A Song from a Sword

Exploring the rental property hadn’t been on Laura’s “to do” list for her first trip to Norway, but the charm of the cottage forced her hand. She went out the front door and headed to the left. She admired a garden created from rocks, with some pretty flowers speckled throughout. The requisite lawn gnome-statues peeked out from natural hiding spots.

Laura continued to the end of the front lawn and turned left to find a set of barn doors. Laura pulled the left door and it swung open. Wishing she had investigated the possibility of Norway having poisonous spider species, Laura stepped inside and found yard equipment, a metal toolbox, a ladder and snow shovels. As she pushed a little deeper, she found boxes and giant plastic containers coated in dust.

Laura looked at a stack of boxes in front of her. A label on the top one read, ‘Jul’ and she saw a bit of greenery and a red and white blanket poking out through a hole intended to be used as a handle. The next box in the tower read, ‘Kristen through 1968’. Laura figured it must be full of photos and other memories from the cottage owner’s childhood. Laura had spoken with the owner after signing the contract to rent the property for the week. Kristen had described the detail of the woodwork within the cottage with pride. Her grandfather had been a carpenter and the built-in kitchen nook Laura admired when she first arrived was evidence of the man’s skill.

Laura was deciding if she’d rather poke through the boxes than be polite when she heard music. Though faint, Laura could hear it emanated from her right side. She abandoned the boxes before her and headed in that direction. The gentle melody played on some kind of woodwind instrument. The sound made Laura think of spring and the feeling of being content. Laura took a diagonal path toward the little window in the back right corner. As she drew closer, she could see three quarters of the garage’s right-side wall was composed of rock. The music, clear and inviting, pulled her in. Laura searched for some kind of music box that might play the sound.

She shuffled some crates around but couldn’t find the source of the melody. She threw aside a moving blanket and started at the sight of a heavy-looking sword. A scabbard attached to a leather belt protected the blade. Gemstones were embedded in the hand guard and pommel. The sword had a medieval feel, but was fancier than that time in history might offer. Even dusty and dull, Laura could tell this sword was meant to sparkle.

Laura reached out to pick up the sword and found it had to weigh twenty pounds. How the heck did people use these things? Laura was surprised to find the music was coming from the weapon. As soon as she picked up the blade, the music grew louder. Was it her imagination, or did the music pick up in tempo a bit as well? Laura put her ear to the sword. It was definitely making the noise.

A voice startled Laura. She dropped the ancient-looking sword straight to the filthy floor.

“It’s singing to you, isn’t it?”

Laura whirled around to face the direction of the soft, male voice. There was no one there. The voice spoke again.

“Over here!”

Laura looked down and to the left. Waving at her, with his legs hanging off of a storage box, was an animate version of a lawn gnome from the garden in the front yard. It was an old man with a long beard. He was only about a foot tall.

“I asked you a question.” The lawn gnome said. “Is it singing to you?”

Laura couldn’t speak. She had heard the question, and she knew the answer. Still, she could not form words.

“Maybe we need to start a little slower. You seem pretty new to all of this. My name is Einar. You might say I watch over the family. I’ve been doing so for quite some time. Kristen told me she rented the place out for the week. I was hoping you would be the type of visitor that would explore.”

Laura was thinking it was a good sign that this little gnome of a man knew the name of the cottage owner, and he hadn’t just wandered over to the property.

“Hi.” She croaked. “I followed the sound of the music.”

“So! It was singing to you! It’s a beautiful song, isn’t it? It’s been a very long time since I’ve heard the sword’s song. I was pretty sure it was a display for you, but I had to check to be sure you could actually hear it.”

Einar was rambling on as if all was normal, but Laura’s head was too light. Singing swords, talking lawn ornaments…wait…living lawn ornaments! Laura didn’t quite believe it, but she was taking it in. There was currently a tiny old man talking to her, and she definitely had heard music. The music had stopped when she dropped the sword, but it started building back up again.

     “Go ahead,” Einar urged. “A sword like that wasn’t meant to sit on the floor.”

Laura bent to pick up the weapon. As she touched it, the music quickened again. The metal was warm; like that of a living thing. As Laura turned the sword over in her hands, the music slowed and eventually stopped. The metal glowed through the dust, and then dimmed.

“I think I broke it.” Laura said.

“No. You can’t just break a sword!” exclaimed Einar. “It’s simply done greeting you. Its name is Forsvarer.”

“The sword has a name?” Laura said incredulously.

“All great swords have names.” replied Einar.

“If this sword is so great, why is it sitting here in the garage?”

“It was waiting for you,” said Einar, as if the answer to that question should be obvious.

Laura put Forsvarer back down and began backing away from Einar. She gave him a wave and turned for the double doors. She picked her way to the exit, slammed the door shut behind her, and headed back into the cottage.

Laura dove for the binder left on the kitchen counter by the owner. She hauled it to the kitchen table and fell into one of the chairs. She leafed through the typed information about local attractions, transportation, area eateries, and a thick section with pictures of all the furniture and carvings Kristen’s grandfather had added to the décor when he lived here. The last section described the history of the area and the farm to which the cottage had once belonged. Laura skimmed the text and found what she was looking for in a paragraph describing a Norwegian folk legend.

‘Nissen are little troll-like people who live in the barns and outbuildings on peoples’ farms. They look after the place, do yard work, and feed the animals. If you’re lucky, you might even meet Einar. He is harmless! Well, as long as you don’t get on his bad side. Nissen have been known to play a prank or two on those who treat them unfairly. Einar has been with our family for generations.’

Laura sighed. Maybe Nissen were not just things of legend. There was a living lawn decoration in the garage encouraging her to interact with a singing sword, and the owner of the cottage wrote about it in the guide book she left for guests as if it were a normal part of everyday life. The book hadn’t mentioned the sword, but it proudly announced Einar’s legitimate presence. Laura scanned the rest of the brief historical section. Anyone who entered the garage could have found the sword. Why would Kristen omit Forsvarer from her note?

Laura was not ready to try her legs, let alone return to the garage. She hadn’t even moved on from Nissen watching over barns and singing swords with names, but she preferred Einar not come looking for her if she remained hiding in the kitchen. Even as a child, Laura had not swallowed myths and magical legends. She had only occasionally let herself dream they might be real. The belief that those stories were only created to explain the unexplainable grounded her, but here she was, trying to grapple with fairytales meeting reality.

Laura finally stood and allowed her determination to tug her out the door and around to the side of the house. She flung open the doors to the garage and stepped inside. Laura tentatively wove through the stacks of boxes back to the sword’s resting place and found Einar still sitting on his stack of boxes.

“I figured you would return shortly,” said Einar. “You were so pale when you left, but I knew curiosity would have you back here in time. You backpedaled out of here so fast; I couldn’t even explain the significance of Forsvarer singing. I figured you would have tons of questions, but you just ran away! We’re going to need to work on that.”

Einar hopped off his stack of boxes and scuttled over to the wall of the garage, about three feet to the right of the little window. He beckoned Laura over, and she picked her way to stand before the blank wall at Einar’s side. The gnome climbed atop another crate and took Laura’s hand. He gently placed it on the wall at a height just above Laura’s left shoulder.

This was the part of the wall that was created from the rock face behind the house. It had some moisture to it, but there was no moss or algae growing on its surface. Laura drew in a breath and waited for the wall to glow or to sing like the sword had. Nothing happened. Laura turned to Einar with a raised eyebrow.

Then the wall moved. It was just a slight shift and may have even been Laura’s imagination. It moved again. This time, a rough, rectangular portion of the wall broke off and slid about an inch away from Laura. It was just enough for Laura’s hand to lose contact with the rock’s surface.

“Go ahead,” Einar said. “Push it open.”

Laura used both hands and leaned into the newly formed door. The giant boulder slid about a foot farther into the rock wall. If she pushed any more, she would have to stand inside the wall itself to maintain contact with the rock. She pulled her hands back and looked at Einar.

Einar stared back at Laura, open-mouthed. “I’ve only heard that this could happen. I’ve never actually seen the door open. I knew the door was here, but I’ve never been able to make it work. It has never even cracked.”

The gnome hopped down to the floor, took a step toward the door and made to push the slab a little farther back. Einar jumped back as if bitten by a snake. The little man chuckled.

“No matter how many times I imagined the adventures I would have once the door was open, I think I always knew I wouldn’t be able to use it. I couldn’t help myself just now. I had to try. This door is only meant for those called by the sword.”

Laura was backing away from the door as Einar spoke. The miniature old man was absolutely insane. He seemed disappointed that he couldn’t step into a dark, damp, unknown place. There was magic involved, and magic meant the rules had changed. Dealing with the dark didn’t just mean there might be spiders and bats. If swords could sing and there were secret doors guarded by little mythical men, then there could be anything in that dark passageway.

Einar caught Laura trying to leave. “Aren’t you even curious about what it is?”

“I have no interest in walking into a dark tunnel to be murdered by vampires or something worse. I came to Norway for a relaxing vacation, not to go spelunking. Going to the shipbuilding museum and seeing some glaciers were what I envisioned, not marching straight toward my death,” said Laura.

Einar chuckled. “That door is a passage to the realm of the elves. I am simply a guardian. Forsvarer’s song to you proves you have a connection to the realm. You have a purpose there. You must go.”

There were so many nights Laura wished there was more to her existence. This trip to Norway was not her first attempt to do something more meaningful with her life than finishing the most recent season of a binged television series.

“So, I take it you’re going?” Einar’s voice broke through Laura’s thoughts.

Laura hadn’t realized she’d moved back to the door. Her hands were on the stone and she was about to push the rest of the way through. Einar pointed to the stack of boxes behind Laura.

“You better take the sword; just as a precaution. It is known to all in Alfheim. Also, if you encounter trouble, you can always try slicing at it!”

Laura strapped the sword’s belts around her waist. It took some time for her to figure out that it was essentially two belts that formed an “x” below her navel. On her left, the belts pinned a scabbard in place. The whole contraption was made of tooled leather, depicting symbols and rudimentary drawings of birds and flowers. The leatherwork was beautiful and fit to carry Forsvarer.

Laura found a torch hanging by the door. A flashlight would have been more practical, but the torch felt appropriate. She grabbed a small box of matches off the top of a nearby crate and used one to light the torch. Laura slid the matches into the back pocket of her jeans.

She leaned into the dark tunnel and held the torch high. It threw about a ten-foot circle of light around her. Laura could see nothing outside of her light circle. Still, the things close to her didn’t seem as creepy as she expected. The tunnel smelled damp, but the rock that created the tunnel was dry to the touch. The air held a chill, but it wasn’t unbearable.

Laura walked slowly, watching the place where sight met darkness. The light from the doorway had just faded to nothing when she came to a torch hanging on the wall. Laura lit it with her own flame. As soon as she was sure the second torch had caught, she heard the door behind her slide back into place. A chill chased a trickle of nervous sweat down Laura’s spine. She pressed forward. At least she saw no creepy-crawly things, which was a pleasant surprise.

The light from the torch behind her began to fade away as she saw a new light coming from in front of her. It had the look of sunlight, but still seemed far off. Laura headed forward more quickly. She couldn’t help wondering if she was now that silly moth headed toward its death. As the light grew brighter, fresh air from the mouth of the tunnel caressed Laura’s face.

When she reached the tunnel exit, she hung her torch in the provided holder and put the box of matches on the floor beneath it. Hopefully, they would still be there when Laura was ready to return. She stepped out of the mouth of the tunnel.

She was standing on a ledge, several hundred feet up. This end of the tunnel was also in a flat rock-face, but it was not at ground level. Laura reached for her phone to take a picture of the endless green hills rolling in the distance. Her phone! She had left it on the kitchen table. There would be no pictures on this trip.

Laura stood on the edge of the cliff in her jeans, t-shirt and tennis shoes, with a sword strapped to her waist. She felt ridiculous. From her perch, high above a forested area, the lands looked beautiful. She couldn’t tell if there was life below her, but if she found someone, they were sure to get a laugh from her outfit.

Laura pushed everything she knew to be true about reality aside. She took a breath and accepted that she had been guided through a portal to another realm by a sword and a living statue. This vacation was turning into the trip of a lifetime. Laura found a stone staircase hewn into the rock and started the descent into her private adventure.