Daughter Of The Witcher Ch 01

***I don't suppose that you really NEED to, but if you don't follow my work, it might help to read "The Smoke-Girl & her Northern Ghost" for a bit of background on Gunnar.

If it helps, this is set about 983AD.

Louhi is the name of a powerful witch out of Finnish mythology, also known as the Mistress of the North. She is the inspiration for the protagonist's name. I don't speak the languages, but I'd bet that Louhi is pronounced in 2 syllables: 'Lou-hi' (Loo-hee). If you know better, let me know in a comment and I'll correct in Chapter 2. Sorry if you read one-handed, but there's no real sex in this until the next chapter.

This is just about a really remarkable girl. 0_o

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She sat obligingly in the laundry tub of her bath, her long white hair hanging down around her wetly as she asked questions. Her mother sighed and struggled on as best she could.

Margit had been at this stage of the game with her little daughter for a time now and no matter what was asked and how well she'd answered; her little girl always had more questions.

Margit didn't mind that part of it so much, but the language was not her own. She could speak to her man easily enough and she'd taught some of her mother tongue to her children. She'd learned enough Swedish to be able to make herself understood by even most Swedes -- the ones who passed through, that is.

For everyday conversation hereabouts -- where it was often necessary to manage a little of everything, she was fine. She could even manage some words of the neighboring dialects in her way, since given where she was from, she'd become a bit of a small-scale celebrity in the area. Her skill with and on horses had become a little legendary and it was fairly often when she'd hear a knock at the door and find someone there who had made the trip to meet the woman who had come from the southlands as the wife of Gunnar Fornjot. Gunnar himself loved her bit of fame and was proud of her whenever someone came to his lovely wife to find a way with some problem or matter pertaining to horses.

But Finnish -- real and proper Suomi as it was known and all by itself -- that was a hell of a thing to her. She tried, oh how she tried, but it was a bitch of a thing to learn and keep straight in her mind.

And that was the tongue that her little Louhi asked so often to hear from her, wasn't it?

It went on and on until Margit would at last tell Louhi that she was at her wit's end for that evening. Her little girl would nod to her with a look that might have meant that she didn't believe her mother, but a birch switch was not a thing to be tempted lightly, after all, so she'd 'allow' her mother to speak in any of the other languages where they could understand each other.

But nothing stopped the questions.

Margit would look at the rafters then, knowing that she herself had been every bit as precocious and more in her time as a girl. Worse, she'd been a khan's daughter and, ... well a lot of those days and the scrapes that she'd gotten into in her father's name were best not ever mentioned to Louhi .

The door opened then and Gunnar came in, hanging his cloak up on the peg and working his boots off in the entrance hall. He looked up and saw Margit looking at him as though something was his fault.

"What is it Margit?" he asked, but she smirked at him then and hugged him tightly.

"What do you think, husband?" she chuckled, "It is your daughter again. It's always your daughter."

"My uh, my daughter, is she?" he asked and Margit laughed, shaking her head, "No. I bear half of the blame as well.

I never have a hint of trouble with our son. Koten learns anything quickly and he is often helpful. He eats his dinner and gives me no trouble with his bath and he is already fast asleep, while Louhi asks me things which make me want to tear out my hair -- which I must remember not to ever do in front of her. If she saw me do anything like that it would only give her another thing to ask me for."

She kissed Gunnar and hugged him, "Please, Gunnar, finish this bath business with her tonight. I want nothing more than to sit down now in a bit of peace with a bowl of broth and a little bread."

Gunnar nodded and went to where the laundry tub sat. After a long day caring for the animals and the things of his farm, Gunnar wanted a bath himself now, but he guessed that he would have to wait. He walked in and seeing the water already poured for him in the basin, he stripped to the waist and began to wash in the cold water.

He thought that it was a little odd, but Louhi sounded just fine in her greeting to him, if just a little too cheery and perky for a five year-old at this time of night. He turned as if he'd been surprised to look around the room for a moment before settling his gaze on the tub.

"Hah!" he exclaimed, "Why look here. A pink frog in the laundry tub."

"Pink frog?" Louhi repeated, "I'm no pink frog! I'm not even a frog at all."

Gunnar's eyes widened as he stared, "And it talks!"

The little girl looked at him suspiciously and he looked back innocently, as though waiting to hear some sort of wisdom.

"Well?" he asked, "Are you going to give me three wishes?"

The little one shook her head, "I cannot give you three wishes, Father. I have nothing like that to give."

"Yes you do," he smiled as he reached to lift her out of the tub. She instantly hugged him as tightly as she could in her slippery happiness.

"You gave me the first wish on the night that you were born," he said, "the other two will take some time, that is all."

"What must I do?" she asked, and he laughed with the sound that she loved to hear from him.

"For the second wish, you must learn all that you can, and for the third, ..."

"Yes?" She asked, "What?"

"Stop making strange requests of your mother. You wish to speak in Suomi? You wish to know things? Ask me, little frog, and I will help you."

Margit walked in with a pot of hot water, "To heat up the pond again for the little pink frog," she said as she smirked and rolled her eyes, and after that, Gunnar sat his little girl back in.

"What do you want to know, Louhi?"

She moved to the closer side of the tub and looked at her father for a moment.

"I am different and I wish to know why."

"Different?" he asked as he looked at her, "You are no different to me than any other pink frog in a tub, but I think that I know what you ask."

"Different," she repeated, nodding, "Other children sometimes stay away from me. Only Annikki plays with me always when we can. The other ones say that I am a witcher's daughter. They say that I look strange. I am strange, Father. I am a stick and too long in some ways, but, ..."

"But not big enough in others, being only a little girl, even for a witcher's daughter. I know."

He leaned forward and dipped his hand into the tub. Bringing it back out, he extended his index finger and pointed to it with his other hand. Louhi stared at the drop of water which formed there. He looked at her eyes and she stared at the drop. When she looked at his eyes, the drop fell.

"What was that?" she asked.

He shrugged, "A missed chance."

He dipped his finger again and said, "This time, try to catch the drop in your hand."

The little girl nodded and watched the drop intently, holding up her open hand in readiness.

The drop fell and Louhi missed, but she stared at her hand as it was held in his. She hadn't seen him move. They smiled at each other.

"Again?" he asked and she nodded, getting a little lower and onto her knees in the bath to prepare. He looked at her face and saw the concentration there and it was all that he could do not to hug her to him once more right then.

This time, she had it, though she looked disappointed, "I have no way to show that I caught it."

Gunnar smiled, "That is the way of witchery, Louhi. One does what one needs and the best proof is none at all. I saw that you caught it, have no fear."

He dipped his finger again and she prepared again. "Try to be ready for something, ..."

She looked as though her concentration was about to boil the drop dry where it hung.

Then the drop ran to the top of his finger and stood up.

"Different," he smiled and the drop flew upwards, but Louhi's little hand flew past and they both knew that she'd caught it in her fist.

"Are you -- Am I really the -"

He raised his eyebrows, "The daughter of a witcher?"

He smiled, "That is too strong a word for a girl of five to know and throw around, Louhi. Have you ever heard your mother call me that?"

"No, I --"

"Have you ever heard me tell anyone that is what I am or anything like that?" he asked as he reached for a towel to dry his hands.

"No."

He looked at her. "Why do you think that is? People are a superstitious lot and talk like that does no one any good. I often help with the hard birth of a calf or I heal someone who is ill, if it is not too bad. Some people come to me for help in things like that, but no one says that word -- if they wish for my help.

You should not say it either. What is clear need only be spoken out loud by a fool."

He looked over at her, "Your mother's lovely skin is different to mine. My hair is different to hers. Our eyes are the same. Why do you suppose that is?"

"I don't know," the girl said.

He shrugged, "Because we are different.

Your brother and you have gotten different gifts from us when you were made, nothing more. So you have her lovely skin and you have my hair, and your eyes are from us both.

What else do you think that you might have gotten?"

Louhi thought for a moment and then she lifted her wet finger to point toward the ceiling.

Gunnar said nothing. He only watched.

The little girl had to wet her hand twice more since the water ran down and left her nothing to work with.

The third time, however, she stared at the droplet there on her own fingertip as it quivered and wiggled and very slowly rose up to strain toward the vaulted ceiling high above.

Then it was gone, falling upwards.

Louhi gasped and then the droplet was gone just as the door opened and Margit told Gunnar that Louhi would shrivel up since she'd been in the tub for so long.

He nodded and said that he'd get her to bed quickly. She nodded and left.

"Where did the drop go?" Louhi asked in a whisper.

Gunnar shrugged, "Somewhere."

He opened his hand and his daughter gasped to see the droplet there on his dry palm. She leaned closer to stare at it and he told her to open her hand next to his.

"How did you catch it, Father?" she whispered, "I didn't see you move."

He smiled as the droplet leapt from his palm to hers where it ran off in the wetness there.

"You did not see me move," he whispered back, "Does that mean that I did not?"

She thought about it and whispered her reply, "I think that it means that I didn't see you move, nothing more."

"Nothing more," Gunnar nodded.

"Now, little frog," he said, "Feel my hand and tell me what you feel there."

Louhi reached out and slid her palm against his for a moment, "I feel roughness, Father."

He nodded, "My hands are rough from work every day. Your mother tells me that you insist to her that you are old enough to wash yourself. I need to know if this is so or if it is the sound of a girl who does not think that she has to do what her mother tells her."

Louhi looked down, "I try."

"Trying is not the same as washing," he said.

She stood up and stepped to the side of the tub holding out her arms.

Gunnar nodded, rather thankful that she hadn't tried to push her fib on any farther and he allowed her to hold onto his neck as he washed her, being very careful because of his rough hands. He'd washed her as an infant when Margit had her hands full with their colicky son and he'd washed either or both of their children as the need arose for one reason or another. He didn't mind.

He refilled the basin with cold water from a bucket and Louhi sat fascinated as he heated it to warm enough to wash her hair in minutes with his hands and then of course, he washed her hair, though he was certain that his wife did a better job. And finally he told her that she was done.

Louhi shook her head and laughed as she sat back in the now-dirty water to raise her feet and wiggle her toes.

Gunnar did his best, but even so, there were a few squeals of laughter no matter what he did before he lifted her out and dried her with a towel while Margit held out the 'little pink frog's' shift for her so that he could put her to bed.

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She was ten years old and struggling with her wooden sword out in the barn with Gunnar. She'd learned to ride from her mother and she'd also learned how to fight in her mother's way. A larger lanky thing now, she was growing frustrated in the mock battles with her father.

"My name," she said, "Grandmother told me of it, but I never got any understanding from what was said."

He side-stepped her thrust and shrugged, "Think of what you are. Your grandmother wanted a far different name for me, but my father wanted to give me his own father's name.

And so I am Gunnar. When your brother was born, your mother had a name for him. But it often happens that a parent might have a name ready for their child, but once the babe is born and you hold him or her, you find that the name might not fit or feel right, so you must choose another."

She took two steps forward and slashed at him, but he wasn't there when her stroke came.

"I did nothing but see what you wanted to do," he said, "and so I took a step myself. Slow down and begin again -- and try to keep your eyes on the bottom of my throat, Louhi. For such a plain place, there is much to see if you look."

They stepped apart and she renewed her attack.

"As he came forth, your mother saw at once that her name for him was the perfect one to her, so there was no difficulty. But when you were born, ..."

"Difficulty?" she asked and he nodded.

"I had wanted to name you Tarja, but though it was a little correct, it would not do for a good first name once I held you. I was stuck until I thought of my mother and the old ways. So you became Louhi Tarja Fornjot."

She dashed in again and she clipped him on the arm and they both knew that it was from answering her question so they went right on.

"I know two other girls named Tarja, though neither is from our village," she said.

"I have never even heard of another Louhi."

"Then it is a good name," Gunnar grinned.

"It is the name of a witch," Louhi hissed as she swung again and her wooden sword bit only air.

They stopped then and he asked her what was wrong.

She shook her head, "I do not know. I had trouble fighting in the dresses that girls are supposed to wear. It was impossible until you helped and Mother made me these." Her arms swept downward to indicate the pants which she wore.

"That has helped me. I am hot in here and I cannot move freely in this heavy shirt. You wear no shirt."

Gunnar thought about it. "Did you have trouble when you were small and I bathed you? Do you have trouble in the sauna when we are there?"

He shrugged. "We are fighting here and I am your father. I was there when you were born. I don't care what you wear for this -- only that you take something away as a lesson every day. Shut the doors and take it off if you think that it will help, so long as we get past the trouble.

But there is more wrong here, Louhi. You carry the name of a witch. Not all witches are old and ugly. They might get that way, but ...

Is this a part of the trouble?"

She nodded and he said, "The next time that you see Grandmother, ask her for a clear meaning to the name. What you hear will surprise you, and if you still cannot see it, then ask me again and we will set aside time for it, though her tale will be better to hear.

Margit walked in then with small food and tankards of water and Louhi asked her.

Margit nodded, "You need to move freely, Louhi. But you cannot just throw everything off in a fight. Try if you think it will help, and I will make you something looser, such as is worn by girls of my tribe -- those who can fight. For today, try. Your father tries not to see what you wish to grow there on your chest, you may rest assured."

Louhi tried it and decided that she wanted the larger shirt, but for this time, it helped. Margit walked away and closed the doors.

"Better," Gunnar nodded, "but there is still something. I have watched this come a little more every time and now I see you struggle so hard. I want to teach you another way."

He began to show her other moves, ones which held little of her mother's way of fighting or his normal style, for that matter. The movements came to her naturally and in minutes each time, she had whatever was shown, both in the attacks and the defense. More importantly, it came to Gunnar finally what his daughter's trouble was and it made him laugh.

"From what I see, this has been trying to get out of you for all of this time. You feel better fighting like this, don't you, Louhi?"

The long whitish hair on her head almost flew as she nodded with a happy grin and he walked with her to a pile of neatly stacked planking. He took one thick plank and stood it on end leaning against a thick wooden column.

Walking back, he got to one knee beside her and pointed.

"This will be like the little frog's droplet," he said, "Do you think that your sword can cut that plank in two?"

She looked at her wooden sword, then at the plank, and then back at him before she shook her head.

He sighed, "Then it cannot."

He started to get to his feet again, but Louhi just knew what he was trying to teach her and so she put her arm around his neck so that he'd stay.

"Wait," she said as she stared once more and considered.

Gunnar stayed and said nothing.

Louhi took her arm from his shoulders and began to step forward a little slowly, shifting her wooden blade to her right hand as she walked. She took three steps, reaching with her other hand to double her grip and then she was beside him again, her arm back on his shoulders and the sword in her left hand again before the two pieces had come to rest on the floor.

As the last of the pieces bounced once and laid still, she spoke quietly, but he heard her.

"Nothing more."

She hugged him and he laughed, "We come to a point where you can no longer -- or should no longer use wooden swords. When we begin to use the steel and not the wood, you will need to be stronger and faster and you will not be able to fight me dressed as you now are."

He indicated the places on his own chest which showed the near passage of a blade in his time.

And one day, you will be big enough to learn to forge your own blades."

He drew his head back and looked at her, "As well, there is the matter of how it is to be done and for the next steps on the path. It will not be for a month or two before we begin the first of it, but, ..."

He looked at her in her pants and bare chest with the whitish hair that they shared spilling over her and she knew what had to come next so she nodded.

"I have learned some things from Grandmother, so I had warning. I learned things today. I know what we are and all of it, but for the teachings that will come. You are my father and I am still a little pink frog. I will do as you say because I want to learn all that I can."

He nodded, "I can teach most and Grandmother can teach the rest, but one thing, Louhi.

There will come a time when boys become important to a young girl. The teaching is longer than that. How you make time to help your mother and learn about boys and what you wish to learn will be a hard task -- and still it is no one's affair what you are. Remember that."

"I am a witcher's daughter," she said, "There is no more important thing that this."