The Huldra's Girl by Alex Glebe
A young girl confronts a mythical huldra in the forest - but is she more in danger from the huldra or the bears?
The world grew quiet near the cluster of alder trees where Marit hid, still panting and exhilarated from the game. At first she didn't realise what was happening when the birds abruptly stopped singing and a hush descended on the glade, it was only when Aksel's scream rose up from the wooded path behind her that she turned. The huldra emerged from the deep summer shadows cast by the trees a stone's throw away. Transfixed, she noticed the oppressive silence of the nearby waterfall and the unnatural stillness of the trees, their leaves unmoved by the gentle summer breeze that brushed against her cheek. It was as if the mundane world was paused, enchanted, while the creature regarded Marit with unblinking eyes. The huldra's dark hair shone in the sunlight and Marit stood, bewitched, until it moved towards her with the fierce grace of a lynx. She fled as if trying to outrun a forest fire, her skin prickling with fear.
The world rushed back in a blur of undergrowth catching at her elbows and crackling beneath her feet, low branches snagging her hair, the white sun in a cloudless sky, keeping pace above her as she ran. She dared not turn to look at what hunted her but hurtled on, her brother Eric's too-big coat flapping about her legs. She thought she saw the creature from the corners of her eyes, loping beside her, its long hair flowing as it ran, unhurried, its gaze fixed on its prey. Every tale she had ever heard about these creatures crowded her mind; how they used their beauty to lure men to their deaths, how they could entrap and ensnare people. To play games this far into the forest was stupid - but who else would play with the girl with the dirty dress and unbrushed hair? Only Aksel, who liked to break the rules and whose family had moved here from the west. She didn't see the ravine before it was too late, half-covered by the debris of the last storm. She fell, her cry loosing a dark volley of crows into the pale sky from the surrounding trees.
Her head swam and she blinked, not immediately recognising the large dark shape hunkering near her feet, it looked like a moving house its bulk was so big. She gazed at it through half-open eyes; the sun was behind it so that nothing else was visible but the enormous shifting shadow. It spoke but she couldn't understand what it said. Her head pounded and she was aware of a pain shooting in her left leg. She tried to move but gave up and attempted to prop herself up on her elbows instead; but before she could, the looming shape gave a sharp guttural bark. She froze. A bear. The bear's blunt muzzle nudged at her legs, then sniffed at her boots. A light summer rain began to fall, and she fought the urge to brush the droplets from her face. The bear lowered its head and began pulling at her skirt hem with its teeth, grunting. She whimpered and the bear growled in return, a deep unsettling note that made Marit's body vibrate with the sound. It shifted some of its bulk onto her, pinning her to the ground, its size eclipsing the line of trees on the lip of the ravine and the patch of sky above her. It raised its paw ready to strike at her face.
"Leave." The bear halted at the command and sat back on its haunches as if pulled by a string, like one of Eric's wooden puppets. "Go." The huldra's voice was both melodious and hollow sounding, like pebbles thrown across ice. Marit shivered at the sound. The bear turned slowly as if wading through a dream, the huldra dragging an elegant hand through the matted fur of its flank as it left.
Up close, the huldra was as beautiful as the fireside tales had taught Marit to expect. The creature regarded her with exquisite fern-green eyes that contained all the dancing shadows of the forest, and Marit felt caught in that gaze; the human world receding under the weight of that ancient look so that her village, her life with her parents and Eric, seemed very far away, as thin and insubstantial as mountain mist. The rain fell steadily as they regarded each other, and the gaze was only broken by Marit startling when the huldra swished its tail. Before Marit could make a sound, the huldra bundled her into its arms and carried her through the forest with the swiftness of a deer.
Time blurred while Marit was with the huldra. It was the season of the midnight sun, and days of dappled light and pale nights stretched on until Marit wasn't sure how long she had been away. The huldra tended to Marit's leg and brought her offerings of rosehip syrups and sweet chestnuts roasted over a fire, crowberries, sloes plucked from the blackthorn trees, dandelions and succulent black trumpet mushrooms. As the summer storms shook the trees and bent the branches backwards, they huddled together in the huldra's lair scented with spruce, fir and moss. On one such evening, when Marit watched the huldra cook and the steam of nettle soup filled the den, the huldra said, "Your friend Askel was unharmed. I know the stories your kind tell about us - and we have our stories about you."
"Tell me then," said Marit.
They drank the soup together as the huldra spoke of the forest and the food offerings left as a mark of respect by village elders long gone, of revenge taken upon men who tried to chase or entrap her, of one twilight where she scared children away from stealing newly hatched owlets from their nest. Marit listened to the stories and she recognised some of the people the huldra spoke of, but it was like looking through an ancient mirror where the rust spots and cracks made the reflections distorted and obscured so that the people she knew took on the likeness of strangers.
The huldra showed Marit the secret paths of the forest that only the lynx and the slyest of foxes trod. They feasted on wild berries and danced together in the dew-soaked mornings, and little by little the human world began to fall away and lose its sharpness, like a tale half-remembered. When the summer storms ravaged the forest and the wind whipped outside the den, the huldra held Marit tight and stroked her hair with a quiet tenderness that her mother had never shown her. At home Marit was the troublesome one, the afterthought; here the huldra taught her the magical properties of herbs, eagles fed from her outstretched hand, she skipped with abandon to the fossegrim's fiddle, and watched in hushed awe as processions of elves, shining like fireflies, wended their way through the darkest heart of the forest. What did her grandmother say about people being snatched by the hidden folk? Marit hardly knew anymore; when she tried to hold onto the thought it slipped away, and the huldra caught her by the hand.
It was the dog that changed everything. The elkhound discovered them by the waterfall; it was weary-looking, nose to the ground, tracking them. When it spied the huldra, the fur along its back stood on end. Marit recognised it from the village, its torn ear and red collar.
"Leave us," hissed the huldra, but the dog stood its ground and barked instead.
At the sound, the world beyond the birdsong and hum of summer insects came rushing in; the noise of men tramping through undergrowth, calling to each other, and the staccato barking of dogs echoed off the trees. Marit wondered if her parents were with them, calling her name and frightening the hidden deer, wondered whether Askel was in trouble for returning to the village without her. She imagined the searchers' cars parked along the track that led into the forest, updates of the search on the local news, and she thought of Eric. She felt the hem of his dirt-encrusted coat, its pockets full of stones and leaves, and fled once more, the elkhound at her heels.
After the initial excitement of her return wore off, Marit soon learnt not to speak of the huldra. The adults didn't like it, and the children grew wary of her. When she asked Askel if he remembered seeing the huldra, he shook his head and bit his lip.
"It was a bear Marit, nothing more."
But she thought he looked at her sideways after he said it, to see if she believed the lie. At home she was forbidden to speak of it or to go near the forest ever again. Eric let her talk about the huldra when they were alone, but she had the feeling he was humouring her. He kept mentioning her being dehydrated, her falling and hurting her head, becoming confused as she wandered the forest disorientated and alone. She didn't want to argue with him, so she sat and listened to his jokes and the village gossip while he braided her hair, just as the huldra had done in those bright summer nights.
Years later when Marit had graduated university and moved away, she still dreamt of the huldra. She tried to think what she would say if a patient came to her with a story like hers; how she would diagnose them. She would say that the crisis of being alone in the forest made the child's imagination take flight, that the huldra was a figment, conjured up by a childhood wish for a protector and friend in a time of danger, a mother-figure to replace the lack of love at home. The fossegrim was escapism from her dilemma of being lost; and the strains of fiddle music were just the delirium of hunger. The shining elves were probably the lights of the search party hunting for the missing girl. It could all be explained away, and yet the huldra's smile still lingered in her dreams, and she heard her name being called, whispered in its voice like ice. Only the adopted elkhound brought her back to herself on those fretful nights; it was elderly now and snored, sprawled at the end of her bed. She patted its head, and it sniffed her hand, their friendship a witness to the dark sacred truth of the forest.
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| Image generated with OpenAI |
The world rushed back in a blur of undergrowth catching at her elbows and crackling beneath her feet, low branches snagging her hair, the white sun in a cloudless sky, keeping pace above her as she ran. She dared not turn to look at what hunted her but hurtled on, her brother Eric's too-big coat flapping about her legs. She thought she saw the creature from the corners of her eyes, loping beside her, its long hair flowing as it ran, unhurried, its gaze fixed on its prey. Every tale she had ever heard about these creatures crowded her mind; how they used their beauty to lure men to their deaths, how they could entrap and ensnare people. To play games this far into the forest was stupid - but who else would play with the girl with the dirty dress and unbrushed hair? Only Aksel, who liked to break the rules and whose family had moved here from the west. She didn't see the ravine before it was too late, half-covered by the debris of the last storm. She fell, her cry loosing a dark volley of crows into the pale sky from the surrounding trees.
Her head swam and she blinked, not immediately recognising the large dark shape hunkering near her feet, it looked like a moving house its bulk was so big. She gazed at it through half-open eyes; the sun was behind it so that nothing else was visible but the enormous shifting shadow. It spoke but she couldn't understand what it said. Her head pounded and she was aware of a pain shooting in her left leg. She tried to move but gave up and attempted to prop herself up on her elbows instead; but before she could, the looming shape gave a sharp guttural bark. She froze. A bear. The bear's blunt muzzle nudged at her legs, then sniffed at her boots. A light summer rain began to fall, and she fought the urge to brush the droplets from her face. The bear lowered its head and began pulling at her skirt hem with its teeth, grunting. She whimpered and the bear growled in return, a deep unsettling note that made Marit's body vibrate with the sound. It shifted some of its bulk onto her, pinning her to the ground, its size eclipsing the line of trees on the lip of the ravine and the patch of sky above her. It raised its paw ready to strike at her face.
"Leave." The bear halted at the command and sat back on its haunches as if pulled by a string, like one of Eric's wooden puppets. "Go." The huldra's voice was both melodious and hollow sounding, like pebbles thrown across ice. Marit shivered at the sound. The bear turned slowly as if wading through a dream, the huldra dragging an elegant hand through the matted fur of its flank as it left.
Up close, the huldra was as beautiful as the fireside tales had taught Marit to expect. The creature regarded her with exquisite fern-green eyes that contained all the dancing shadows of the forest, and Marit felt caught in that gaze; the human world receding under the weight of that ancient look so that her village, her life with her parents and Eric, seemed very far away, as thin and insubstantial as mountain mist. The rain fell steadily as they regarded each other, and the gaze was only broken by Marit startling when the huldra swished its tail. Before Marit could make a sound, the huldra bundled her into its arms and carried her through the forest with the swiftness of a deer.
Time blurred while Marit was with the huldra. It was the season of the midnight sun, and days of dappled light and pale nights stretched on until Marit wasn't sure how long she had been away. The huldra tended to Marit's leg and brought her offerings of rosehip syrups and sweet chestnuts roasted over a fire, crowberries, sloes plucked from the blackthorn trees, dandelions and succulent black trumpet mushrooms. As the summer storms shook the trees and bent the branches backwards, they huddled together in the huldra's lair scented with spruce, fir and moss. On one such evening, when Marit watched the huldra cook and the steam of nettle soup filled the den, the huldra said, "Your friend Askel was unharmed. I know the stories your kind tell about us - and we have our stories about you."
"Tell me then," said Marit.
They drank the soup together as the huldra spoke of the forest and the food offerings left as a mark of respect by village elders long gone, of revenge taken upon men who tried to chase or entrap her, of one twilight where she scared children away from stealing newly hatched owlets from their nest. Marit listened to the stories and she recognised some of the people the huldra spoke of, but it was like looking through an ancient mirror where the rust spots and cracks made the reflections distorted and obscured so that the people she knew took on the likeness of strangers.
The huldra showed Marit the secret paths of the forest that only the lynx and the slyest of foxes trod. They feasted on wild berries and danced together in the dew-soaked mornings, and little by little the human world began to fall away and lose its sharpness, like a tale half-remembered. When the summer storms ravaged the forest and the wind whipped outside the den, the huldra held Marit tight and stroked her hair with a quiet tenderness that her mother had never shown her. At home Marit was the troublesome one, the afterthought; here the huldra taught her the magical properties of herbs, eagles fed from her outstretched hand, she skipped with abandon to the fossegrim's fiddle, and watched in hushed awe as processions of elves, shining like fireflies, wended their way through the darkest heart of the forest. What did her grandmother say about people being snatched by the hidden folk? Marit hardly knew anymore; when she tried to hold onto the thought it slipped away, and the huldra caught her by the hand.
It was the dog that changed everything. The elkhound discovered them by the waterfall; it was weary-looking, nose to the ground, tracking them. When it spied the huldra, the fur along its back stood on end. Marit recognised it from the village, its torn ear and red collar.
"Leave us," hissed the huldra, but the dog stood its ground and barked instead.
At the sound, the world beyond the birdsong and hum of summer insects came rushing in; the noise of men tramping through undergrowth, calling to each other, and the staccato barking of dogs echoed off the trees. Marit wondered if her parents were with them, calling her name and frightening the hidden deer, wondered whether Askel was in trouble for returning to the village without her. She imagined the searchers' cars parked along the track that led into the forest, updates of the search on the local news, and she thought of Eric. She felt the hem of his dirt-encrusted coat, its pockets full of stones and leaves, and fled once more, the elkhound at her heels.
After the initial excitement of her return wore off, Marit soon learnt not to speak of the huldra. The adults didn't like it, and the children grew wary of her. When she asked Askel if he remembered seeing the huldra, he shook his head and bit his lip.
"It was a bear Marit, nothing more."
But she thought he looked at her sideways after he said it, to see if she believed the lie. At home she was forbidden to speak of it or to go near the forest ever again. Eric let her talk about the huldra when they were alone, but she had the feeling he was humouring her. He kept mentioning her being dehydrated, her falling and hurting her head, becoming confused as she wandered the forest disorientated and alone. She didn't want to argue with him, so she sat and listened to his jokes and the village gossip while he braided her hair, just as the huldra had done in those bright summer nights.
Years later when Marit had graduated university and moved away, she still dreamt of the huldra. She tried to think what she would say if a patient came to her with a story like hers; how she would diagnose them. She would say that the crisis of being alone in the forest made the child's imagination take flight, that the huldra was a figment, conjured up by a childhood wish for a protector and friend in a time of danger, a mother-figure to replace the lack of love at home. The fossegrim was escapism from her dilemma of being lost; and the strains of fiddle music were just the delirium of hunger. The shining elves were probably the lights of the search party hunting for the missing girl. It could all be explained away, and yet the huldra's smile still lingered in her dreams, and she heard her name being called, whispered in its voice like ice. Only the adopted elkhound brought her back to herself on those fretful nights; it was elderly now and snored, sprawled at the end of her bed. She patted its head, and it sniffed her hand, their friendship a witness to the dark sacred truth of the forest.
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