Auer
finnish hermit
- Joined
- Aug 17, 2005
- Messages
- 79
Ok, here goes... Here's a small part of my novel (fantasy novel for children and juveniles) which was published last year. I translated it with much help from my american friend. Some of the finnish words and phrases are hard to translate and so the text has maybe lost some of it's feeling, but anyway - here it is 
-----
Nonna loved the winter. In the darkness of the season they spent lots
of time inside in the warm light of the fire. They would do their chores
and prepare for the summer. Fenris spent the winter outside. Now
and then he would creep inside to be by Nonna’s side. On the days
when it was nice and warm, Nonna had free time and could play with
Fenris outside.
The other children in their village would be outside playing as well,
but Nonna rarely joined them. The villagers and their children visited
often, but they behaved cautiously around her. Perhaps it was
because her father was the clan’s chieftain, or maybe they just
weren’t comfortable being near a big polar bear. The thought made
Nonna laugh. When other children were around, Fenris clung to her
closely as if he wanted to have her full attention. Already missing
Fenris, Nonna sighed and turned to look around.
The men were guarding them – Nonna knew that much. This was the
fifth time she had been to this place, and this was the first time her
father had brought warriors with them.
Leaving the village had felt strange this time. The mood was tense
and although the men smiled and laughed, she could see they were
apprehensive. And the dogs – they had never been with them before.
In the summer they were free to wander around the village, but at this
time of the spring they were usually kept inside the walls.
Although she had never felt threatened in the village, or outside of it,
the presence of the warriors gave Nonna comfort.
She knew something was very different this spring – she sensed it in
the quiet moments, when her thoughts would wander. There were
more fires on the walls, the gates were closed more often and the
men carried weapons with them at all times. The smith of the village
had worked alone before, but now he had three men helping him –
young apprentices who carried stones from far away – even from the
bogs – to his forge. The children of the village roamed near the
guards on the palisades, running and playing around with nervous
yelps and cries. This held little interest for Nonna. She spent her time
in her own yard, in the middle of, and on a higher ground than the
rest of the village. She had been there the whole spring with Fenris,
but now she felt alone since her pet had gone away.
Nonna referred to Fenris as her pet, although Hundolf, the long
bearded and raggedly clothed Shaman said that it really was her
familiar. Even though Nonna had tried to ask the ancient Hundolf
what he meant by that, she never received an answer. Some day she
would know. Hundolf had just grumbled inside his beard, wrapped
himself tighter in the hairy, battered cloak and walked away into his
cottage mumbling absently to himself.
As long as she could remember and probably much longer Hundolf
had been the Shaman of their clan. All the children, and even some
of the adults, seemed to be afraid of the old man. He tied bird bones
into his long, tangled hair and bound rings of bronze into his shaggy
beard, which rattled as he moved around. Hundolf had a piercing,
lead grey gaze. He always dressed himself in shaggy cloaks and he
reeked like a wet dog. He walked heavily, limping and leaning on his
crooked, worn out staff, which had fragile feathers, plumes and
bones hanging from its head.
The old Shaman lived away from the village in a cottage made of clay
with a wooden fence around it. His cottage was on the border of the
forest. Deep inside the woods was the sacrificial grounds of the
village, a place where the most of the clan gathered on the Bear-
gods day to sacrifice gifts to soothe the arising bear. Around that lush
sacrificial clearing was the marsh of the spirits, a wet, wild place
where the restless spirits of the dead wandered in the night. Each
time they walked to the sacrificial ground, fear gripped Nonna as she
saw the moss covered boulders with the grassy and mossy bog holes
around them. Legend reported that in the middle of the forest was an
ancient hut where a hag had once lived controlling the spirits.
Nonna was always told that someday everything would be explained
to her. She was tired of waiting. She felt that she was old enough
NOW to know, but Hundolf and her father kept things to themselves
and just smiled at her with condescending sneers. Her mother had
been patient and said that one day Nonna would hear everything, if
she could just wait for a while, a few more winters. All the while
Fenris would be close to her all the time.
How could that be, Nonna wondered. Every year Fenris would
migrate north for the summer – at least they had told her where
Fenris went each year. The summer here was too warm for the polar
bear. He had to wander north each summer to where it was cold
enough for him to sleep in the snow. Then as the winter returned, so
would Fenris return to Nonna.
Nonna really hated summer. She would have liked an everlasting
winter. She loved the snow, the frost, the ice – more than anyone
else in the village. It was winter that Fenris would return to be by her
side. She missed the low thumps of Fenris’ paws, the rattle of his
claws on the wooden floor and his low growl when he was dreaming
beside her bed in the night. Nonna would have liked to live further
north so Fenris would never have to leave her.
Their village was situated on the great moors on the southern border
of Bariadia. Further north was the original home of her father’s
family. Nonna’s mother was from the other side of the land. Often, in
the evening dusk, Nonna’s mother would whisper of her home to
Nonna – stories of a realm far away to the south, behind the great
sea. Nawyr was the name of that far away realm, and there the snow
fell to cover the earth for only a couple of months every year. Nonna
had said that she would never want to live in a place like that. Her
mother, Gunhilde had stirred her daughter’s hair and with a stern look
assured Nonna they would never return there. Each time her mother
talked about Nawyr she had a look so strange and sad on her face
that Nonna never dared to go further with the conversation.
The cool wind smelled of grass when it brushed Nonna’s face. It was
as if it was breathing a warning. For some time now, she had
wondered why everyone was acting so strangely. The food lasted
well through the winter and would last long into the summer, when
they would get this year’s first crops. Food was always a big concern
in the spring, but now Nonna thought something else was amiss. It
was as if some threat was hovering over them.
Suddenly Nonna was wrenched from her thoughts to the frightened,
distant screams of her mother.
Nonna was startled back to reality. She opened her eyes and saw
men running towards her. Her father was in the lead, sword high up
in the air. Angry, growling dogs stormed by his side. Nonna’s gaze
snapped to the other side of the moor. She gasped in terror.
Her mother was frantically running towards her. Just behind her
Nonna could see men in brightly colored clothing on the backs of
horses. The bulk of the riders galloped towards Nonna’s father and
his men, wielding weapons in their hands. A small group had already
started to chase the women and children. In the distance, a huge
black billow of thick smoke rose from the village.
It all happened as if in a dream. Nonna felt dizzy. The blood roared in
her ears and she felt a strange, iron-like taste in her mouth. As the
sun came out from behind a cloud, Nonna saw the riders clash with
her father and his men. She tried to shield her eyes against the light
but the details blurred into the sun. She could barely make out the
angry barking and growling of the hounds, the clashing of iron
against iron and the screams of her mother, begging her to flee. She
couldn’t move. Fright had frozen her legs to the ground.
The thundering sound of hoofs grew louder and louder in Nonna’s
ears. The wind threw her hair into her eyes and when she finally
managed to brush it aside the only thing she saw was an enormous
horse in front of her. A powerful hand grasped the scruff of her neck
and Nonna wailed as the rider tossed her to his saddle.
-----
Nonna loved the winter. In the darkness of the season they spent lots
of time inside in the warm light of the fire. They would do their chores
and prepare for the summer. Fenris spent the winter outside. Now
and then he would creep inside to be by Nonna’s side. On the days
when it was nice and warm, Nonna had free time and could play with
Fenris outside.
The other children in their village would be outside playing as well,
but Nonna rarely joined them. The villagers and their children visited
often, but they behaved cautiously around her. Perhaps it was
because her father was the clan’s chieftain, or maybe they just
weren’t comfortable being near a big polar bear. The thought made
Nonna laugh. When other children were around, Fenris clung to her
closely as if he wanted to have her full attention. Already missing
Fenris, Nonna sighed and turned to look around.
The men were guarding them – Nonna knew that much. This was the
fifth time she had been to this place, and this was the first time her
father had brought warriors with them.
Leaving the village had felt strange this time. The mood was tense
and although the men smiled and laughed, she could see they were
apprehensive. And the dogs – they had never been with them before.
In the summer they were free to wander around the village, but at this
time of the spring they were usually kept inside the walls.
Although she had never felt threatened in the village, or outside of it,
the presence of the warriors gave Nonna comfort.
She knew something was very different this spring – she sensed it in
the quiet moments, when her thoughts would wander. There were
more fires on the walls, the gates were closed more often and the
men carried weapons with them at all times. The smith of the village
had worked alone before, but now he had three men helping him –
young apprentices who carried stones from far away – even from the
bogs – to his forge. The children of the village roamed near the
guards on the palisades, running and playing around with nervous
yelps and cries. This held little interest for Nonna. She spent her time
in her own yard, in the middle of, and on a higher ground than the
rest of the village. She had been there the whole spring with Fenris,
but now she felt alone since her pet had gone away.
Nonna referred to Fenris as her pet, although Hundolf, the long
bearded and raggedly clothed Shaman said that it really was her
familiar. Even though Nonna had tried to ask the ancient Hundolf
what he meant by that, she never received an answer. Some day she
would know. Hundolf had just grumbled inside his beard, wrapped
himself tighter in the hairy, battered cloak and walked away into his
cottage mumbling absently to himself.
As long as she could remember and probably much longer Hundolf
had been the Shaman of their clan. All the children, and even some
of the adults, seemed to be afraid of the old man. He tied bird bones
into his long, tangled hair and bound rings of bronze into his shaggy
beard, which rattled as he moved around. Hundolf had a piercing,
lead grey gaze. He always dressed himself in shaggy cloaks and he
reeked like a wet dog. He walked heavily, limping and leaning on his
crooked, worn out staff, which had fragile feathers, plumes and
bones hanging from its head.
The old Shaman lived away from the village in a cottage made of clay
with a wooden fence around it. His cottage was on the border of the
forest. Deep inside the woods was the sacrificial grounds of the
village, a place where the most of the clan gathered on the Bear-
gods day to sacrifice gifts to soothe the arising bear. Around that lush
sacrificial clearing was the marsh of the spirits, a wet, wild place
where the restless spirits of the dead wandered in the night. Each
time they walked to the sacrificial ground, fear gripped Nonna as she
saw the moss covered boulders with the grassy and mossy bog holes
around them. Legend reported that in the middle of the forest was an
ancient hut where a hag had once lived controlling the spirits.
Nonna was always told that someday everything would be explained
to her. She was tired of waiting. She felt that she was old enough
NOW to know, but Hundolf and her father kept things to themselves
and just smiled at her with condescending sneers. Her mother had
been patient and said that one day Nonna would hear everything, if
she could just wait for a while, a few more winters. All the while
Fenris would be close to her all the time.
How could that be, Nonna wondered. Every year Fenris would
migrate north for the summer – at least they had told her where
Fenris went each year. The summer here was too warm for the polar
bear. He had to wander north each summer to where it was cold
enough for him to sleep in the snow. Then as the winter returned, so
would Fenris return to Nonna.
Nonna really hated summer. She would have liked an everlasting
winter. She loved the snow, the frost, the ice – more than anyone
else in the village. It was winter that Fenris would return to be by her
side. She missed the low thumps of Fenris’ paws, the rattle of his
claws on the wooden floor and his low growl when he was dreaming
beside her bed in the night. Nonna would have liked to live further
north so Fenris would never have to leave her.
Their village was situated on the great moors on the southern border
of Bariadia. Further north was the original home of her father’s
family. Nonna’s mother was from the other side of the land. Often, in
the evening dusk, Nonna’s mother would whisper of her home to
Nonna – stories of a realm far away to the south, behind the great
sea. Nawyr was the name of that far away realm, and there the snow
fell to cover the earth for only a couple of months every year. Nonna
had said that she would never want to live in a place like that. Her
mother, Gunhilde had stirred her daughter’s hair and with a stern look
assured Nonna they would never return there. Each time her mother
talked about Nawyr she had a look so strange and sad on her face
that Nonna never dared to go further with the conversation.
The cool wind smelled of grass when it brushed Nonna’s face. It was
as if it was breathing a warning. For some time now, she had
wondered why everyone was acting so strangely. The food lasted
well through the winter and would last long into the summer, when
they would get this year’s first crops. Food was always a big concern
in the spring, but now Nonna thought something else was amiss. It
was as if some threat was hovering over them.
Suddenly Nonna was wrenched from her thoughts to the frightened,
distant screams of her mother.
Nonna was startled back to reality. She opened her eyes and saw
men running towards her. Her father was in the lead, sword high up
in the air. Angry, growling dogs stormed by his side. Nonna’s gaze
snapped to the other side of the moor. She gasped in terror.
Her mother was frantically running towards her. Just behind her
Nonna could see men in brightly colored clothing on the backs of
horses. The bulk of the riders galloped towards Nonna’s father and
his men, wielding weapons in their hands. A small group had already
started to chase the women and children. In the distance, a huge
black billow of thick smoke rose from the village.
It all happened as if in a dream. Nonna felt dizzy. The blood roared in
her ears and she felt a strange, iron-like taste in her mouth. As the
sun came out from behind a cloud, Nonna saw the riders clash with
her father and his men. She tried to shield her eyes against the light
but the details blurred into the sun. She could barely make out the
angry barking and growling of the hounds, the clashing of iron
against iron and the screams of her mother, begging her to flee. She
couldn’t move. Fright had frozen her legs to the ground.
The thundering sound of hoofs grew louder and louder in Nonna’s
ears. The wind threw her hair into her eyes and when she finally
managed to brush it aside the only thing she saw was an enormous
horse in front of her. A powerful hand grasped the scruff of her neck
and Nonna wailed as the rider tossed her to his saddle.
