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Come, gather around and let me tell you a story. Pay no heed to the warmth of the fire before us - not yet at least - for what I am about to tell you is of a place that is far less comforting, yet full of wonder all at the same time. Ignore the crackling and focus only on my voice. Take a deep breath. Empty your mind. Close your eyes. Are you ready?
Imagine yourself standing beside of a small stream, trickling gently along the rocks in its path. There is lush moss growing along the bed, moist and green and soft to the touch. Around you, there are tall trees of many kinds. Evergreens, birch with their white bark, tall, imposing pines with their bark stripped in long, vertical pieces. You can hear no sounds, save for the stream beside of you. You look above and you can just barely see the sky, a welcoming and deep blue. It is almost as if you are in a world all on your own.
You begin to walk along the stream, watching and listening. The current begins to pick up pace. The bed begins to widen. Soon, the soft trickle is now a louder crash. You look to the surface of the water, watching the movements as it bobs up and down violently, no longer parting along rocks, but rather rushing over them. Up above, the sky is beginning to fill with large, white, fluffy clouds. The air around you begins to cool, bringing a shiver to your skin and a shudder to your breath. It isn’t too cold, but pleasantly chilly. Your nose and ears and fingertips feel it the most.
On and on you go. The river is now covered in terrifying rapids that look like they will sweep you away should you wander too close. You put some distance between you and the mossy edge. Suddenly, the treeline thins out and you can see the sky is now grey and ominous. There isn’t a speck of blue in sight. The air around you drops to an even lower degree. Goosebumps rise along the surface of your skin and as you exhale, a small vapor cloud appears before you before being blown away by a gentle wind. You look ahead and it seems as though the world itself comes to an end.
Except it doesn’t. You stand on the edge, deafened by the continuous roar of the river that has become a waterfall. The water spills over the edge and makes contact with a rock far below before plummeting over the side of that one as well. Down and down and down it goes, feeding into a river that is so far away, it looks even smaller than when the river began as a small, gentle stream. The sky opens up and begins to wash you with soft kisses of frigid rain. The wind picks up, nearly threatening to push you over the edge, but you find it hard to step away. You don’t want to fall of course, but the majesty of what you can see is overwhelming.
It seems like you can see the entire world from atop the mountain. Just across, you can see most of more mountains, tall and intimidating, rocky and dangerous. Parts of it are covered with a thin layer of mist that moves slowly, swirling around with the currents of wind. There are a few lone trees growing out from the rocks, standing tall and proud on the mountainside. These mountains are giant, old, and wise. From other peaks, smaller waterfalls empty their contents down the side, some branching off and reconnecting, looking similar to a web a spider would spin. You squint, trying to see the other side, where you swear you saw something move, but the mist drifts into your view. As you look down again, it looks as though a cloud is moving up towards you, wanting to swallow you up. Only now do you finally step back from the edge, your body feeling frozen and stiff. Perhaps there are even small ice crystals on your lashes. The cloud moves up and surrounds you, turning your entire vision white. It is so blinding, you have to close your eyes. When it feels as though it has passed, you hold your breath and open them.
You are no longer on top of the mountain, but rather, in the valley. You are standing upon cold stone that is inexplicably smooth, like glass. To your left, there is another small stream of water flowing away from you. Just before you look away, your eye catches something: a small chunk of ice floating in it. You furrow your brows, wondering why it is there. You take a moment to still look up and admire the mountains from below. On all sides, countless small waterfalls rush down the sides, some disappearing into the treeline as it grows thicker more towards the base. Some have such a thin stream and a long freefall that the wind blows the water into the side of the mountain, the water never reaching the ground far below. The sheer height and majesty of the peaks around you make you feel incredibly small and insignificant. It is almost overwhelming, so you turn to look the other way.
You feel a chill run up and down your spine. Just before you is a massive block of ice - a glacier. It towers above you, nearly blocking the sun, which has now come back out and chased away the clouds. It had been warming your skin and drying you from the quick shower, but now it felt as though its warmth was being overpowered just by being in the presence of the glacier. You walk slowly forward, taking note of these odd, straight lines that are carved into the surface of the rocks that are all around you. There is no vegetation anywhere nearby until the base of the mountains, which are far from you. As you get closer, you can hear all the sounds coming from the glacier. Small little plops of water, tiny flowing streams no wider than your fingers, the tinkling of small pieces of ice as they slide along the surface. It almost seems like if you strain your ears hard enough, you can hear a low creak, as if the entire thing were shifting. Coming to stand just beside of it, you reach a hand out and touch the surface. It feels as though your hand will freeze to it if you leave it there long enough. The ice doesn’t feel as smooth as it looked. It is bumpy and uneven. You look from one side to the other, wondering how far it goes.
There, on the right! There is a small tunnel. Overcome by curiosity, you make your way there, pulling your hand away from the ice. You’re careful to step over the little streams that were being caused by the glacier melting. There is a warning going off inside of you, telling you to not do it, don’t even think of going inside. But wonder takes over and you bend over and tiptoe in. Not far inside, it opens up enough to where you can stand and when you do, you are breathless. Above you, all around you, underneath you, there is the most beautiful shades of blue, nothing like the white exterior. Looking up, it is most of a pale blue, shimmering as the light hits it from above. Beside you, it is a bit deeper of a shade and you can see slow lines of water sliding along the sides. Underneath, it is a deep, electric blue that feels almost like looking into the depths of the ocean. If you stay there, perhaps the glacier will open up and consume you.
From outside, you hear a deep, rumbling crrrack! Soon after, there is the sound of crumbling and then a mighty crash! You feel it in your very bones and feel frozen to the spot, scared to move. A piece of the glacier had broken off and tumbled to the ground below. You look around and see that there is more water sliding down the sides than before. Up ahead, deeper into the tunnel, there is a large opening just above. Though unsure, you go to investigate. Looking up, you cannot quite see where it ends. It curves around horizontally, blocking your view. There is a rumbling sound you can hear in the distance, but it’s getting closer...and closer...and closer. Water gushes from the tunnel above and comes flying towards you and you try to gasp but it gets stuck in your throat and-!
Now, now. Don’t tense. This isn’t supposed to be a bad story. It is just an adventure. We can pause. Take a breath, relax your shoulders, feel the warmth around you. Look into the flames of the fire. Relax. Calm. Take a deep breath… Hold it… Now exhale - slowly, slowly. Better? Good. Let’s get down to the real reason why I’m telling you all of this.
Here, in this land I’ve mentioned, from its tallest, rocky peaks down to its low valleys, from its rushing rivers to its still, glassy lakes, from its warm, rolling hills to its frigid home of glaciers, there is magic. There is power. There are forces that can’t quite be explained. There is a sense of wonder, of majesty, of...things you just can’t put into words. Here, things exist just beyond your line of sight. There are things some mortals are just unable to comprehend with their eyes. With that said, the opposite remains true. There are those who can see more, sometimes driven mad from it, sometimes brought to pure joy and peace.
In these lands, living within bodies of water, there is a water spirit - a nøkk - named Hemming. He was as old as the mountains, as old as the glaciers. He had seen the change of the landscape, the way the rivers have carved into the rock, the forests that have burned, the land that has given way to heavy rains. He has seen the rise and extinction of many creatures and flora. He had watched more intelligent beings come into existence and he began to feel something. Some stirrings. All of these long years of life and he has never had a companion to share the journey with. He would make friends with the animals that would come to drink from his stream, but they would soon leave him behind to go on their own way with death leading them. Death was a foreign concept to him, yet quite familiar. He himself never even felt so much as ill, let alone being able to die. He didn’t understand it. Where did they all go? What happened to them when their life force was snuffed out and their bodies burned?
But humans...they were a quite interesting species. Ones that had a higher level of interaction and developed languages. He was pleased to watch them from a distance and learn from them. When he felt that he had learned their dialect well enough, he would appear before them. The humans were in awe and moved by his very presence. It was odd to him. All other creatures acted as though he were an old friend. The humans raised him up to be a higher being than them. Still, he felt more complete interacting with him, so he remained in a river nearby a collection of small huts they’d erected. He remained there for many years and he taught them things. For a long time, the humans were grateful. They gave him offerings. They asked for blessings. They even tried to offer him women. He denied them politely. He was quite satisfied enough just having company. He didn’t need...more than that. The most treasured thing they had given him was a name, which he had never had before. They called him Hemming affectionately, an appropriate name for one who could shift his appearance at will, liquifying and solidifying like water. He usually tried to assume a more human figure when he went to them and made an attempt at recreating their clothing. His hair was long and seemed to float around him, as though he were underwater, even when he was above the surface. His eyes were a deep, swirling mixture of blues, not unlike a whirlpool. When they gave him a name, he had felt more complete.
Years passed and the humans left him behind, just as everything else had. However, they never diminished in number. There were always children being raised and passed on the knowledge that Hemming had given them. The children would go and play on the riverbed and Hemming would entertain them. He enjoyed watching them grow. There was one young girl in particular who would come and sing to him. He loved listening to her songs so much that he tried to reciprocate. He had spent a long time creating his own songs to sing to the animals, which they seemed to like listening to. He had not yet sang for a human. When he did, the little girl fell quiet and listened, eyes wide in awe. He had the most beautiful, enchanting voice any human had ever heard. She listened so patiently until he finished, then she began to applaud and cheer. She begged him to sing a song together with her if she would teach it to him. He agreed.
The little girl grew up to be a beautiful woman with a lovely voice. She went to see him every day - for he never ventured past the riverbed - and sat on a large boulder to sing with him. The two together brought the very air to a standstill. Animals would perk their ears and listen. Villagers stopped and gathered nearby. What could one call it but magic?
The village had prospered for a long time until one year, it didn’t. The woman came to Hemming with tears in her eyes. She told him that a decision had been made. They could no longer live there. The game they hunted was moving further and further each year until now, when they were just too far. The ground underneath the village was no longer as solid from uprooting trees to cut down for building and for firewood. The elders feared a large rain could bring a landslide upon them. Hemming listened with a heavy heart. He clarified that it meant that they could no longer see each other and sing together. She confirmed.
It poured rain the day they left, Hemming watching before becoming one with the river to weep. Even being attached to the river, he could travel far and wide with it. He attempted at keeping an eye on the villagers, but they soon veered to where he could no longer see. He wept more, the river flowing faster and more violently than it ever had before. He returned to the site of the village, or at least what had been the village. It was now gone and in its place, freshly shifted mud.
It was a long, long time before any sort of civilization came near him again. He found stray humans here and there, but when he attempted to make contact, some of them couldn’t see him. He thought at first that they were ignoring him, but even when he hovered right before their eyes, they looked through him, looked past him. He felt a painful sting in his heart. He missed the girl. He missed the villagers. He missed not being alone.
Then one day, he heard a sweet song somewhere along the bank of his river. It was not a human voice, but it was a song all the same. Curious, he followed its sound and came to the source: a young woman with dark hair was holding an instrument as she stood on a gentle part of the bank, eyes closed and swaying with the music. Hemming watched her from underneath the water’s surface, not bothering to reveal himself. He had never seen such an instrument and she wore strange clothing. He memorized all the details he could possibly see, wanting to try and recreate it later.
Every time it seemed that the song would end, it would swell and continue on. Hemming closed his eyes and let his imagination take flight. He could see everything. He could see the tops of the mountains, the low valleys, the rumbling waterfalls, the wolverines hunting, the foxes darting, the reindeer and moose grazing, the birds soaring high above, the rolling hills, the dense forests, the fjords, the lakes...all of it. All from just a song. But how?
He took his human form and broke the surface of the water, adorning the old, traditional clothes the villagers used to wear. He hovered above the water, letting a single barefoot still touch it. He gazed and gazed at the woman with the instrument. When the song finally came to an end with a blissful decrescendo, the woman went still and opened her eyes. Then she screamed, her stormy grey eyes locked on Hemming. He was beside himself. He could be seen for the first time in forever, though he did not understand why the woman screamed or why she was scrambling backwards from him. He told her that he meant her no harm, he had merely been so moved by her song and fascinated by her instrument. Though she still seemed shaken, she appeared to calm down some and offered for him to look at the instrument, informing him that it was called a violin.
Hemming observed it from every angle with analytical eyes before handing it back to her. He held out a hand and a small stream of water broke away from the river and flowed into his hand. It took it only a few seconds to assume a form identical to her violin. He pleaded with her to teach him how to play. The woman seemed unsure, telling him she had to go back home soon before dark. Hemming felt all of his excitement rush from his body and he sagged, sadness overcoming him. He would soon be alone again. Seeing the drastic change, the woman assured him she could return tomorrow. That perked him up some, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up too much in case she was only saying that to make him feel better. However, she did part from him with her name: Elin.
For a being with no concept of time, tomorrow seemed to take far too long to arrive. It was well into the afternoon, but true to her word, Elin appeared again, carrying her violin in a protective case. Hemming sat on his knees on top of the water, eager to learn.
It was weeks that she came, happily teaching Hemming how to play the violin and praising him on how well he picked up on it. Soon enough, he was forming his own new songs to play, gracing those within range with the sweet sounds of the stringed instrument. Elin taught him songs she knew, ones that they could play together.
It was like old times with the girl from the village. They created sweet music together, music that could be called symphonies. Hemming found himself loving life again. He cared for Elin and wanted to continue making music with her forever. There was only one problem.
She was a human. Humans were fated to die.
He was a nøkk. He would live forever.
Still...he would love spending every moment of her life with her. He pondered on ways to keep her with him. He observed other human men along the river, how their hair was styled, the clothes they wore, the way they carried themselves. He looked at his human form reflection and pressed his lips together, thinking of how to change things. Now that he paid attention, he did look quite different than the humans that were around now. With a flick of his wrist, he changed the length of his hair to be much shorter. His clothes became more modern. He stood upright and set his shoulders back. Would Elin like this?
She was a little surprised. She laughed, but not at him and told him there was no reason to change his appearance. He was an old being, he should appear as he wished. Hemming felt flustered for the first time and he was unsure of what to do or say. All he could do was ask her how she liked him.
She gave him the kindest smile and told him that he should appear however he wanted.
He kept this look. He wanted to let go of the past of who he had been and the people he’d parted with that left him heartbroken. He wanted to adapt, too.
Elin kept coming and seeing him, even long after he’d mastered his violin playing. When she listened to him play alone, she looked happy. She looked at peace.
Months and months passed. She never brought anyone with her, she only ever came alone. Hemming never once complained about it. She told him of the world beyond what he could see from the banks of his river which was isolated up high in the mountains and went down through a valley before connecting into a still lake. He told her stories of old, of those who came before, and what the world was like back before humans touched it.
They were happy in each other’s company. A day then came when Elin told Hemming that she never wanted to return home. She wanted to stay with him. She declared that on the very spot of where that village once stood long, long ago. For the very first time, Hemming stepped away from the water’s surface and onto solid ground. He felt quite strange, not quite himself, but he mostly felt okay. He took Elin’s hands into his and held them tight. He guided her away from the spot of the landslide and took her to the safest part of the river. There was a little bit of land she could use for growing things. He would help her as best he could. She could have animals brought up to help support her. He could make sure they wouldn’t wander across the river and into the mountains to be lost. He would help her in any way at all.
Anything to have her stay.
And stay, she did. She spent months coming and building her home. Hemming tried to work on it while she went back to wherever she had come from, but he didn’t want to accidentally make things worse. He wasn’t familiar with modern architecture and it seemed to have come quite a long way. In time, Elin finished her home. She began to live there, close to the bank of the river, and waited out the winter with him. He provided her with fish that went along through the streams and directed her to herds that were stopping to take a drink. When spring came, she worked on planting things and gathering animals for milk, eggs, and wool.
Soon, it looked like a home. It was a home that she stayed in, spending a few hours every day playing sweet, sweet music with Hemming.
Too soon, she too, like all other humans, grew old and died. Hemming mourned, but not too sadly. For when he closed his eyes, he could still hear her in the violin when he played alone, watching over the home she used to live in.
Now, now. Don’t be sad. Hemming still lives on to this day, though he grows a little lonely again. If you wander deep enough into the forest, you can hear the sound of him singing and playing violin. Maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you can catch a glimpse of him dancing along the river, just barely touching the surface. If you’re even luckier, he’ll speak with you.
If you’re lucky.