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The Samhain Gate

12/1/2008

After a few minutes, Iris realized that crying probably wasn’t the most productive thing she could be doing.

She sighed, wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her hand, and looked around. The room was still the same. She’s sat down on the chest and now stood up. Crying wasn’t going to help anything, and a bath was suddenly very appealing.

The second door opened into a large, warm room. It wasn't hot enough to be a sauna, but definitely warmer than the other rooms. The tub was huge and recessed into the stone floor like a hot tub without the jets. It was deep enough that she could see a ring of steps around the edge for ease of use. It was obviously a communal tub, since there were two other doors. One on the wall next to the one she’d entered by, and the other on the opposite wall. Unlike the hall, the whole room was built in stone, and a huge skylight let in light above the tub. A shelf ran along most of one wall and held folded towels. On small tables on each side of the tub, Iris could see chunks of soap. A large folding screen stood in one corner, she supposed for some semblance of privacy for those who wanted it. All the woodwork was carved and dark with age, and there was an overwhelmingly masculine feel, not only to this room, but to every room she’d been in so far. Iris wondered if Tyr had a wife, and if he did how she felt about her husband bringing home a strange woman. She shivered a little; the last thing she wanted to do was tangle with an angry goddess.

Hoping no one would come in through one of the other doors; Iris ducked behind the screen and pulled her clothes off. She set them on the shelf and grabbed a towel. They were made of felt, not the terrycloth she was used to, and a rather unassuming brown color. Draping the cloth around herself, Iris peeked around the screen to make sure no one had entered, and then dashed for the tub.

The water was the perfect temperature, and crystal clear. At the deepest point, it came up to her chin. The soap had a piney smell to it—another masculine touch—and she watched the suds swirl away through a series of drainage holes. Fresh water was constantly pouring in from a sluice tunnel on the opposite side of the tub. That explained how the water was so clean. Iris figured they must be on some sort of hot spring to keep the hot water moving that way all the time. She finished washing and sat on the step, the water just below her nose.

At least everyone she’d met so far was clean. She tried to remember anything she could about the Vikings, but could only conjure images of Hollywood savages with horns on their helmets. That obviously wasn’t the case. She’d yet to see a single horned-helmet. Bits and pieces of ‘History Channel’ documentaries floated through her mind. ‘Viking’ was a job, not an ethnicity; most of the Norse were farmers and artisans, clean and creative. Well, everything she’d seen so far seemed to bear that out. It didn’t matter, anyway. She wasn’t dealing with the Vikings; she was dealing with gods.

She shook her head and stood up, then glanced around and draped the towel around her. Going back behind the screen, she toweled off, and used a fresh one to wrap herself in. Gathering up her clothes, Iris headed back to the other room. Back in the room—Iris supposed it was her room now—she saw that someone else had been and gone while she was in the bath. There was a small folding table and chair in the middle of the room. On the table were a tray and her purse.

Dumping her clothes on the bed, Iris knelt and investigated the chest. Her clothes were dusty and sweaty from the walk here and she had no desire to put them back on after cleaning up. She also wondered what constituted ‘descent clothes’ here. There was a tray in the chest, with what looked like a grooming set. Iris set it on the bed to investigate later. She began pulling out garments. There was a dark red dress with long sleeves, what she guessed to be an under dress of lightweight, almost gauzy linen, a pair of pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a short-sleeved shirt. The pants and long-sleeved shirt were brown and short-sleeved one the same shade of red as the dress. At the bottom of the chest were stockings, a wide leather belt and a pair of short leather boots. She bit her lip, but Tyr had said to make free of what she found. Looking around again—pointlessly, since both doors were closed—she dropped the towel and pulled on the pants. Reaching over to the bed she grabbed her bra and slipped it on then pulled on the short-sleeved shirt. The pants were a little loose, but had a drawstring at the waist, the shirt was also loose, but belted it wasn’t too bad. The stockings and boots were hopelessly large, so she put her own socks and shoes back on.

Feeling much more secure now that she was dressed, Iris set the tray back into the chest and examined the contents. It was a grooming set; a brush, comb, hand mirror and a few other small objects she didn’t recognize were all there, along with pins and combs and ribbons for doing her hair. It was definitely a matched set, the brush, comb, and mirror were all backed with silver and inlaid with gold filigree and tiny amber beads. The pins also looked like they were made out of silver, and tipped with bobs of amber. The designs looked like something out of a Celtic Bible, and the workmanship was exquisite, even to Iris’ untrained eyes. She didn’t hesitate to use the brush to work the knots out of her hair, but used her own barrette to tie it back. She didn’t want to risk damaging or losing one of the fancy combs or pins.

Dressed and groomed, Iris turned her attention to the tray of food. She sat in the folding chair, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and grabbed her purse. A cursory examination revealed everything was still in there. Her cell phone had turned off, and nothing she could do would turn it back on. It was just as well, it wasn’t as if she was going to be able to get service here anyway. She set her bag on the floor and slid it under the bed, then turned her attention to the tray of food. There was a chunk of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a selection of fruit and a bone-handled knife. A large ceramic mug held milk. Iris was extremely glad it wasn’t beer. She sliced a piece of bread and some cheese, and then paused. What would happen if she ate the food here? Would it make her sick? Would it make it impossible for her to leave? One of the few mythological stories she remembered from school was the one about Persephone, bound to the land of the dead because she ate the food. After a moment, Iris relaxed. They wanted a champion to fight for them on earth, so keeping her here wouldn’t make any sense.

The bread was chewy and the cheese had a light flavor. Browsing the fruit, she selected an apple. She was swallowing the last bite when the door opened and Tyr walked in. Iris jumped when the door opened, then relaxed when she saw who it was.

He smiled at her, “Glad you see you’re settling in. Are you about ready to get started?”

“Okay. What are we doing again?”

“Getting your armor fitted. Come on, they’re waiting.” She stood up and followed him out and back into the large Hall.

Someone had rearranged the Hall in her absence, a couple of the large trestle tables moved aside and a long rack holding various weapons set up. ‘They’ were a pair of short, extremely stocky men, with the ubiquitous long hair and beards of everyone she’d seen so far. They both sized her up without being discreet about it, and then bowed in unison.

“This is Nagli, and Agnarr, they’re going to fit your armor and make your weapons.”

Weapons? Iris hadn’t thought that far ahead. Tyr said something in the guttural language, which seemed to be the native tongue here. He turned to her, “If you would step over here?”

There was a small platform in the middle of the cleared space; Iris stepped onto it. The two men were shorter than she’d first thought, only reaching her shoulder. Feeling even more oversized standing on the raised platform, she tried to stay still as they set to work measuring her with pieces of knotted leather thongs.

One said something to the other—Iris couldn’t tell them apart— and them both laughed, so did Tyr. Iris squirmed a little; she hated not knowing what people were saying.

“He says you’re too thin. They can use the best materials, since they won’t need very much.” She smiled. Iris had never thought of herself as particularly slender, but wasn’t going to argue.

One of the men motioned for her to step down. Iris did so, and the measuring continued, around her chest, arms, waist, neck and head. They weren’t writing anything down, so Iris wondered how they were keeping track. Finally, they rolled up their strings and looked expectantly at Tyr.

“You need to try some weapons, to see which one they need to make for you.”

She looked at the rack; there were several things on it she recognized from the movies: a sword, a mace, a spear, along with several other pointy objects she didn’t know the names of.

“Is this really necessary? Couldn’t I just buy a Glock when I get home?”

“No. The weapons of your world may not be effective against the creatures you might need to fight.” He considered for a moment, “I could have them make special bullets, but I don’t want you coming back here every time you run out of ammunition.” He paused, considering, “Besides, the weapons they make will go anywhere. Come and get a feel for what you like.”

Iris wasn’t sure what he meant by going anywhere, but joined him at the weapons rack anyway.

“Here, try this.” He pulled a sword off the rack and handed it to her.

“Um. . .” The weapon was half as long as she was tall. She had no idea how to hold it, and it felt heavy and awkward.

“Nope. Not that one. Put it back.” He took if from her and handed her another, shorter, sword with the characteristic womanly curves of a Greek hoplite. It wasn’t quite as awkward, but still pulled heavily on her arm.

“Give it a swing.” She took a step back, not wanting to accidentally take off his other hand, and tentatively swung the sword. The heavy weapon’s momentum made her move farther than she’d expected, and pushed her off balance.

“Not a sword, I think.” She handed it back to him and he pulled the mace from the rack. It was so heavy Iris could barely lift it.

“Nope, try again.” He handed her a spiked ball on a chain with a wooden handle.

“What is this thing?”

“A Morningstar. Give it a swing.”

She tried to get the spiked ball moving, and found it was easier than she’d expected.

“Here,” Tyr tipped over one of the long tables, “swing at this.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up your table.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Shrugging a little, Iris swung the ball a couple of times to build up momentum, and hit the table as hard as she could. The spiked ball ripped through the wood, leaving huge, ugly gashes. It swung back, almost out of control, before she managed to stop the motion.

“Sorry!”

He laughed at her, “its fine. That’s definitely a possibility. Let’s try a few others.”

He set the Morningstar aside and handed her a spear. It was taller than she was and Iris had no idea what to do with it. He took it from her immediately, and handed her a huge double-bitted axe, which was at least four feet tall. She could lift it, but couldn’t get it moving.

Tyr sighed, “You’ve never handled a weapon before, have you?” She shook her head. “Here. Try these.” He handed her a pair of single-bitted axes with short handles.

They were light at least; she gave them an experimental swing, the short handles gave her a feeling of control.

“I kinda like these.”

“Alright,” He motioned to the overturned table, “give them a throw.”

She shrugged a little, glanced around to make sure she wouldn’t hit anyone if something went horribly wrong, pulled back and threw as hard as she could. Before she was even aware of the first axe leaving her right hand, the one in her left had jumped into her right and she was throwing it as well.

Thunk! Thunk! Both axes hit true and buried their heads in the dark wood.

She turned to Tyr, “I swear I don’t know how to do that.” She paused, “Can I do it again?”

He laughed at her, “I think we have a winner. Axes it is, then. A pair of them.” He turned to the other men and translated. They smiled, nodded, and said something back, then turned and walked out.

“Your armor and weapons should be ready in about three days. I told them to make something light and low-profile, to be worn under clothing.”

“So,” she was still eyeing the axes stuck in the table in disbelief, “what do I do until then?”

“Training.” Almost faster than she could see, Tyr slapped her.

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