Читать книгу Foul Finnebog: A Norwegian Tale - Rosemary Ph.D. Olson - Страница 6

“Well, well. If it isn’t one of the richest merchants in the land at our door,” Thorkel, the stargazer said in a crackly, low voice. “Come, come Finnebog. What is it you want?”

Mildri’s father had found his way through the village to the outskirts of town where the Hills of Palatar began to mound and jut out of the earth. They were rocky hills, full of caves and crevices and all manner of hiding places. This is where the stargazers had built their home inside the belly of one of the hills. He walked into the dark cave, lit only by small candles here and there.

“I would like you to consult the stars and tell me whom my daughter is to marry,” he said, getting right to the point. “Six hundred pieces of gold will be yours if you give me a name.” He had done business with the stargazers before. Whenever he had questions about his business of being a merchant or where to travel to bring him more wealth, he had come to ask their advice.

Night had fallen by the time his money exchanged hands. Thorkel had led him into a larger, even darker room with black rock walls and floors. The ceiling was high and draped over the center was a large tarp that had been made of dark linen and covered in beeswax to keep the rain from seeping through. The stargazer pulled on a long, thick rope hanging from the tarp and it fell from the ceiling to one side of the room, exposing the night sky above. Finnebog gasped at the immense blackness dotted with so many tiny, sparkling lights.

Thorkel pointed to a wooden chair in the corner of the room. “Sit there!” she hissed.

Finnebog felt along the wall to the chair, taking every chance he could to look through the hole in the ceiling of the cave. Another stargazer, whose name he didn’t know, appeared in the dense circle of starlight in the middle of the room. Thorkel joined her and, together, they began chanting in low tones and holding their hands high in the air. The chants became louder, and then softer like a wave rolling on the ocean.

“What is it? What do you see?” the impatient Finnebog questioned.

They both stopped chanting and glared at him as though he had just shouted that he turned into a troll with green hair. They turned back to gaze at the stars and chant, this time in high-pitched squeals and screeches. Finnebog put his hands over his ears. “Good grief! Hvor mye lengre? Just tell me his name!” he moaned.

“Quiet you!” Thorkel yelled. “We don’t see anyone, yet. And if you don’t be quiet, you can leave without a name!”

Finnebog settled back into the chair and put his fingers in his ears, his lips forming a pout. He wasn’t leaving until he got what he paid for.

The stargazers’ chants became low hums as they pointed and stared into the heavens. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they stopped. The stargazer without a name stepped back and disappeared into the darkness of the cave walls just as quickly as she appeared. Thorkel made her way over to where Finnebog now stood against the wall by the chair. Before he could ask his questions again, she spoke.

“She shall marry the thatcher’s son. He is just an infant, and so she must wait. This is your answer.”

“A thatcher’s son?! Preposterous!” he said in disbelief. “He could never be rich enough for my daughter! Go look again, and this time come back with a suitable answer!”

“Enough! It is written in the stars!” shouted Thorkel. “Leave!”

And with that, Thorkel grabbed him by the edge of his topcoat and forced him through the darkness to the front opening of the cave. For being so old, she was quite strong. She shoved him out into the night and slammed the carved wooden door shut. Finnebog brushed off the fingerprints left by the stargazer on his jacket and started for home. As he walked, he came up with a horribly brilliant plan. His daughter could not possibly marry a mere thatcher’s son. And one so young, bah! He made his way to the village carpenter. He would wait on his doorstep until morning, for this particular carpenter was known for making the most beautiful, airtight, wooden boxes.