WHO Freyja WHEN Saturday (30th Jan) WHERE Washougal, Washington WHAT An first intro scene and not much more... WARNINGS nothing
The Cape Horn Falcon Sanctuary in Washington was the largest raptor sanctuary anywhere in the United States. It hadn't started out that way, but almost a decade ago a few strange changes had begun to occur. Firstly: more birds showed up. Without anyone bringing them, injured (and even healthy) falcons were making their way to the area and seeking the attention of the workers there. Not just Peregrine falcons and Prairie falcons (which were both common to the area) but also the occasional Merlin or Red-footed falcon, and even a single Gyrfalcon which had come far from it's usual North Canadian home.
The second change (although it actually came before the influx of birds) was the appeal of the new keeper that appeared in the small town of Washougal and made herself at home, working tirelessly with the falcons who seemed to adore her almost as much as the public and other workers did.
Freyja Brynjarsdottir was 5'9, with lustrous golden hair and eyes as blue as a fresh mountain river, and not a single person was surprised when she opened her mouth and told them (in a softly lilting accent) that she was an Icelandic immigrant. Of course she was. Freyja looked the very image of what they all imagined the perfect Nordic woman to look like.
And when she stood in the middle of the outdoor amphitheatre for the 1pm bird show, the falcons landing gracefully on her arms, her voice raised to be heard clearly, there was not a single member of the audience who didn't fall at least a little bit in love with Freyja Brynjarsdottir.
If they'd known about gods, they would surely have recognised that this was what they were seeing. They would surely have recognised that the awe and wonder was not simply the things they would tell themselves later ('oh, she was just so cool' 'maybe the most beautiful woman I've ever seen' 'when she smiled, my god') but the product of Frejya being a divine goddess, of Freyja being the Aesir of love and beauty and (perhaps it had to be said) of magic.
So by day she gave her attention to the falcons, and more than once she had shown up after hours with her still-beloved cloak of feathers, shedding her human form so that she could take to the air with them for a few hours.
The little city of Washougal seemed even smaller from the air - its seventeen kilometres of land and its 15,000 people. It was easy to become part of a community like that, especially if you were - as Freyja was - an outgoing, friendly beauty who liked to get to know the people around them.
Her off-hours were spent with her current boyfriend, the two of them hosting cook-outs in the summer months and dinner parties in the winter. Freyja wasn't much for cooking herself, but she was wealthy enough that it meant nothing to have everything catered. She liked playing hostess – it was not so different from being back in her old hall of Sessrúmnir, watching over the fallen heroes that she had personally chosen to join her.
Jothi – boyfriend of seven years, teacher at the elementary school, would have wed her if Freyja hadn’t mentioned a dislike of marriage – once leaned over to her as they moved from drinks in the living room to sitting at the large dining room. “You look like a queen holding court,” he told, his tone adoring, his expression amused.
“I’d prefer ‘goddess’,” Freyja had winked back and Jothi had laughed softly and kissed her.
She kept in contact with her brother over texts and occasional phone calls, but it had been years since they’d seen each other in person. Freyja always felt that was for the best when she was seeing someone mortal and trying to make it work. Freyr was a temptation she sometimes couldn’t afford. Why bother with a human who would be so quickly old and gone, when you already had someone immortal who knew exactly who you were and would never disappoint?
But the distance wasn’t painful or difficult – the two of them came together and grew apart as the times went on. During the 60s and 70s they had been bound very firmly together, the pair running a commune (or, as the authorities came to see it, a cult) for almost twenty years outside of Sweetwater County, Wyoming. It had been a beautiful dream, with almost two-hundred people by the end of it. They had grown their own food, and built their own houses, and learned to sew their own clothes. The women had been taught combat and magic – at least, as much as any mortal could ever learn of magic – and the men had been forbidden to even touch weapons. Love and pleasure were encouraged above all else, and many an afternoon was spent with Freyja telling stories of Asgard to a gathered crowd with Freyr braiding her long blonde hair. (Or, at other times, Freyja did the braiding and Freyr the speaking.)
Freyja and Freyr hadn’t quite been worshipped as a god and goddess… but it wasn’t far off. They had been – to the eyes of the mortals – chosen by the gods, gorgeous twin souls who never seem to age or change or become imperfect.
But then, of course, the government had become so twitchy about the dangers of cults, and the beautiful little community had been scattered to the winds.
Standing in the Washougal post office on a rainy Saturday afternoon, Freyja found herself thinking of that found family they had built. It had been 1976 when the feds had come… that was forty-four years ago. The children who’d been born and raised there would be adults now, perhaps only thinking of their childhood as a strange footnote. Freyja hoped they remembered it fondly – Freyja certainly remembered it all that way.
And the older members? Those that had come to the twins as adults, ready to leave behind an uncaring world? Ready to build something real under charismatic and loving leaders? How many of them were even still alive?
She handed over the packages to be posted at the counter, and considered Martha who took them: she was in her mid-60s now – Freyja remembered her wild 60th birthday party a few years back – and there were ever-decreasing years left for her.
It did make Freyja a little sad, their short lives. Freyja had always loved precious and valuable things, and humans were a little like that themselves. To be cherished while they were around.
“Sending anything exciting today?” Martha asked her, weighing up the boxes. Two of them were work related feather samples being sent along to other sanctuaries – a regular reason for Freyja to be at the post office – but the third box was addressed to a Harald Frosve.
“Just a present for my brother in New York,” she told Martha with a warm smile (a smile made directly from golden sunlight, a smile that left people warmer than they had been before.) Within the box, Freyr would find a miniature Isle Of Lewis chess set and a note which read: I hope your skills will have improved by the time we use this together.
No signature on the note, just her handwriting. She would recognise Freyr’s anywhere, just as he would know hers. Besides, her return address was already on the box.
Outside the rain had started pouring down a little more and Freyja opened up her umbrella - it was bright gold in colour, and more than one person had said they recognised her from a block away because of it. Freyja liked bringing a little gold into dreary days.
Being such a small town, there was literally nowhere in town that it look longer than twenty minutes to drive to. Almost the longest Freyja was ever in her car was to go to work, eighteen minutes out of town. It was a small little world, and it suited her fine.
Getting back to the house she shared with Jothi, she found him out with a note left on the fridge. At her ankles, a fat grey cat turned itself around and around her legs, demanding food. Freyja reached down and scooped him up, making an exaggerated sound of effort she hoped he took note of. "Good evening, Honkers," she said, kissing the top of his head. Honkers waved his paws for freedom and Freyja let him have it after another forced kiss.
"Just you and I tonight," she told him, going to the fridge to get the can of cat food from within. "You can have chicken and lamb. I'm having pizza."