A Very Norse Grimblesnacht

The ball sailed through the air, spinning all the while. On the far side of the clearing, a young gnome thrust his hand into the air. There was a distant thwack followed by a triumphant cry of jubilation.

“Good catch, son!” Young Jack called. He dropped his voice. “Made possible by the impeccable throwing skills of yours truly,” he commented to himself.

“Jack, can you come and help with the preparations?”

Jack turned at Joanna’s call. He could just make out her slight form bustling amongst their belongings. She seemed extremely flustered and Jack had learned through experience to steer well clear when such moods were upon her.

“I am helping,” he protested. “I’m keeping Olim out of your way. It’s a very important job!”

“If it’s so important then why don’t you come and sort this and I’ll play with our son?”

Jack’s frown was momentary. “I wouldn’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “It was your idea to host a traditional norse celebration for Grimblesnacht. I wouldn’t know where to start!”

“When I suggested it I hadn’t anticipated I’d be doing it all on my own. Come and help. I’m sure Olim is more than capable of entertaining himself.”

Jack was about to issue a retort but a glance across the clearing revealed that his son had already lost interest in their game of catch and was busy teaching a tree a lesson by whacking it with a sturdy branch.

“Coming, dear,” Jack sighed as he ambled over.

“Don’t you “dear” me” Joanna warned.

“Yes, dear.”

“Jack!”

Jack held up his hands in placation. “Alright, I’m sorry. What do you need me to do?”

Joanna straightened and glanced about her. Much of their belongings were stacked against the gaily-painted wagon they had arrived in, removed and put to one side to access the various paraphernalia required for this endeavour. A waxcloth tarpaulin was stretched between the cart and a snow-covered tree to provide shelter but no warmth against the chill. That was provided by a felled tree that was blazing merrily a short way from the cart. Their dog, Emlyn, was dozing fitfully beside the blaze, legs twitching occasionally as if chasing a hare that existed only in her dreams.

“You can start by dressing the tree,” Joanna suggested.

Jack turned his attention to one of the trees that edged the clearing close to their camp. It looked no different to its neighbours to his eyes but Joanna had insisted that it was the one they had to use. At its base, a jumble of decorations crafted from whatever natural materials they had been able to source was piled.

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t have just bought some from Brawdol like everyone else,” he complained as he began to sort through the pile of items that had inexplicably become tangled despite having been initially piled quite neatly.

“No!” Joanna protested. “Nasty, mass-produced things. This way you can create real memories.”

Jack cast his mind back to the two hours they had spent gathering and assembling the decorations. Memories, indeed, but not the good kind.

“And what about the log?”

That had been another point of contention. Joanna had wanted him to fell a tree. Then she’d insisted on carving runes all across it. She had drawn them out and instructed him to etch them into the bark, watching him with an eagle eye and criticising his every error. Jack couldn’t see why they’d had to carve the runes only to set it on fire. It all seemed like such a waste.

“The log provides us with the protection of the gods,” Joanna announced. “It has to burn for the whole celebration.”

Jack shook his head in despair. The gesture was not missed.

“Oh, Jack, you said you wanted to understand what my traditions were.”

Jack thought back to the conversation. Joanna had been insistent that they try something different this year, that he be exposed to how she celebrated Grimblesnacht so he could get to know her better. Put like that, how could he refuse?

The sound of voices in the forest rescued him from having to make further comment on the matter.

“Is it much further?” one asked. “My legs are killin’ me!”

“We’re on the right path,” a second insisted. “I can feel it!”

“Hmph,” harrumphed a third. “They don’t make paths like they did in my day.”

“Look, there’s a fire!” the second cried.

“Is there?” queried the first. “Just let me find me glasses.”

“Could be a trap,” suggested the third. “I’ve seen this sort of thing before.”

“No fear,” assured the first. “Once I’ve found me glasses I’ll be ready for ‘em.”

Jack cast down the decorations and stepped out into the clearing so he could be seen.

“Friends!” he cried.

“Oh, hi, Jack!” called the first to enter the clearing, a moustachioed gnome with a pickaxe slung over one shoulder. He turned to a cantankerous looking gnome behind him. “See, Gradock. I told you we were heading true.”

The older gnome toked on his long pipe. “Pure luck,” he grumbled.

“Here are me glasses!” cried the third of their number, using one hand to place them on his nose as the other swung a loaded crossbow about dangerously.

“Careful with that, Quarrel!” Joanna warned. “You might hit Olim if that thing goes off!”

Jack was about to intercept the careening crossbow in response to his wife’s prompt when he spotted the fourth of their visitors.

“Mama!” he cried.

Mama Gimble’s wizened face split into a huge grin at the sight of him. “Young Jack.”

The voice fit her appearance; aged but powerful. She held out her arms to him and only then did Jack approach to be enveloped in the matriarch’s embrace.

“I wish he reacted like that when he saw me,” Joanna laughed.

“Keep his belly full, his bed warm and don’t ask too much of him beyond the basics and he will,” Mama advised as Jack released her.

The laughter died on Joanna’s lips. “That sounds a little old-fashioned.”

Mama shrugged. “Only passing on a lifetime of experience.”

She bustled past the shocked gnome and into the space under the tarpaulin where the preparations were taking place.

Joanna recovered herself too late. “Mama, there really is no need to he-”

“So,” said Mama Gimble, cutting across her protestations. “What’ve we got in store for these hungry travellers you’re entertaining?”

“Well,” said Joanna, “Jack and I are going to show you what a traditional Grimblesnacht looks like where I’m from.”

“What’re these things?”

Quarrel had mercifully laid down his crossbow and was beside the still undecorated tree, picking through the debris at its base and holding each article up for inspection.

“Well,” said Joanna, hurrying to his side and taking the latest article from his unresisting fingers, “where I’m from we make our own decorations. It allows us to recycle nature’s gifts and brings families together in crafting them.”

“What’s this one supposed to be, then?” asked Quarrel, who had picked up a bundle of twigs.

“Olim wanted a soldier,” Joanna explained.

“Oh, your son made this one?”

Joanna winced. “No, I did.”

Quarrel nodded sagely. “There’s only so much you can do with twigs. You’d have been better off buying some in Brawdol and bringing them with you.”

“That’s what I said!”

Joanna shot Jack a look that stopped his jubilation in its tracks.

“What’s with this fire?” asked Gradock, poking the log with a stick. “Why’s it so long?”

Joanna scurried over and pulled the stick from his hands. “It’s a whole tree-“ she began.

“Should’ve chopped it up,” Gradock advised. “In my experience, fires burn better when they’re stacked and the air can circulate.”

“No, it’s meant to be whole,” Joanna explained.

“You norse not got the hang of fire building?” asked Morris from the other side of the blaze.

Joanna gritted her teeth. “We’ve got the hang of it just fine,” she growled. “It’s symbolic.”

“More importantly,” said Mama Gimble, cutting across the chatter, “what are we putting on it?”

Joanna closed her eyes. “It’s traditional,” she said, her words coming out slowly, as if reluctant to be heard, “to have reindeer stew.”

Silence greeted this announcement. Their collective breaths were held, awaiting Mama’s verdict.

Mama Gimble pursed her lips. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a reindeer in these woods.”

“Exactly, so-“

“In the absence of which, I presume you’ve gone for something more akin to local tradition, yes?”

“Not precisely,” said Joanna. “I’ve just left out the reindeer.”

Mama Gimble frowned. “No meat?”

Joanna shook her head.

“So it’s just vegetables and such?”

Jack looked from the matriarch to his wife and back again. There was some conflict occurring that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made him wish he was somewhere else.

Joanna’s face screwed up in the agony of admission. “And berries.”

The response from the visiting menfolk was instantaneous.

“Berries!”

“Surely not. Not in a stew!”

“And no meat?”

“It’s fine,” said Mama Gimble, raising a hand for silence. “Our hostess has done what she can with what is available.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Joanna began, but the matriarch was not done.

“Clearly it is down to us, as worthy guests, to assist in making this a Grimblesnacht to remember.”

“Really, it’s no trouble,” Joanna tried, but Mama Gimble ignored her.

“Quarrel, take Jack go and see if you can hunt down some suitable fowl for the main course.”

“I could really do with him to help with the-”

“And Gradock, go with Morris and gather some wood for a proper fire.”

“Honestly, the one we’ve got is fine-”

“And Joanna and I will stay here and prepare the vegetables to go with the bird,” Mama Gimble announced. “I presume you have plenty of those for that vegetable stew you were planning?”

Jack watched the exchange with an open-mouthed grin. It crossed his mind that he really should be sticking up for his wife, standing by his family and insisting the others fall in line with what they had planned. That being said, what Mama Gimble had suggested did sound better than what they’d intended and, when all was said and done, it was Mama Gimble. Who’d want to stand up to her?

He caught Joanna frowning in his direction and quickly removed the grin from his face. A quick glance around confirmed that Quarrel was already heading out to carry out his allotted task.

“Hey, Quarrel, wait for me!” he called, scampering after the marksman.

Joanna opened her mouth to rebuke him before glancing at Mama and, apparently, thinking better of it. Clearly Jack was not the only one who didn’t think it wise to stand up to the elderly gnome.

He knew he would pay for not doing so later but that was future him’s problem. For now, he had a fun hunt and a joyous traditional Grimblesnacht feast to look forward to and he was going to enjoy every single moment of it.