   The Truth

A Look at Book Two

About the Author

1

THE GIRL AND THE GOLEM

H olm was surrounded on all sides by mountains, and a river called the Vein flowed through it. The locals called the valley the Cradle. The only way in or out was by boat or a treacherous path over the mountains. Most people born in Holm grew up, married, raised children, and died without ever leaving the valley. Not all were content with this, however, and a few children in every generation left the safety of the mountains to seek their fortunes elsewhere.

Tora heard many wondrous tales of the strange people and places outside the Cradle. In the back of her mind, she always hoped that maybe, someday, she’d have the opportunity to see it all for herself.

She was a bright-eyed and spunky girl, and folk often complimented Tora’s father and mother on how strong and clever she was. Being a humble man, Papa simply smiled proudly and returned to his work, while Mama thanked them politely. Tora’s younger sister, Ilsa, always scowled when people told her how lucky she was to have such a good and kind big sister.

They lived just inside town, their house almost straddling the rotting old walls surrounding Holm. Tora once asked Papa why the walls had been allowed to fall into disrepair. He shrugged, saying, Why fix a wall when its purpose is obsolete? Papa often said things Tora didn’t understand.

He was a carpenter and built furniture and even homes for many people in the valley. As for Mama, she made candles and cared for the elderly, bringing them meals or doing their housework occasionally. Tora and Ilsa shared a small room at the back of the house, where they constantly fought over space. They even went so far as to run a string across the center of the room to keep their possessions separated. Despite these sisterly squabbles, they lived a simple but comfortable life, and Tora never wished for more.

Early in the spring when Tora was about nine, she and Mama hiked into the foothills near the farm lands to visit Helga, who had just given birth. Her husband had taken work down river, leaving Helga completely alone when the baby came.

The wails of the newborn child could be heard long before the cottage was in sight, and it sounded to Tora unlike any newborn she had heard before. Helga answered their gentle knock almost immediately. Tora took a frightened step back, stumbling into Mama, as she came face-to-face with the frazzled woman. Tora had seen new mothers before, with their tired faces and unkempt hair, but Helga had none of the happy glow that accompanies the arrival of a baby. On the contrary, her eyes seemed to pop from her face as she studied the expressions of her visitors, gazing at them with fear as though they were there to harm her. Her flaming-red hair, tangled and frizzy, gave her the appearance of being ablaze. She smelled as though she hadn’t bathed recently.

Helga, Mama said brightly, pretending to notice none of these things and pushing Tora ahead of her into the cottage, we’ve brought you supper; I know how hard it can be to feed yourself with a new babe. She was forced to shout this over the cries of the newborn, whom Tora spied bundled in a basket in the corner.

Elsa, Helga mumbled stupidly, touching her friend on the shoulder as though uncertain she was real. Yes, of course. Thank you. She allowed Tora and her mother into the cottage but watched them as though expecting them to spring at her.

Why doesn’t she feed the baby, Mama? Tora whispered to her mother, as the infant continued to scream.

Mama seemed to have this same thought, for she swept over to the basket to pick up the infant, as Helga shuffled about preparing tea for her visitors.

Why don’t I do that, so you can feed the little one? He sounds hungry— Mama let out with a gasp.

Helga gave her a sharp look and dashed across the room to snatch the baby out of the basket. As she settled in a chair by the fire and hastily stuffed a breast into the infant’s mouth, Tora saw what made Mama gasp. It was the ugliest baby Tora had ever seen. Not merely ugly in the way some babies look strange, with large ears or protruding forehead; its skin was grayish and rough. It had no hair, which in itself was not unusual. Its eyes were black. It looked more like someone’s imagining of a baby hewn from rock. Tora knew better than to ask what was wrong with it; she knew it was very rude to tell a woman that her baby is ugly. So she smiled sweetly and said, He’s very handsome.

Helga shot her a look that could have curdled milk and Tora looked at her shoes.

He’s a demon! Helga cried, her eyes bulging even more.

Helga! Mama chided, clearly horrified.

It’s true, Helga insisted, holding the baby up for them to see better. The infant immediately began shrieking again in its unusual voice.

"This is no child of mine. My babe was soft and pink, with eyes like the sky and a voice like a whisper on the wind. I lay down to sleep the night he was born with him wrapped on my chest, and when I awoke he was gone, and this thing—" she broke off to reattach the screaming infant, and it ceased wailing instantly. This thing was in my son’s place, she finished in a much calmer tone.

I nearly threw it into the Vein when I saw its face, but.... Tears streamed down the poor woman’s cheeks and fell onto the ugly baby as she continued. Whatever it is, it’s still a child, and perhaps whoever took mine will bring him back.

Shame on you! Mama exclaimed, shaking a finger at Helga. I cannot believe any friend of mine would have such evil thoughts.

"It is evil! Helga shouted. See, Elsa, what it did to my breasts." She moved the baby’s head, and Tora saw how the woman’s bare chest was clawed and bleeding as though a wild animal had been suckling rather than a baby.

The girl sees it, don’t you? Helga demanded, turning desperately to Tora. Tora felt her face go hot, and she shrank from the gaze of the crazed woman.

Tora is a child who knows nothing, Mama announced. You are a sick woman, Helga. Mama snatched up her shawl and the now empty basket they brought the stew in and hustled Tora toward the door.

I will send the midwife as soon as we reach town. Do I have your word you will not harm this baby while you are alone?

What do you take me for? Helga demanded.

For a moment, it seemed as though Mama might remind Helga of what she said about the river. Instead, she nodded curtly and pushed Tora out the door. As she passed, Tora could have sworn she locked eyes with the ugly little baby, and that there was a glimmer of triumph in its charcoal eyes.

Mama fumed in silence the whole way home, allowing Tora to trail behind her alone in her thoughts, which Tora was grateful for. By the time they reached home, Mama was so worked up she had barely walked through the door before she accosted Papa with the tale. They stood close, trying to keep their voices low, as they always did when discussing sensitive matters, but Tora could read Mama’s expression easily. Six-year-old Ilsa was pouting in the corner with a toy because Mama had brought Tora instead of her. Papa listened in silence nodding occasionally.

Finally, Mama was out of breath and headed back out the door. Tora sometimes marveled at her energy. Mama was always on the move and rarely sat until the end of the day. Tora was pleased Mama did not tell her to come along; she didn’t know if she could handle seeing the demon child again. Something about its shiny black eyes had unsettled her deeply.

After Mama left, Tora set to work on dinner, while Ilsa played with her wooden horses on the wolf skin rug. Papa had his feet up beside the fireplace with a pipe in his hand. He seemed to be lost in thought, as he so often was in the evenings. After a long while, he knocked his pipe empty on the hearth and looked at Tora.

What did you think of this ugly baby? he asked.

Tora stopped stirring the pot she was bent over and met Papa’s gaze. She would have been afraid to answer the question if it had been put to her by anyone else, but she knew Papa had no condemnation waiting for her, so she answered honestly.

I believe Helga. It was an extraordinarily ugly baby.

Papa refilled his pipe and lit it with a piece of kindling. Ilsa wrinkled her nose and waved the smoke away from her. Tora knew Mama despised the habit, but Tora thought it made Papa look wise and thoughtful. He puffed a smoke ring up the chimney before he replied.

Babies come in all shapes and sizes, he said. You, for instance, you were nearly the size of the goose we ate last Christmas when you came out. And you had the funniest little nose. But now look at you. He placed the pipe back in his mouth.

Perhaps, Tora acknowledged, pushing some loose hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand as she sniffed the pot. But surely a mother knows her own child. Helga swore up and down the baby looked different when it came out of her. Isn’t it possible some unknown evil spirited away her true baby?

Papa nodded slowly.

It’s possible. My grandmother told tales of hags and witches stealing babies from their cribs. Sometimes they would replace the baby with one of their own.

Tora considered this for a moment or two while she watched Ilsa make her toys gallop across the hearth. She felt a stab of jealousy as Ilsa’s golden curls caught the firelight and shone prettily, and she smirked a little as one of the toys shot out of Ilsa’s hand and nearly fell into the fire.

Did Grandpapa have any stories about it? she asked.

Oh, most certainly, Papa replied, jumping forward to rescue Ilsa’s toy before it caught fire. You recall that his adventures began when a troll hag kidnapped my grandmother.

Oh, yes! Tora exclaimed. He found her and his brothers by following the troll’s tracks to her mountain lair.

Papa nodded, smiling a little. It always pleased him when Tora remembered the details of his stories. Tora’s smile fell a little as she tried to remember whether there had been tracks outside Helga’s house. She couldn’t recall; she had been too preoccupied with the distressing scene.

Mama treated Helga as though she was evil, or possessed by a spirit of madness, she said darkly.

Well, your mother intends well, Papa replied. That was often Papa’s reply when he didn’t want to disagree with Mama.

"Helga is crazy," Ilsa piped up, blowing the soot off her toy.

You weren’t there, Tora reminded her irritably.

Mama returned shortly before supper and said very little. She and Papa ate in relative silence, then shooed the girls off to bed. Ilsa was snoring lightly in next to no time, but Tora crept out of bed and knelt beside the door to listen to Mama and Papa.

—Slammed the door in my face, Mama was saying softly. She’s waited so long for this; now I fear she’s lost her mind.

Tora didn’t have to wonder what Mama meant. Helga had been married ten years, and never once been pregnant, as far as anyone knew. It was common gossip that she was infertile. She had always been somewhat of a mystery to most people. She wasn’t particularly friendly, and she didn’t enjoy gossiping with other women. In fact, it was rare to see her venture into town without her husband.

Tora once heard a woman comment on how unnatural it was to have no female friends, and surprisingly, it was Mama who had come to Helga’s defense. She’d said it was sweet how close Helga was to her husband, and that she was clearly sensitive. She’d added that if the gossip cared for her tongue she’d keep it from flapping. Sometimes Tora thought the only reason Mama had friends was because the other women were afraid of her.

I have half a mind to take the boy and bring him home, before Helga does something she regrets, Mama said.

Careful, Papa interjected. I know you’re upset, but imagine how overwhelmed she must feel. Gunnar has been gone for months, and she has very few friends. It is an unspeakable evil to take a child from its mother.

There was no real rebuke in Papa’s voice. Tora heard a soft sob escape from Mama, and she pushed the door open a crack to peer out. Papa was holding Mama while she shook silently.

A woman who says such things—who would look at her own child and call it a demon— Mama’s voice shook as she raised her head from Papa’s shoulder. She doesn’t deserve that sweet little baby.

Papa dried a few tears and kissed her softly on the forehead.

I know, he whispered. But taking Helga’s baby won’t fix anything.

Tora felt suddenly guilty, as though she had intruded on something deeply intimate. Mama was always so strong in front of her and Ilsa, that Tora had forgotten the baby Mama lost the summer before. The midwife had matter-of-factly told Mama she was barely with child long enough to have noticed, and Mama seemed fine. Now Tora saw how deeply it had affected her. It explained, in some part, her fury with Helga. Even so, Tora couldn’t agree with Mama’s judgment on the situation. She couldn’t get those beady eyes out of her mind, and the pain on Helga’s face seemed so genuine.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling long after Mama and Papa had gone to bed. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the scene in the cottage again, but with each repetition the baby looked more and more like a tiny monster. She got up abruptly, grabbed her boots, and tied a shawl about her shoulders. She peered at Ilsa in the dark, hoping she was so dead to the world she would never notice Tora was gone. On a whim, Tora grabbed the pile of spare blankets and stuffed them into a lumpy log shape under her covers. She hoped it would be convincing enough to fool a groggy Ilsa.

Satisfied, she cracked open the shutters and hopped out the bedroom window. There was no danger of encountering the town watch, even in the pale moonlight, for as Mama said, they were a joke. Papa would probably be more diplomatic about it, and scowl at Mama’s harsh words. But Tora knew Mama said this because Tonsgard, the captain of the watch, was a heavy drinker and a womanizer. Whatever that was.

Tora stopped off at the midwife’s house to borrow a few supplies. She feared she might find the woman awake, perhaps preparing for another birth, but the house was silent aside from the midwife’s snores. Tora quickly found what she needed and dashed back out into the night.

Most people, Tora found, were afraid of the forest after dark. Even Mama was unwilling to let Tora and Ilsa wander once the sun went down. Some people said this was a holdover from the days when trolls roamed the mountains. As a small child, Tora had heard the elderly tell tales of trolls, witches, and other spirits who tormented naughty children and the foolhardy. Tora knew, as did everyone else, that trolls had been hunted to near extinction in the last century. So, it was with confidence that she set off with only a sliver of moonlight to show her way.

She was relieved to find that all was silent and dark within Helga’s cottage, but she stopped just shy of opening the door. For a moment, she hesitated with one hand on the door, trying to steady her nerves and wondering if perhaps this was all a huge mistake. She pushed the door open firmly and slipped inside. Her eyes grew wide as the dark pressed against them.

Helga lay on the bed, half covered by a thin blanket with her mouth slightly ajar and a little bit of spittle sticking to her hair. Even so, she looked much less insane than she had earlier that day. Tora turned her eyes to the corner where the baby was sleeping in the basket. She approached the infant cautiously, bracing herself, but she wasn’t prepared for it to be wide awake, and already watching her with those disconcerting eyes.

Stifling a gasp, Tora picked up the entire basket and sprinted noiselessly for the door. The ugly little baby’s mouth grew wide to yell, but Tora was ready. She jammed the bottle of goat’s milk she had taken from the midwife into its mouth, stifling the cry. The infant seemed miffed, but willing to accept the milk, and it eyed her suspiciously.

Alright, Tora whispered looking down at the infant as though she actually expected a response. Where do you come from?

The ugly little thing just stared at her insolently but somehow Tora was certain it had understood her. Shivering a little, she turned the basket so that the baby’s view of her was blocked. She circled the cottage, watching her feet for any prints that were not her own, and soon spotted a large set of tracks headed towards the distant woods. Heaving a deep sigh, Tora set off.

She had never been into this part of the valley before, and she couldn’t help feeling a bit excited, beneath a solid layer of fear. She tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t getting lost by frequently looking back at her own tracks. She had to pause often to catch her breath, and on one such occasion she found herself marveling at the spectacular view of the valley in the early morning light. The docks were engulfed in mist, and she could just make out one of the lumber barges tied up. The Earl’s house rose out of the center of town like a gem in a sea of dull buildings. Tora craned her neck a little to see if she could spot home, but it was just one of many similarly sized and colored houses. She hoisted the basket onto her hip and set off once more.

The farther they got, the fussier the infant became, until finally it was wailing, no longer comforted by the bottle. Alarmed, Tora began to fear it was in pain, but she had no idea what to do. She supposed the milk could have upset its stomach.

The tracks ended abruptly as Tora’s boot hit solid stone, and she raised her eyes. She was standing on the bottommost step of a long staircase, at the top of which sat the strangest and most forbidding house she had ever seen. It was large and had a grandeur which suggested it had once been beautiful and well cared for. Now, however, the paint was cracked and faded, and the shutters were hanging on their hinges. The foundation of the house seemed the oddest. It was sparse and wobbly looking, rather resembling a pair of bird’s legs.

Gulping a little, Tora clutched the basket close and began the ascent. The ugly baby’s cries began to grow quieter the closer they got, until all at once they choked off. Concerned, Tora paused and looked down at it. Its eyes were wide, not in terror, but in anger, and its lips were turning dark purple as they pressed firmly together.

They had reached the door and Tora considered knocking for a moment before thinking better of it; this was not a time to start advertising her presence. The door creaked, as did the floor, but the house was otherwise silent. The inside appeared as rundown as the outside, perhaps more so. Tora might have assumed the place was abandoned, but the ceiling and walls were covered in drying herbs. A desiccated rodent hung in one corner, and there was a pile of small bones in another. Whoever lived here, Tora didn’t want to meet them. She passed through the room quickly and found herself in a long hall lined with shut doors. Most were plain and wooden, but a few were painted bright colors, and one was pitch black with the image of a tree carved into it, with its mirror image below it. Tora’s curiosity nearly got the best of her, and she reached for the handle to the black door, but at that moment a faint sound reached her ears.

Her eyes alighted upon a staircase at the center of the hall, which was spiraling down from the ceiling, and she shook herself a bit, wondering how she could have walked right past it. She hesitated on the bottom step and listening intently, she heard it; the cries of a newborn baby. Nothing like the vulture-like shrieking the infant in the basket had made, this was a pathetic and innocent sound. The ugly baby was quite purple, apparently enraged at the sound, but it kept silent.

Tora followed the crying to the top of the staircase, which opened into a large darkened room, where a lumpy shape lay slumbering on a bed. Snores echoed through the rafters, shaking dust from the wood and making Tora wonder if the roof might fall. She tiptoed up to the bed and peered cautiously at the sleeper. They had a blanket yanked up over their head, but one hand was dangling over the side of the bed, and Tora observed the oddly bark-like texture of their skin with a wrinkled nose. Deciding she didn’t want to get too close, she crossed the room on tiptoes and peered into a wooden box at Helga’s real baby.

If there had been a doubt in Tora’s mind about her mission, it fled the moment she saw the baby in the box. He was pink-cheeked and blue-eyed, and greatly resembled Helga. Tora glanced back at the ugly baby, realizing that in an odd way it did look rather like Helga’s true baby. To her dismay, however, the ugly infant had turned completely grey and seemed frozen. She had only a split second to see this, however, for the instant she looked down the ugly changeling baby crumbled into a fine dust. Tora stood frozen in horror, holding the now empty basket and looking between it and the baby in the box.

The person on the bed let out a great snort, and jolted Tora to her senses. Dropping the empty basket to the floor, she lifted the real baby from the box and wrapped him snuggly against her chest as she hurried from the room. As she shut the front door with a loud snap, she heard the house groan as