(no subject)
Notes:
1. Skagerrak is the strait between Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. Skåne is a chunk of land Sweden and Denmark fought quite often over.
2. The Icelandic explorer Erik the Red made it to Greenland after he was kicked out of Norway and then Iceland. Then his kid made it to Vinland which is believed to be a part of Canada. A few more expeditions to Vinland followed, but eventually the natives won out against the foreigners.
3. When the Norwegian king Olaf took an interest in making Iceland Christian, some Icelanders were offended by his attitude, which suggested that Iceland was a Norwegian colony. Eventually Iceland ended up under Norwegian rule in a personal union. Iceland eventually began to decline just as Norway did. Most of the declining had to do with poor choices on the part of the Norwegian monarch.
4. When you're drowning you actually can't scream someone's name.
5. The mermaid is a bit of artistic license on my part.
Some summers they went north. Norway would complain of the heatwave and make a point of being set upon going back to his own house ( he called it his house, not his home ) in Norway. Always Denmark would give in a little, just enough to not have to count a loss, and just enough to make Norway happy. They always settled upon the northern part of Jutland. Where if they were ever to venture during an especially cold winter they could cross the angry currents of Skagerrak all the way up to Norway.
Jutland was too cold in the winter for Denmark. Although there were reasons to keep them from travelling in the summer. A Swedish invasion, even though there was a chance of that in the winter too. And the plagues, which seemed to take a special delight in scourging humanity in the warm times. During one Denmark would be confined to bed with symptoms and Norway would lie in a hot, airless room on the verge of becoming very sick. Iceland would make broth for his brother, without adding anything to it and try to feed it to Norway. He would always be turned down with only good intentions, then become grateful that Faeroes and Greenland were more hearty and healthy than one would assume children in such times would be.
Of course Iceland got sick too, but his problems and ailments were so vague and varied that they took on a kind of rhythm-or flavours, seasons, an album, a collection. Most of the time he just ignored them though. He, like his brother used to, found that the best cure for anything was a length of time spent outside with a good breeze in his face.
So Iceland enjoyed the trips to Jutland. He did not mind having to share a bedroom with both Faeroes and Greenland, the move down from a palace to a house with a barn Denmark had both built by himself.
The bonfires were also a highlight for most of the family. Especially Norway, whose dominance at storytelling was unquestioned. He was never put out to tell a tale that could engage the young and the old and the people who hated listening, he had all the talents of a sage storyteller. Denmark found Norway especially engaging because he was Norway. The lilt of his voice was familiar and loved. It was almost magical to hear him speak more than two sentences at a time.
Iceland sometimes found the bonfires a bit dull and vaguely tedious. He had heard all the stories before, and if he sat too far away he couldn't hear them anyway over the fire. Often he dozed away, to awake to his feet or hands buried in the sand by Faeroes, once by Denmark when he hadn't been busy being spellbound.
...
Denmark loved all of it: the boat ride to the mainland, the horseback ride on the mainland, the ineffable shifts in Norway's whole presence as they moved higher and higher north.
And if Sweden tried to invade, he and Nor would kick his butt all the way back to Stockholm.
( Neither would he try to cause anything: provoke Sweden, steal any land. Maybe he would even pretend that Skåne didn't exist. He wouldn't admit it, but leaving Sweden alone did a lot towards maintaining peace for a while. )
When they got there, Denmark would dismount with Faeroes from his horse with any flourish and cool effect he could, dust himself off as Iceland and Greenland waited to be helped down from theirs, and then he would grab Norway's waist. Norway, with a rare inner peace, would allow himself to be plucked off his horse and placed on the ground.
"We're here!"
Norway would hear the ocean, the waves from the clashing tides of the North and Baltic seas.
...
Iceland settled on the end of his bed and watched Faeroes and Greenland jump on theirs. Faeroes, when she went up, reached for the ceiling and came up so short that no-one would have called it coming close. As the youngest, she and Greenland shared a bed. They thought that that was fine, and Iceland was relieved that he did not have to share a bed. Sharing the room was fine, but that would have been more than he could have handled.
Trying once more to reach the ceiling and failing, Faeroes landed on her bum-laughing at herself and Iceland and then Greenland. Greenland didn't realise quick enough that his sister had sat down. His attempt to avoid landing on her-curling up one leg under him to guide his direction away-made him lose his balance. In a moment he was on the floor on his side. Too shocked to stand up on his own immediately. His eyes wide.
Faeroes panicked. Without thinking, he's survived worse, she assumed that he was seriously injured.
Iceland sat there, unable to move fast enough, unable to remind her to think rationally like one of her kind-he'll be okay no matter how much physical damage there is. Even the death of the colony hadn't killed Greenland, so why would this.
He stared past his adopted sister and his adopted brother. Faeroes had turned her brother over and began fretting over a vague red mark manifesting on Greenland's shoulder. Or maybe it wasn't there at all. It was hard to see anything that wasn't black or brown or white against the darker tone of his skin. Turning Greenland back over, she gripped his fingers.
"Green, can ya feel that?"
"What?"
She, pale as a winter sun, had managed to blanch. The few freckles she had already gotten from their travelling stood stark on her nose and cheekbones. "I've got yer fingers. I'll hold one of 'em really tight right now."
"...Putting pressure on my biggest one?" He said, trying to be helpful.
She became even more worried. "No, yer middle one."
"Oh. My longest one. With the weird white thing on the nail." Able to move now, Greenland raised his head and looked down at his hand. "That one."
"Yer okay!" Faeroes then said, too overjoyed to contain her shifting mood, helping her brother sit up and then throwing her arms around him.
Greenland flinched but he hugged her back. "I'm good."
Iceland found it all a bit overdramatic, embarrassing just to watch. He shifted, a little red, and held his puffin tight to him. He had been in a pretty okay mood-decent enough to be called happy-and now he wasn't sure how he felt. Maybe it was time to say something: express his gladness that Greenland was okay, remind Faeroes that Greenland wouldn't have died, and anyways he'd heal quickly.
Or so he had been thinking. Faeroes suddenly raised her head from Greenland's shoulder and gave Iceland such a glare. Iceland started, hunching his shoulders a bit.
"Ya didn't help," she said, feeling no need to break her hug with Greenland to point at her other brother.
"You managed it by yourself," he said, looking slightly to the side of her.
"Green could've died, Ice!"
"No, he's-"
"'nd then I would've had to play with ya." She gave no pause, no time for things like outrages, hurt feelings, or facts to be addressed. "Ya should help him a bit more 'cause he can die more easy than ya. Ya and Nor already abandoned him once, but Nor still helps ya."
No, Iceland wanted to say. How stupid to think that-Norway had stopped trading with Iceland a long time ago. The boats had stopped coming, the lumber had stopped coming, and in the end Iceland could hardly trade with anyone at all. The drying up of imports, the drying of exports, not an imbalance that resulted in their blood drying up but that led to sickness nonetheless. Then the decline-and she wouldn't have listened anyway. She was an upset child.
"You're Denmark's favourite," Iceland said. He stood up, to give his point more power. Politically it was not true. Personally, it was. She was the one who had started out being the most like him. Because out of the three children, she was happiest, with the fewest grievances than Iceland, with more spunk than Greenland. What she lacked in their respective seriousness and enthusiasm she made up with her own charm and energy.
All three children were silent.
Then Greenland said, "Denmark and Norway are married, so they're kinda the same country. And we all belong to them equally."
The other two ignored him; he had no government, so what could he know.
"Yeah, but Nor-"
"What about Nor, Faeroes?" asked Denmark, suddenly there, from the doorway. He looked curious, not mad, so it was safe to assume he hadn't heard the fight. Or Norway, who was standing besides Denmark. ( Though it was hard to be sure, Norway heard more than Denmark and his expression was in general pretty much unreadable. ) If Norway hadn't heard they could all be glad about that.
"Nor loves Ice, doesn't he?" Faeroes asked Denmark, changing the direction of the conversation only slightly. Denmark's answer would only be proof of what she was going to say. Norway has a favourite. And then she would have added, his love counts more, even if Den is stronger.
"'Course he loves Ice, Faeroes! Family's important, ya know."
As Faeroes asked if they were all family, Norway moved into the room to collect Iceland. He had been heading to the children's room for that purpose when he was joined by Denmark, who had heard the thud and assumed it was one of the kids wreaking havoc already. Norway put his hand on Iceland's shoulder and, with Iceland in front of him, walked back over to the doorway.
"We're all family, aren't we Nor?" Denmark asked. He was facing the shorter nation with his hand on Faeroes head, not quite done rustling her hair.
"Absolutely," Norway said. The two brothers began walking away, down the hall. "We're going for a walk."
"See ya!" Denmark said, and added something about having a good time and being safe. "See, Faeroes?"
Norway and Iceland continued to walk away. The hallway wasn't long and Norway wasn't a slow walker, but there was a quality to the moment that suggested that the hallway might just stretch into forever. Like two mirrors reflecting one another; Iceland didn't want to stay in that room, he didn't want to go on a walk with Norway just now.
As he was walking away Iceland heard someone say, "Watch what I can do!" He then heard a thump. Maybe Greenland had fallen again.
…
After Iceland's people had agreed to recognise Norway's king things had changed for Iceland. Some of the changes were gradual shifts that had to do with effects and consequences, and some of the changes had to do with having to become familiar with his new circumstances.
For one, he was moved to Norway's house. The boat ride over had been a revelation and an adventure, but looking back on it he wondered why he hadn't thought, this is the first time I'm going so far east. Maybe he had been too young to realise it, and the thoughts of finally living with his brother, and of finally seeing Norway's house and the fatherland of his own people were all he could think of. He couldn't recall when the last traces of the ice fields had disappeared.
But he did noticed other things, like the ones that happened in Norway's house. Iceland began to grow a bit taller and his unbidden memories began to crystalise. ( He remembered Vinland, why Vinland had been abandoned, the crazily evil woman who had once dragged Iceland to Vinland. ) He had more urges than ever to write.
And then he stopped growing. He wrote not of his friends, but of what he remembered and what his brother did because his brother didn't bother to. And they spent so little time together that every time they did see each other-when Norway could return to see Iceland because he had a king at least for the moment-it became harder for Norway to understand Iceland. Ir was like he couldn't understand Iceland as well as he used to. Iceland figured Norway was forgetting the old language.
Still their people traded, so Iceland counted himself as almost dependent on Norway. He had no problem with this, though he never told anyone, and he intrinsically knew that his people had different feelings on the matter. But nothing changed, there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Then one day Norway arrived back home with Faeroes walking in through the door after him. Norway began to introduce the girl to Iceland. Iceland also wondered if Orkneys or Shetland would show up, but then Greenland stumbled into the door and Iceland had asked, "Why isn't Greenland dead."
For a moment everyone looked at Greenland, staring at him and almost seeing him and Greenland had tried to smile back. Then Norway continued with his introduction of Faeroes, and here was her brother Greenland.
Here you are, Iceland. Playmates.
…
"You don't have to sing properly, just well," Norway said to Iceland. He looked down at his brother for a moment before looking back out over the water.
They were standing near the surf. Iceland was having a time with it because he couldn't decide what was worse: having sand in his shoes and stockings, or having no shoes and stockings and the wet sand on his feet. Sand between his toes, or sand on his heels? Then he tried to focus, he felt his brother's expectation.
"I can't sing," he said. "And I don't sing to summon mermaids. I just find them when they want to show themselves."
Norway didn't look away from the sea, or the point out at sea he might have been focused on. He was facing north. "This mermaid you'll have to sing for if she is going to know which way she is going to have to come to find you, you."
Iceland asked what he would have to sing.
"I'll start."
Norway began singing. Not with a clear voice, because he had a few rough patches in his pitch, but there was a certain music-box quality to his tone. He could reach more high notes than he could low, suggesting that he still wasn't quite a grown nation. And something about his higher notes reminded Iceland of wind-being forced through fjords and whistling around the peaks, plunging down the sides of endless granite cliffs.
Then Iceland started singing. Because he was as physically young as he was his voice was clear. Maybe so clear he would grow up to have perfect pitch. Or it could've been a trick of the ear-when Iceland and Norway started hitting the same notes their voices fell into a resonate harmony. They sung not with words but with images, of things like dusky mountaintops, great valleys covered by pine, marsh fields that lay flat and open and desolate for miles.
"I do not know any of these things," came a voice as smooth as water over weathered rocks, "yet you have shown me them."
Iceland quit singing. Norway finished.
"I didn't know a pile of dirt could be so beautiful! Also, Iceland dear, please be careful," the mermaid said. She had lain herself down in the surf. The waves, though otherwise completely normal waves, seemed to split just before they reached her. "You should never stop a piece of art just when you're near the end."
Her hair was like reeds in a wave, her skin like the bottom of an iceberg. The coat of water on her made her gleam.
"Hello," Iceland said.
"This is my brother," Norway offered as he knelt next to her. His knees got wet, but the waves began to split just before they got to him.
"I know little Iceland. I've seen him a few times." The mermaid looked at Iceland, smiling, inspecting him for a moment or two. "And he's gotten bigger, hasn't he? He's so cute now, he'll probably be so dashing-just grow up bigger than your brother, little Iceland. I'm almost immortal, so I can wait until you conquer your other siblings." She smiled again at him.
And Iceland, with no clue what else to do, began shaking. This was when he decided this: he vastly preferred his own mermaids, who may have been tricky but were not so chatty. Besides, they could make great wives. He almost got close and grabbed at his brother's hand but he didn't trust the power behind the odd behaviour of the waves. He'd probably get wet, or at least wetter than he already was.
He stood back as Norway and the mermaid talked. Norway asked, how is the house, my house, how are the others, your family. She answered as well as she could to every question, and if she was intimidating at least her voice was a pleasure to listen to, like opera you could actually understand.
It reminded Iceland, who was sitting in the sand now, of the way he thought of his house. He couldn't describe the feeling, he just ineffably knew that he had come from it. Descended from things that had lived there, that don't have names or set forms, and the way in which they are known was at best transient. He was the child of the other folk. Just as Norway might have been.
( At some point Iceland had begun to cry. )
Finally the mermaid said to Norway, I'll see you later, dear Norway. Keep well. Then she said to Iceland:
"Little Iceland, if you're ever drowning, call my name. I'll save you."
She slipped back into the water as a lost thought.
…
Iceland had only stared at her, maybe even glared a bit. He didn't understand-she must have been playing with him again. He knew how drowning really worked: floating there, hands pressed against the the surface of the water in a pathetic attempt to stay up. The inability to do anything, to say anything, the decision of the body only to breathe, breathe, breathe, not call for help because only you can save yourself now.
Less than a minute later it's over. Not a chance to say a name, even if the name is the sound of water in your mouth.
…
Norway walked up the slight bank of the beach with Iceland in his arms. In the twilight, Iceland had fallen asleep waiting for the answer to his question he had asked hours ago: Who's your favourite? Norway had stared out at the sea and Iceland had tried to see what his brother was seeing, but all he could see was the grey clouds skudding by in the distance. Eventually he had gotten sleepy.
"What happened," Iceland had asked. "To Orkneys," he had added after he got no response. "Why is Greenland still alive. The colony disappeared..."
There had been nothing but the sound of waves.
His hands were over Norway's shoulder. One of them had curled loosely around the slashing of Norway's sleeve.
1. Skagerrak is the strait between Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. Skåne is a chunk of land Sweden and Denmark fought quite often over.
2. The Icelandic explorer Erik the Red made it to Greenland after he was kicked out of Norway and then Iceland. Then his kid made it to Vinland which is believed to be a part of Canada. A few more expeditions to Vinland followed, but eventually the natives won out against the foreigners.
3. When the Norwegian king Olaf took an interest in making Iceland Christian, some Icelanders were offended by his attitude, which suggested that Iceland was a Norwegian colony. Eventually Iceland ended up under Norwegian rule in a personal union. Iceland eventually began to decline just as Norway did. Most of the declining had to do with poor choices on the part of the Norwegian monarch.
4. When you're drowning you actually can't scream someone's name.
5. The mermaid is a bit of artistic license on my part.
Some summers they went north. Norway would complain of the heatwave and make a point of being set upon going back to his own house ( he called it his house, not his home ) in Norway. Always Denmark would give in a little, just enough to not have to count a loss, and just enough to make Norway happy. They always settled upon the northern part of Jutland. Where if they were ever to venture during an especially cold winter they could cross the angry currents of Skagerrak all the way up to Norway.
Jutland was too cold in the winter for Denmark. Although there were reasons to keep them from travelling in the summer. A Swedish invasion, even though there was a chance of that in the winter too. And the plagues, which seemed to take a special delight in scourging humanity in the warm times. During one Denmark would be confined to bed with symptoms and Norway would lie in a hot, airless room on the verge of becoming very sick. Iceland would make broth for his brother, without adding anything to it and try to feed it to Norway. He would always be turned down with only good intentions, then become grateful that Faeroes and Greenland were more hearty and healthy than one would assume children in such times would be.
Of course Iceland got sick too, but his problems and ailments were so vague and varied that they took on a kind of rhythm-or flavours, seasons, an album, a collection. Most of the time he just ignored them though. He, like his brother used to, found that the best cure for anything was a length of time spent outside with a good breeze in his face.
So Iceland enjoyed the trips to Jutland. He did not mind having to share a bedroom with both Faeroes and Greenland, the move down from a palace to a house with a barn Denmark had both built by himself.
The bonfires were also a highlight for most of the family. Especially Norway, whose dominance at storytelling was unquestioned. He was never put out to tell a tale that could engage the young and the old and the people who hated listening, he had all the talents of a sage storyteller. Denmark found Norway especially engaging because he was Norway. The lilt of his voice was familiar and loved. It was almost magical to hear him speak more than two sentences at a time.
Iceland sometimes found the bonfires a bit dull and vaguely tedious. He had heard all the stories before, and if he sat too far away he couldn't hear them anyway over the fire. Often he dozed away, to awake to his feet or hands buried in the sand by Faeroes, once by Denmark when he hadn't been busy being spellbound.
...
Denmark loved all of it: the boat ride to the mainland, the horseback ride on the mainland, the ineffable shifts in Norway's whole presence as they moved higher and higher north.
And if Sweden tried to invade, he and Nor would kick his butt all the way back to Stockholm.
( Neither would he try to cause anything: provoke Sweden, steal any land. Maybe he would even pretend that Skåne didn't exist. He wouldn't admit it, but leaving Sweden alone did a lot towards maintaining peace for a while. )
When they got there, Denmark would dismount with Faeroes from his horse with any flourish and cool effect he could, dust himself off as Iceland and Greenland waited to be helped down from theirs, and then he would grab Norway's waist. Norway, with a rare inner peace, would allow himself to be plucked off his horse and placed on the ground.
"We're here!"
Norway would hear the ocean, the waves from the clashing tides of the North and Baltic seas.
...
Iceland settled on the end of his bed and watched Faeroes and Greenland jump on theirs. Faeroes, when she went up, reached for the ceiling and came up so short that no-one would have called it coming close. As the youngest, she and Greenland shared a bed. They thought that that was fine, and Iceland was relieved that he did not have to share a bed. Sharing the room was fine, but that would have been more than he could have handled.
Trying once more to reach the ceiling and failing, Faeroes landed on her bum-laughing at herself and Iceland and then Greenland. Greenland didn't realise quick enough that his sister had sat down. His attempt to avoid landing on her-curling up one leg under him to guide his direction away-made him lose his balance. In a moment he was on the floor on his side. Too shocked to stand up on his own immediately. His eyes wide.
Faeroes panicked. Without thinking, he's survived worse, she assumed that he was seriously injured.
Iceland sat there, unable to move fast enough, unable to remind her to think rationally like one of her kind-he'll be okay no matter how much physical damage there is. Even the death of the colony hadn't killed Greenland, so why would this.
He stared past his adopted sister and his adopted brother. Faeroes had turned her brother over and began fretting over a vague red mark manifesting on Greenland's shoulder. Or maybe it wasn't there at all. It was hard to see anything that wasn't black or brown or white against the darker tone of his skin. Turning Greenland back over, she gripped his fingers.
"Green, can ya feel that?"
"What?"
She, pale as a winter sun, had managed to blanch. The few freckles she had already gotten from their travelling stood stark on her nose and cheekbones. "I've got yer fingers. I'll hold one of 'em really tight right now."
"...Putting pressure on my biggest one?" He said, trying to be helpful.
She became even more worried. "No, yer middle one."
"Oh. My longest one. With the weird white thing on the nail." Able to move now, Greenland raised his head and looked down at his hand. "That one."
"Yer okay!" Faeroes then said, too overjoyed to contain her shifting mood, helping her brother sit up and then throwing her arms around him.
Greenland flinched but he hugged her back. "I'm good."
Iceland found it all a bit overdramatic, embarrassing just to watch. He shifted, a little red, and held his puffin tight to him. He had been in a pretty okay mood-decent enough to be called happy-and now he wasn't sure how he felt. Maybe it was time to say something: express his gladness that Greenland was okay, remind Faeroes that Greenland wouldn't have died, and anyways he'd heal quickly.
Or so he had been thinking. Faeroes suddenly raised her head from Greenland's shoulder and gave Iceland such a glare. Iceland started, hunching his shoulders a bit.
"Ya didn't help," she said, feeling no need to break her hug with Greenland to point at her other brother.
"You managed it by yourself," he said, looking slightly to the side of her.
"Green could've died, Ice!"
"No, he's-"
"'nd then I would've had to play with ya." She gave no pause, no time for things like outrages, hurt feelings, or facts to be addressed. "Ya should help him a bit more 'cause he can die more easy than ya. Ya and Nor already abandoned him once, but Nor still helps ya."
No, Iceland wanted to say. How stupid to think that-Norway had stopped trading with Iceland a long time ago. The boats had stopped coming, the lumber had stopped coming, and in the end Iceland could hardly trade with anyone at all. The drying up of imports, the drying of exports, not an imbalance that resulted in their blood drying up but that led to sickness nonetheless. Then the decline-and she wouldn't have listened anyway. She was an upset child.
"You're Denmark's favourite," Iceland said. He stood up, to give his point more power. Politically it was not true. Personally, it was. She was the one who had started out being the most like him. Because out of the three children, she was happiest, with the fewest grievances than Iceland, with more spunk than Greenland. What she lacked in their respective seriousness and enthusiasm she made up with her own charm and energy.
All three children were silent.
Then Greenland said, "Denmark and Norway are married, so they're kinda the same country. And we all belong to them equally."
The other two ignored him; he had no government, so what could he know.
"Yeah, but Nor-"
"What about Nor, Faeroes?" asked Denmark, suddenly there, from the doorway. He looked curious, not mad, so it was safe to assume he hadn't heard the fight. Or Norway, who was standing besides Denmark. ( Though it was hard to be sure, Norway heard more than Denmark and his expression was in general pretty much unreadable. ) If Norway hadn't heard they could all be glad about that.
"Nor loves Ice, doesn't he?" Faeroes asked Denmark, changing the direction of the conversation only slightly. Denmark's answer would only be proof of what she was going to say. Norway has a favourite. And then she would have added, his love counts more, even if Den is stronger.
"'Course he loves Ice, Faeroes! Family's important, ya know."
As Faeroes asked if they were all family, Norway moved into the room to collect Iceland. He had been heading to the children's room for that purpose when he was joined by Denmark, who had heard the thud and assumed it was one of the kids wreaking havoc already. Norway put his hand on Iceland's shoulder and, with Iceland in front of him, walked back over to the doorway.
"We're all family, aren't we Nor?" Denmark asked. He was facing the shorter nation with his hand on Faeroes head, not quite done rustling her hair.
"Absolutely," Norway said. The two brothers began walking away, down the hall. "We're going for a walk."
"See ya!" Denmark said, and added something about having a good time and being safe. "See, Faeroes?"
Norway and Iceland continued to walk away. The hallway wasn't long and Norway wasn't a slow walker, but there was a quality to the moment that suggested that the hallway might just stretch into forever. Like two mirrors reflecting one another; Iceland didn't want to stay in that room, he didn't want to go on a walk with Norway just now.
As he was walking away Iceland heard someone say, "Watch what I can do!" He then heard a thump. Maybe Greenland had fallen again.
…
After Iceland's people had agreed to recognise Norway's king things had changed for Iceland. Some of the changes were gradual shifts that had to do with effects and consequences, and some of the changes had to do with having to become familiar with his new circumstances.
For one, he was moved to Norway's house. The boat ride over had been a revelation and an adventure, but looking back on it he wondered why he hadn't thought, this is the first time I'm going so far east. Maybe he had been too young to realise it, and the thoughts of finally living with his brother, and of finally seeing Norway's house and the fatherland of his own people were all he could think of. He couldn't recall when the last traces of the ice fields had disappeared.
But he did noticed other things, like the ones that happened in Norway's house. Iceland began to grow a bit taller and his unbidden memories began to crystalise. ( He remembered Vinland, why Vinland had been abandoned, the crazily evil woman who had once dragged Iceland to Vinland. ) He had more urges than ever to write.
And then he stopped growing. He wrote not of his friends, but of what he remembered and what his brother did because his brother didn't bother to. And they spent so little time together that every time they did see each other-when Norway could return to see Iceland because he had a king at least for the moment-it became harder for Norway to understand Iceland. Ir was like he couldn't understand Iceland as well as he used to. Iceland figured Norway was forgetting the old language.
Still their people traded, so Iceland counted himself as almost dependent on Norway. He had no problem with this, though he never told anyone, and he intrinsically knew that his people had different feelings on the matter. But nothing changed, there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Then one day Norway arrived back home with Faeroes walking in through the door after him. Norway began to introduce the girl to Iceland. Iceland also wondered if Orkneys or Shetland would show up, but then Greenland stumbled into the door and Iceland had asked, "Why isn't Greenland dead."
For a moment everyone looked at Greenland, staring at him and almost seeing him and Greenland had tried to smile back. Then Norway continued with his introduction of Faeroes, and here was her brother Greenland.
Here you are, Iceland. Playmates.
…
"You don't have to sing properly, just well," Norway said to Iceland. He looked down at his brother for a moment before looking back out over the water.
They were standing near the surf. Iceland was having a time with it because he couldn't decide what was worse: having sand in his shoes and stockings, or having no shoes and stockings and the wet sand on his feet. Sand between his toes, or sand on his heels? Then he tried to focus, he felt his brother's expectation.
"I can't sing," he said. "And I don't sing to summon mermaids. I just find them when they want to show themselves."
Norway didn't look away from the sea, or the point out at sea he might have been focused on. He was facing north. "This mermaid you'll have to sing for if she is going to know which way she is going to have to come to find you, you."
Iceland asked what he would have to sing.
"I'll start."
Norway began singing. Not with a clear voice, because he had a few rough patches in his pitch, but there was a certain music-box quality to his tone. He could reach more high notes than he could low, suggesting that he still wasn't quite a grown nation. And something about his higher notes reminded Iceland of wind-being forced through fjords and whistling around the peaks, plunging down the sides of endless granite cliffs.
Then Iceland started singing. Because he was as physically young as he was his voice was clear. Maybe so clear he would grow up to have perfect pitch. Or it could've been a trick of the ear-when Iceland and Norway started hitting the same notes their voices fell into a resonate harmony. They sung not with words but with images, of things like dusky mountaintops, great valleys covered by pine, marsh fields that lay flat and open and desolate for miles.
"I do not know any of these things," came a voice as smooth as water over weathered rocks, "yet you have shown me them."
Iceland quit singing. Norway finished.
"I didn't know a pile of dirt could be so beautiful! Also, Iceland dear, please be careful," the mermaid said. She had lain herself down in the surf. The waves, though otherwise completely normal waves, seemed to split just before they reached her. "You should never stop a piece of art just when you're near the end."
Her hair was like reeds in a wave, her skin like the bottom of an iceberg. The coat of water on her made her gleam.
"Hello," Iceland said.
"This is my brother," Norway offered as he knelt next to her. His knees got wet, but the waves began to split just before they got to him.
"I know little Iceland. I've seen him a few times." The mermaid looked at Iceland, smiling, inspecting him for a moment or two. "And he's gotten bigger, hasn't he? He's so cute now, he'll probably be so dashing-just grow up bigger than your brother, little Iceland. I'm almost immortal, so I can wait until you conquer your other siblings." She smiled again at him.
And Iceland, with no clue what else to do, began shaking. This was when he decided this: he vastly preferred his own mermaids, who may have been tricky but were not so chatty. Besides, they could make great wives. He almost got close and grabbed at his brother's hand but he didn't trust the power behind the odd behaviour of the waves. He'd probably get wet, or at least wetter than he already was.
He stood back as Norway and the mermaid talked. Norway asked, how is the house, my house, how are the others, your family. She answered as well as she could to every question, and if she was intimidating at least her voice was a pleasure to listen to, like opera you could actually understand.
It reminded Iceland, who was sitting in the sand now, of the way he thought of his house. He couldn't describe the feeling, he just ineffably knew that he had come from it. Descended from things that had lived there, that don't have names or set forms, and the way in which they are known was at best transient. He was the child of the other folk. Just as Norway might have been.
( At some point Iceland had begun to cry. )
Finally the mermaid said to Norway, I'll see you later, dear Norway. Keep well. Then she said to Iceland:
"Little Iceland, if you're ever drowning, call my name. I'll save you."
She slipped back into the water as a lost thought.
…
Iceland had only stared at her, maybe even glared a bit. He didn't understand-she must have been playing with him again. He knew how drowning really worked: floating there, hands pressed against the the surface of the water in a pathetic attempt to stay up. The inability to do anything, to say anything, the decision of the body only to breathe, breathe, breathe, not call for help because only you can save yourself now.
Less than a minute later it's over. Not a chance to say a name, even if the name is the sound of water in your mouth.
…
Norway walked up the slight bank of the beach with Iceland in his arms. In the twilight, Iceland had fallen asleep waiting for the answer to his question he had asked hours ago: Who's your favourite? Norway had stared out at the sea and Iceland had tried to see what his brother was seeing, but all he could see was the grey clouds skudding by in the distance. Eventually he had gotten sleepy.
"What happened," Iceland had asked. "To Orkneys," he had added after he got no response. "Why is Greenland still alive. The colony disappeared..."
There had been nothing but the sound of waves.
His hands were over Norway's shoulder. One of them had curled loosely around the slashing of Norway's sleeve.