Day 127: The Skull Reader Part 1

The ticking of the clock faded into the distance as Hilleborg Nilsdatter worked at the wooden oak desk the king gave her when he employed her fulltime.  For years, his steward brought her work, grumbling at the twenty-mile distance between the little village she lived in and the castle.  With each request of work, an offer of housing in the city accompanied the task.  Three years ago, the king finally gave up on trying to get her to move and sent a desk in show of his acceptance, along with enough work to keep her busy for a year. 

She wore a navy-blue dress with a brown apron over the top to protect the material from dust and steal particles.  A long dark brown braid with streaks of grey coiled up at the base of her neck to stay out of the way of her work.  Her feet remained free of shoes and stockings.  

How could she ever consider moving to the city?  Her and dear Torger, her husband of twenty years, could never leave the land.  Torger inherited the farm his family lived on for eight generations.  He never lived anywhere else.  And in their home, they raised five children.  All of them now laid to rest in the family cemetery in the pecan orchard.  No, Hille would never leave her children.

The desk sat a few feet from the large picture window she bought from the earnings of the crown.  The light helped her to see as she wrote down the histories for the great library.  The room used to be her daughter's.  Candles sat along the window frame and were lit when the sun went down.  A large lantern rested on the floor.  This she placed on the desk to add to the candle flames when the natural light faded over the horizon.

On the shelves to the right of the desk held a doll that the child played with along with carved horses and soldiers the boys created stories from when they were young.  The items kept her children near.  Also, on the shelves, the completed histories waited to be taken to the city for cataloging.  On the shelves on the other side of the room that ran the entire length of the room, skulls lined the ledges with tags displaying the name of the person, date of birth, and date of death if the skull had been read.  Those without tags still needed to be worked.  In the latest batch, she still had eleven more to chronologize before the steward came to retrieve the work.  Of course, he would bring her a fresh batch of skulls.

Hille laid the the quill on the wooden holder Torger carved for her when they first married.  Blue and black ink stained the pine wood in blotches where the tip rested.  Flexing the stiff fingers of her writing hand, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned.  At her feet, her little dog sat patiently waiting for their morning walk into the fields when she took Torger's lunch to him.  Little Thor's black tail with a tip of white wagged in anticipation of chasing rabbits.

In the kitchen, she prepared herself a sandwich from ground scraps of cooked meat from the cow they slaughtered in the fall.  A knock sounded at the door.  Though the snow thawed, the roads were still treacherous to travel over with all the mud.  She hadn't expected the king's steward so soon.  After wiping her hands off, she tossed the rag in the basin and walked to the door.  She pulled the iron latch with a screech and swung the hulking door open.  Torger needed to oil the hinges.

On the river rock step, a tall man with oily black hair filled her entrance with his bulking shoulders.  He wore leather trousers and jacket, worn from years of hard work.  His green eyes sparkled as he lifted a burlap sack.  Her nose wrinkled.  A fowl odor of death clung to him.  His rough hands reminded her of the dog's front paws after digging in the moist earth for a mouse.

"Hello, Ole," she greeted with a smidgen of irritation.

"I know what you're thinking.  But, I feel it in my bones that this is the one."

"You say that every time."  She placed her hands on her hips.  Each time he came, she planned to send him away.  With determination, she frowned at him.  "This will not be the one.  They are never the one.  You have to let this go for your own good."

With two long strides, he walked past her to the table.  He opened the sack to pull out a weathered skull with a helmet still attached to the head.  Despite herself, she reached out her hands.

"Where did you find this one?  Usually the skulls are white from the sun bleaching them."  The danger of reading in the presence of others kept Hille from directly touching the skull.  Instead, her fingers grasped the helmet she would need to take off once she went into her workroom. 

"I knew it would interest you."  His faced beamed.  "There are still hundreds of skulls on the battlefield.  I have taken a sample from all the areas.  Yesterday in my search, I skirted the outer edges.  A small grove of trees caught my attention for the first time.  I never looked there because of the sacred land, but I felt a pull.  Under a rotting log, I found him.  Will you read for me?"

Her resolve broke.  They grew up together as friends.  His stupid eyes brought back to many fun memories of the two of them and his dear wife, her best friend.  "Yes, I will.  I am close to finished with the king's work and they shouldn't be here for another week.  Come back in three days."

"You are good to us."  He gathered her up in his arms and squeezed.  "Malvina will make your favorite rhubarb crumble."

She laughed as he skipped out the door.  The crumble wouldn’t come for a couple of months after the rhubarb grew in the warm late spring days.

In a matter of moments, she regretted her decision.  Now she couldn't have lunch with Torger.  She finished making the sandwiches.  Two she placed in a rucksack of sorts and called to Thor.  He pranced over with the white tip of his tail flashing in the sunlight as he waited for her to strap the bag on his body.  She kissed the top of his head and opened the door.

"Find Torger," she called as the dog dashed down the lane.  "Blast it!  I forgot to write him a note." 

Calling back the beagle, she knew would be useless; for once he was on a trail, all reasoning and training left him.  Torger would understand.  She became forgetful while on the hunt of an intriguing history.  In fact, he would be grateful she even remembered to send his lunch.