Wealth

(This post written for Sunday Scribblings #315: “Wealth“.)

“Hey, Old Woman! Wake up! Time to pay the fee!”

When their yelling didn’t rouse her, they roughly pushed and shook her. She flailed to keep her balance as she awoke in mid-tilt. To no avail as the youths only pulled her harshly forward. They laughed as she fell on the remnants of her lunch.

They continued laughing as she pushed arthritic joints and sat up on the cool ground. When she did not speak to them, but chose to pat away crumbs and dirt, they grew angry for being ignored.

“Hey! Old Woman!” One youth reached down to push her again. Her glare, sudden and piercing, stopped him in mid movement. They both paused, shover and shoved, spied and speaker. To him, time had stopped. There was only the eyes of the elderly woman. And in those age-tinted globes, he saw the spark that lit the fires of Muspelheim.

Deep with him, he felt the cold of Niflheim seeping in, welcomed by his cruelty towards her. The cold shook his soul then his body as it moved through him. Shuddering suddenly, he broke off eye contact with the seated woman. His cohorts looked at him oddly as he stepped back in sudden palpable fear.

“Harrumph.” The youths turned to the woman when she sounded off in disgust, but she was not where they had pushed her. She was many steps down the road. They watched her for a moment, as she ambled with her walking stick. Old enough to hear the instinct warning them not to press further, young enough to mistake it as an impetus to master the situation, the moment was enough for all to recover from the chill.

“Hey Old Woman! Wait up!” You haven’t paid the price of your laziness!” They ran after her, easily overtaking her slow persistent gait. As they surrounded her again, they took pains to avoid staring her in the face once more.

“Eh? What is this? What price? And who are you calling lazy?” She shook her stick in anger. They youths backed away at first, still instinctively wary. “You are something for calling me lazy! I’m too old for field work, yet you are the ones abandoning the field!”

She waved them into obscurity with a dismissive gesture. “Go! Shoo! Find some wood-maiden to be stiff with! My travel is not yet over and my feet hurt!” They laughed at her words, taking her insinuation and daring each other to be the first to lay with such a wight. When they turned back to taunt her further, she had gone.

They stood in the empty path, looking about themselves for her. They looked behind trees and in ditches. Some looked up and was teased for thinking the old woman could take flight. As they recounted her last words, they noted the late afternoon sun gave the trees a strange and soft appearance. Suddenly spooked, the youths ran down the path themselves, eager to reach shelter before night fell.

The youths were greeted at the entrance to the kin hall by their mothers and aunts. While each one wore a face braver than his fellows, they knew they were in trouble. Some how, the elderly woman had arrived at the kin hall before them. Where earlier, they were trying to scare a piece of gold from her, they now owe weregild to the kin’s disir as punishment for their rudeness and lack of hospitality

“Leave them be! They are but boys in the guise of men!” Her voice, strangely strong, rang through the crowded hall. The youths, still held at the entrance by the women, were able to see the elderly woman was seated on a high seat, elevated above all others. “If there is a debt owed, it is to me! And I shall say how it is to be paid!”

“Let them come forward to me. All five of them. Let them come before me as they did on the road. On their own two feet and without being led.” She finished speaking and the kin that stood between them and her parted. A corridor formed, lined with incriminating stares and angry-set jaws. The youths let slip their masks of bravado. They knew they had no choice but to step forward and face the spae-woman. Their joviality had fled in a direction they wished their feet could follow. Slowly, they made their way to the high seat, and bowed a mumbled greeting.

“I suppose you boys want that tax now, yes?” Her voice was clear and harsh from years of speech. They winced at her taunt. “Speak up! I can’t hear you over the sound of your fathers’ stares!”

“It… it was just fun.” A deeply rumbled snort behind them made them jump. “We didn’t mean to really take anything from you!” “We were supposed to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”

“I sent you boys to escort her here! Not to play at trollspeech!” One of the boys’ fathers grabbed his son by the hair, his hand raised to administer angry correction, he was stopped by the spae-woman’s voice.

“No. Harm not a hair. Touch not even a pinch of skin.” Reluctantly, he released his son. “I have seated, and am off my feet. I have been fed more food than you have spilled. I have been served more water than what I sweated to reach here. I am not harmed. Leave them be, as I claim the debt of their rudeness.”

“You, boy. Yes, you. Come forward and reach into this bag.” She held open a weathered leather bag. “Which ever your hand touches first, that is your mark. Take it, and stand back with the others, but look not on it, nor show it to anyone until I tell you.” He stepped forward and reached into the bag. Despite the heat of the hall, the heat of the woman’s lap, his own heat of embarrassment, inside the bag was like gripping ice made during Yule. He almost yelped from the sensation. He closed his hand around the first mark he touched, gripped it, and quickly stood back.

“You others, one by one, come and do the same.” The other four boys did. Some drew quickly. Some trembled in fear. But all five boys had their marks and held them tightly as directed.

“You are but children still. Do not confuse your height for manliness. The best man I ever lay with, wasn’t high enough to bind my waist.” She smiled as she spoke, causing a silly chuckle to race through the assembled woman, and coughs of disbelief from the men. Once the laughter died down, she sighed a great sigh and closed her eyes in somber concentration.

“Know you the marks, boys?” Two nodded quickly. One nodded, then considered, and quickly shook his head. The other two looked at her quizzically. “Then you who don’t know, will learn. And you who know will learn more.” She pointed to one of the boys. “Reveal your mark, speak its name if you know it, else hold it high for all to see.”

The first boy opened his hand and stared at the mark on the slice of wood. He turned it around and around, but was unable to determine which way it should face. Realizing all was staring at him, he lifted his hand and turned so all in the hall could see his mark. The hall was silent but for the sound of breathing and hearthfire. Even still, his timid voice was hard to hear as he spoke, “Gebo”.

With a forceful voice, the spae-woman spoke to him. “Boy, you had been tested tonight. Not just by your father and your kin, but by those that watch the flow of wyrd. There is a chance you may pass the test, yet. Here, then, is the burden placed on you. You have almost cost your kin a painful price. Do you know what I could demand from them as weregild for your inhospitality? I could even demand your hand, the same one that shoved me, and it would be mine before my voice ceased. You demanded an unearned gift from me. You claimed a right to that which was not yours. And so, in that same manner, will you be demanded of. Over the next year, others will come to you to take of your time, your wealth, and your arm. And you shall give it without question, murmur, or delay. It will be taken, with nothing given in return. But there is more to wealth than time, gold, and craft. This wealth is what you must find, and share with your kin, for it is the heart of Gebo.” She nodded and closed her eyes. He understood her words to him were done, and lowered his hand.

She opened her eyes, and pointed at the first boy her sight had settled on. “You! Step forward and do the same as your brother!” He opened his hand and stared at the mark. He looked at it awkwardly, turned it around a bit, then leaned towards the first boy and looked at him plaintively. “It goes this way, and its name is Fehu.” The youth raised his hand and held the mark for all to see. He held it sideways at first, then quickly corrected himself while shouting, “Fehu!”.

“You would squander what others have because it is not yours. If it is not yours, then of what worth is it? You threw my food to the ground because it was not meant for your mouth, yet if you had but pointed, I would have shared it with you. You would take what is not yours, and spoil what you can not take. And so will you be treated over the next year. You will save up from harvest, yet your portion will be be spoiled. Your goats will have many offspring, yet few, if any, will grow to maturity. You will toil hard for hearth and kin, yet from all the work, there will be barely anything gained by it. There is more to wealth than cattle and goods. This wealth you must find, and add it to the stores of your kin, for it is the heart of Fehu.” She nodded and closed her eyes. There was no sound to be heard other than the whimpering of the youth.

“Dry your tears, girl! Or I’ll dry them for you!” The third youth jerked the crying boy back with his peers. After glaring the second youth into silence, he stood before the seated spae-woman with defiance. He raised his mark high and stared at her closed eyes while crying out, “Mannaz!”.

When she opened them to return the stare, he found himself suddenly unable to move. Her glare pierced him and fixed him fast in his position. “You led the others to taunt me. Your hand was the first that pushed me. You, a boy with no responsibilities, have made yourself chief over the other four. You command them, and they obey. It is good to be the son of one held in great esteem. It is good to claim that same adoration unearned. Isn’t it. To have lordship over others simply because of whose son you are. You smirk at me. You know, as well as I, that your blood can not be changed. But how you are treated because of that blood, can. Your father has earned the name of a good man, but you have earned the name of an outlaw. Where he goes, he will be praised. But where you go, you will be derided. Your father’s shield no longer covers you. There is more to wealth than a good name, more to being a leader than shouting. You must find what it is to truly be a part of one’s kin and tribe, and demonstrate that knowledge with those around you, for it is the heart of Mannaz.” She sat back, obviously tired, and closed her eyes signalling the end of her words against the boy.

At once, he began to deride her. The first boy tried to speak to him and was shoved for his effort. He raised his hand to strike him, but a stronger hand gripped him instead. The boy turned, and found his father glaring down at him. “Boy, you keep adding on to your list of woes. You were supposed to ensure her safety, you try to rob her instead. You’re supposed to be an example of a dutiful son, but you’ve been seeding sedition instead. You’re supposed to keep frith when in the kin-hall, and you are willing to strike the first blow, instead!” His father’s eyes sharpened as he laid pronouncement on his son. “She has spoken nothing new. Your action is the last of a long list of ills I have had to count against you. And it is the last one. You are my son, but no longer of my family. I would chase you beyond the hedge and cast you out of the kin, but you have been spoken for. If I catch you at my hearth before this year is over, you will be counted a thief and outlaw and dealt with accordingly.” The elder man pulled the boy away and shoved him towards the back of the kin-hall. “Hold on to that mark, boy. It will be the only thing that saves your life.” He turned away from his son, and faced the spae-woman. As he did, all the adults did the same, guiding their children to follow in their lead.

The fourth boy trembled before the spae-woman. “I know which way it should be, but I don’t know the name.” She smiled, her eyes still closed, and whispered, “Othala”. He nodded, held the mark high over his head, and repeated the name. Her tired eyes opened, keeping the smile that curved her lips.

“You have been sheltered from the cruelty of the world. Your kin is large and their wealth is great. You’ve never went without food for a day, nor tried to make a handful of rotting strings serve as a blanket. You, who are among the least of your kin, are richer than many tribes! You have been given, without asking. And yet, you call yourself poor, because when compared to your kin, you claim to have nothing. The Disir weep! I hear their anguish. It is echoed in the sighs of your mother and her sisters. They have poured the wealth of the kin in your hands,  and you let it fall through like water. No more shall the Disir watch over you! Your food will taste as ashes in your mouth. When you lay down to sleep, the goats will fare better than you. The hall itself will reject you, allowing the rain to drip onto your head even though you sit under the same cover as others. You will be surrounded by the wealth of the kin, and be more poor than a thrall. There is more to wealth than hearthfire and kinship. You must find what it is to be the support to the kin as they have been to you, for this is the heart of Othala.”

Her smile had faded by the time she closed her eyes. The boy looked down on the ground, and barely withheld his tears. He didn’t not contest the judgement against him. He knew, as she spoke, that he had taken his kin for granted. He set his jaw, nodded, and backed away from the high seat.

The fifth and last boy stepped forward. Another had already whispered in his ear how to show the mark, and what name to call it. He had not been listening to the judgments against the others, instead making crude jokes about the shape of the mark. Indeed, even now, he struggled to keep his composure. He lifted the mark, holding it so that his fingers fell into an obscene gesture, and spoke the name clearly while enjoying his act of defiance. “Wunjo.”

“Such fun you are having, are you not?” He giggled a bit as she opened her eyes. To his delight, she smiled even greater at him. “Such fun you had to see me on the ground, did you not?” His giggle died quickly. “Such fun you have when you see others suffer, when you over turn their mead, when you stuff bees down pants, when you ruin weeks of work and preparation! Such fun, is it not!” Her voice echoed off the roof of the hall. “And you are forgiven, you must be forgiven, for you are only… a child. Are you not? What worth is laughter? It fades like the dew in summer. It is here, then gone, like the blood from a sacrifice. Why all this anger, over laughter? Laughter holds a power that most men are blind to. It can make timbers strong, and it can eat them from within like rot. Life is hard enough as it is, but joy makes it tolerable, even enjoyable. A man and a woman could have nothing of physical worth, but if they have joy with each other, then they eat at a table more bounteous than the settings for a rich man. A child’s laughter brings strength to the workman’s swing. But you are not a child anymore. You have stolen joy from others long enough. Now, your joy will be dashed to pieces. There will be no laughter with you. There will be no mirth when you are present. Your antics will bring only derision from the young girls, and painful blows from those older than you. There is more to wealth than the cold of metal and the hanging meat. You must find what it is that heats the souls from within, and share that true joy with your kin. Not the mocking cackle of the vicious, but the warmth of a baby’s bright laughter, for this is the heart of Wunjo.”

Her eyes closed, and she slumped slightly in the high seat. As the last boy bowed and turned away, she addressed the stern faced chief. “There is more to tell you, but it must come tomorrow. Those that watch over wyrd and man, had pronouncements to make upon these five.” The chief nodded and called for his wife and other women to come attend the spae-woman. “For some, I have hope. For some, I have none. But for all that were present tonight, and for all that may hear of what happened here, I speak wealth to them. Not the wealth of goods, not the wealth of words. But the wealth of understanding.”

“Make of that, what you may.”