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A couple short pieces meant to set up for possible longer stories.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Roptera.”
I looked up from the press I had been reading to see a stunning blonde woman standing beside me. She was wearing a business suit that probably cost more than my car and was showing me a very professional smile. Tight mouthed and nothing that touched the eyes.
“Chi. Please call me Chi, Miss?” I ask as I stand up.
“Gona, Ms. Gona Mr. Rope..Chi,” she answers with a slight warming to her smile. “I'm Mrs. Aysnjar's assistant. If you would please follow me.”
As we pass thru the front offices of Hallowed Word Records I try to pry some additional information about Ms. Gona's reclusive boss or her equally mysterious band mates. But she easily deflects my questions, moving our conversation back to my own work. As we come to one of the more private back office meeting rooms, I find myself telling her an amusing anecdote about my interview with Elton John just prior to his knighthood ceremony. She laughs, her blue eyes now sparkling, as I finish the story and then motions towards one of the couches against the wall.
“Thank you for tale Mr, I'm sorry. Thank you Chi. But I'm afraid I'll have to leave you alone temporarily. Always more errands to run. But Mrs. Asynjur will be here shortly. It was a pleasure and perhaps we will meet again someday Chi,” she says with a bright grin as she heads out, closing the room's door behind her.
As I wait I glance around the room. Nothing unusual here. Comfortable furniture. A conference table loaded with simple yet expensive refreshments. And walls loaded with framed photos and magazine covers that highlight the companies successes. I spot a '96 Spin cover that features my first cover story and move over to look at closer. As I look at my first major break I hear the door open behind me.
“He's part of the reason I choose you for this, “ a commanding, yet sultry voice says.
I turn and there she is. Frigga Asynjur. Front woman for the multi-platinum, 5 time Grammy winners Frigga & Her Handmaidens. Four statuesque blondes with angelic voices, mysterious origins and mythic names. Frigga (vocals), Saga (lead guitar), Eir the Healer (bass) and Gefion Grendelsdam (drums). They had appeared from nowhere as part of the '98 Lilith Fair and exploded onto the world music stage. Anywhere they choose to tour they could sell out concert halls and arenas. All four of their albums were chart toppers. And in those five years this would be the first interview any of them had ever agreed to do.
“Mr. Roptera, I thank you for coming, “ she says. She moves to one of the couches and sits, and then gestures for me to take a seat near her.
“Please, call me Chi. And let me thank you for this honor,” I answer as I perch on the edge of a couch and ready my notepad and pen.
“No, I think it best to things at a formal level for the time,” she answers with only the tiniest of pauses.
I hesitate for a moment and then smile at her.
“Very well then Mrs. Aysnjar. I understand from the terms you've given for the interview that you won't answer questions about your family. Or those of your other band members. And any questions about you prior to '98 are off limits. So lets start with what you mentioned as you entered. You said it was my interview with Nathan Amos, the Goth, that led to picking me for this interview. Could you expand on that?”
“Of course Mr. Roptera. Mr. Amos was part of our last American tour and I spoke with him several times about the piece you wrote on him. And he told me those what you left out. About his parentage. Though I must ask, did you omit those parts because you didn't believe him?”
I pause again, caught somewhat off guard. After gathering my thoughts I reply.
“I'm still unsure about what he told me. He was exceedingly drunk when he spoke about his parents. But that wasn't it. I met both Mr. Reznor and Ms. Amos back when I was first starting out, and Nathan does bear a resemblance to them both. But his tale was fairly far outside the norm. Even for a former teen cape. So I felt it best to only report on what I could prove for fact.”
“So you don't believe in magik then Mr. Roptera?”
I have to pause again, as I wonder how to take back control of the interview.
“I wouldn't say that. I've been backstage during several of Lady Mandrake's shows. And I was in Evergreen City during the '96 Fomorian attacks. I've definitely seen enough to make Nathan's explanation for the disappearances of Ms. Amos and Mr. Reznor in '94 at least slightly plausible. But you can't verify magik explanations for things, and I won't run what I can't confirm.”
Frigga taps her finger against her lips and I wonder if I've blow the interview. I also notice how full and red her lips are and how pale and clear her skin is. Like shining ice. But then she speaks again.
“That is good to know. So ask your next question Mr. Roptera.”
I shuffle my notes without really looking at them. Any questions that delve into her interest in magik will likely involve her past, which is off limits. Best to stick with another musical query for now.
“Your two most popular songs are both from your first album, Shaking the World Tree. What was the inspiration behind 'Wolves at the Doors' and 'Golden Boughs Bend Low'?”
She smiles wide then and leans forward as she answers.
“The first song is a warning Mr. Roptera. A dark time is coming. One spoken of by the stories and sacred texts of many cultures and faiths. Armageddon, the Tandava Nritya, the Apocalypse,” and here she hesitates, “Ragnarök. The song is a warning to humanity. To call them away from further swelling the forces of evil.”
She pauses to take a drink from a metal cup. And where did that come from I have to wonder silently.
“The second song is one of hope. That the Final Winter does not have to be true to its name. That Spring can still follow and the normal cycle of life may continue. To remain steadfast and not give in to despair and fear.”
I hesitate before asking another question. I'm unsure again where to go next. But I finally decide to simply follow my instincts.
“Is that why you decided to do this interview? To clarify the warning and message of those songs?”
With my question she smiles again and stands before answering.
“Saga was indeed right. You are a clever and worthy man. A true skald. This Summer's coming European tour will be our final one. And now I must go.” She then begins walking back to the door, but there she pauses, half in and out of the room. “But I am certain we shall meet again. My husband's hall needs warriors. But Fensalir, dear Chi, needs men and women of strong hearts and clever minds.”
And with that final cryptic remark she leaves. Since that brief interview and then the band's vanishing after their '05 tour I've gone back and done more research into Norse myth. I never found anything on Gona, but there is a Gna, a messenger of Frigga. And Fensalir was Frigga's “Marsh Hall”, a place of crafts and learning. I also find the title of their final album Gullinkambi: the Golden Comb. Its the name of the rooster of Asgard that wakens their warriors and warns of the coming of Ragnarök.
And as Fall draws to a close I wait for the coming Winter and wonder...
“Its a circle. It circles and spins and turns and shrinks and breaks all fall down.”
The young child continued to mutter apparent nonsense. His body was caked with sweat and filth. His eyes stared..elsewhere as he rested his head in the woman's lap. She petted his matted scalp and glanced up at the cloaked figure.
“More?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of an East European accent. The figure nodded in reply. “I'm sorry baby darling. But we need more. Keep looking. Look again for mama ,” she whispered to him as the child shook his head in negation. “Please baby try again. Try again for mama.”
The child stared blankly ahead as tears streamed down his face. “Round it goes. Round and round. All break down. Sheds it's skin. Starts again. Round and round and round.”
The child's body convulsed and shook as the woman held him down. “Keep going baby. Keep going. Just a little longer,” she pled as she choked back to tears.
“Round and round! All around the mulberry bush! Monkey chased the weasel!” the child screamed now and spat out flecks of blood. “Monkey thought 'twas all in fun? All! In! Fun!”
The child now gasped each word as his nails dug into his hands and drew blood. His body arced and bent wildly. The woman looked up, tears now flowed freely down her face. She tried to silently plead with the cloaked figure. But it simply shook it's head in negation. The woman continued to weep and spoke again to the child.
“More little,” she asked as she choked back sobs, “just a little more for mama. You are so strong, so brave. A little more.”
“all in fun...but pop...goes the weasel, “ the child whispered, barely audible over the sounds of the snapping of his own arm bones flapped against the ground. “round and round and round. Fire and flood and rot and cold. Born again to eat its tail. Round and round and round and round...”. With those final gasped words the child's body bent again, almost in half. Blood leaked from his eyes and nose and between his clenched teeth. Then with a final twitch he lay still. The woman caressed his head and looked up at the figure.
“Did you get enough? Was it worth it?” she asked, her voice flat and cold, tears still falling down to land on the child's slack face.
“Yes Magda,” the figure replied as it turned and began to walk away. “You teach your children well. Perhaps we will be prepared this time thanks to your sacrifice.”
The woman simply held the small body and continued to weep.